ith a nimble interruption.

"The son of a pike, so please you," he suggested, with a smile that
softened the virago's heart. "There, we have toiled enough to-day and
it tests our tempers. Dismiss."

This command he addressed to the whole of his amazing company; to
Dame Satchell he gave a congee with a more than Spanish flourish: "To
your pots and pans, valorous."

Dame Satchell, mollified by his compliment, shrugged her fat
shoulders. "'Tis little enough I have to put in them," she grumbled.
"Roast or boiled, boiled, fried, or larded, all's one, all's none.
We'll be mumbling shoe-leather soon."

She sighed heavily at the thought, and moved slowly towards the door
at the end of the hall beneath the gallery. Halfman, unheeding her,
had turned to the table and was intently poring over the large map
that lay there together with a loaded pistol. Thoroughgood gave
orders to the men.

"Garlinge and Clupp, go scour the pikes. Tom Cropper, find something
to keep you out of mischief. As for you, Gaffer Shard, you may rest
awhile."

The old man shook his frosty head vigorously. "Nay, nay," he piped,
"I need no rest. My old bones are loyal and cannot tire in a good
cause. God save the King."

He gave a shrill cheer which was echoed loudly by men and boy, and so
cheering they tramped out of the hall in the trail of Mother
Satchell, Garlinge staggering under the load of pikes which the lad
had officiously foisted on to his shoulder, Clupp laughing vacantly
after his manner, and steadfast old Shard waving his red cap and
chirping his shrill huzzas.

VI

HOW WILL ALL END?

When they had all gone and the hall was quiet, Thoroughgood came
slowly down with a puzzled frown on his honest, weather-beaten face
to where Halfman humped over his map.

"Where's the good of drilling clowns and cooks?" he asked, surlily.
He talked like one thoroughly weary, but his mood of weariness seemed
to melt before the sunshine of Halfman's smile as he lifted his head
from the map.

"Where's the harm?" he countered. "'Twas my lady's idea to keep their
spirits up, and, by God! it was a good thought. She knows how it
heartens folk to play a great part in a great business: keeps them
from feeling the fingers of famine in their inwards, keeps them from
whining, repining, declining, what you will. But I own I did not
count on the presence of Gammer Cook in the by-play."

"I could not see why she should be kept out of the mummery,"
Thoro