eedom,
which triumphed over those of Robin.

"Major Molineux dwells here," said this fair woman.

Now, her voice was the sweetest Robin had heard that night, yet he
could not help doubting whether that sweet voice spoke Gospel truth. He
looked up and down the mean street, and then surveyed the house before
which they stood. It was a small, dark edifice of two stories, the
second of which projected over the lower floor, and the front apartment
had the aspect of a shop for petty commodities.

"Now, truly, I am in luck," replied Robin, cunningly, "and so indeed is
my kinsman, the Major, in having so pretty a housekeeper. But I prithee
trouble him to step to the door; I will deliver him a message from his
friends in the country, and then go back to my lodgings at the inn."

"Nay, the Major has been abed this hour or more," said the lady of the
scarlet petticoat; "and it would be to little purpose to disturb him
to-night, seeing his evening draught was of the strongest. But he is a
kind-hearted man, and it would be as much as my life's worth to let a
kinsman of his turn away from the door. You are the good old
gentleman's very picture, and I could swear that was his rainy-weather
hat. Also he has garments very much resembling those leather
small-clothes. But come in, I pray, for I bid you hearty welcome in his
name."

So saying, the fair and hospitable dame took our hero by the hand; and
the touch was light, and the force was gentleness, and though Robin
read in her eyes what he did not hear in her words, yet the
slender-waisted woman in the scarlet petticoat proved stronger than the
athletic country youth. She had drawn his half-willing footsteps nearly
to the threshold, when the opening of a door in the neighborhood
startled the Major's housekeeper, and, leaving the Major's kinsman, she
vanished speedily into her own domicile. A heavy yawn preceded the
appearance of a man, who, like the Moonshine of Pyramus and Thisbe,
carried a lantern, needlessly aiding his sister luminary in the
heavens. As he walked sleepily up the street, he turned his broad, dull
face on Robin, and displayed a long staff, spiked at the end.

"Home, vagabond, home!" said the watchman, in accents that seemed to
fall asleep as soon as they were uttered. "Home, or we'll set you in
the stocks by peep of day!"

"This is the second hint of the kind," thought Robin. "I wish they
would end my difficulties, by setting me there to-night."

Nevertheles