rden-gate.

"H'm, we shall have trouble here belike. Poor cottagers living beside a
highroad don't open too easily at this hour to a couple of come-by-chance
wayfarers. To be sure, you wear the King's uniform, and that may be a
recommendation. What's that track yonder, and where does it lead, think
you?"

The track to which he pointed led off the road at right angles, past the
gable-end of the cottage, and thence (as it seemed to me) up into the
moorland, where it was quickly lost in darkness, being but a rutted
cartway overgrown with grass. But as I stepped close to examine it my eye
caught the moon's ray softly reflected by a pile of masonry against the
uncertain sky-line, and by-and-by discerned the roof and chimney-stacks of
a farmhouse, with a grey cluster of outbuildings and the quadrilateral of
a high-walled garden.

"A farmhouse?" cried his reverence, when I reported my discovery.
"That's more in our line by a long way. Only beware of dogs."

Sure enough, when we reached the courtlage gate in front of the main
building his lifting of the latch was the signal for half a dozen dogs to
give tongue. By the mercy of heaven, however, they were all within doors
or chained, and after an anxious and unpleasant half-minute we made bold
to defy their clamour and step within the gate. Almost as we entered a
window was opened overhead, and a man's voice challenged us.

"Whoever you be, I've a gun in my hand here!" he announced.

"We are two travellers by the mail coach," Mr. Noy announced; "one a
clergyman and the other an officer in the King's service."

"You don't tell me the coach is upset?"

"And one of us has a broken collar-bone, and craves shelter in Christian
charity. What's the name of this parish?"

"Hey?" The man broke off to silence the noise of his dogs.

"What's the name of this parish?"

"Braddock."

"I thought so. Then mine is Noy--Timothy Noy--and I'm your rector.
Weren't you expecting me?"

"Indeed, sir, if you're Mr. Noy, the Squire had word you might be coming
down this week; and 'twas I, as churchwarden, that posted your name on the
church door. If you'll wait a moment, sir--the coach upset, you say!"

He disappeared from the window, and we heard him shouting to awaken the
household. By-and-by the door was unchained and he admitted us,
exclaiming again, "The coach upset, you say, sir!"

"Worse than that: it has been robbed. We keep some bad characters in our
parish, Mr.--"