would be done, and myself free to seek
Lorna, a man came riding up from the ford where the road goes through
the Lynn stream. As soon as I saw that it was not Tom Faggus, I went no
farther to meet him, counting that it must be some traveller bound
for Brendon or Cheriton, and likely enough he would come and beg for a
draught of milk or cider; and then on again, after asking the way.

But instead of that, he stopped at our gate, and stood up from his
saddle, and halloed as if he were somebody; and all the time he was
flourishing a white thing in the air, like the bands our parson weareth.
So I crossed the court-yard to speak with him.

"Service of the King!" he saith; "service of our lord the King! Come
hither, thou great yokel, at risk of fine and imprisonment."

Although not pleased with this, I went to him, as became a loyal man;
quite at my leisure, however, for there is no man born who can hurry me,
though I hasten for any woman.

"Plover Barrows farm!" said he; "God only knows how tired I be. Is there
any where in this cursed county a cursed place called Plover Barrows
farm? For last twenty mile at least they told me 'twere only half a mile
farther, or only just round corner. Now tell me that, and I fain would
thwack thee if thou wert not thrice my size."

"Sir," I replied, "you shall not have the trouble. This is Plover's
Barrows farm, and you are kindly welcome. Sheep's kidneys is for supper,
and the ale got bright from the tapping. But why do you think ill of us?
We like not to be cursed so."

"Nay, I think no ill," he said; "sheep's kidneys is good, uncommon good,
if they do them without burning. But I be so galled in the saddle ten
days, and never a comely meal of it. And when they hear 'King's service'
cried, they give me the worst of everything. All the way down from
London, I had a rogue of a fellow in front of me, eating the fat of
the land before me, and every one bowing down to him. He could go three
miles to my one though he never changed his horse. He might have robbed
me at any minute, if I had been worth the trouble. A red mare he rideth,
strong in the loins, and pointed quite small in the head. I shall live
to see him hanged yet."

All this time he was riding across the straw of our courtyard, getting
his weary legs out of the leathers, and almost afraid to stand yet. A
coarse-grained, hard-faced man he was, some forty years of age or so,
and of middle height and stature. He was dressed in a