all the world's heroes are," answered Cuthbert quickly. "And
now, Jacob, it behoves us to think. Yes, I have it. We must ask
counsel of Master Anthony Cole. He would be the one to hide Father
Urban if it could be done. Let me land nigh to the bridge, and go
to them and tell them all; and do thou push out once more and
anchor the craft beneath the pier on which their house rests.
Methinks when I have taken counsel with them I can make shift to
slip down the wooden shaft of that pier, and so hold parley with
thee. Walter has done the like before now, and I am more agile in
such feats than he; moreover, I can swim like a duck if I should
chance to miss my hold, and so reach the water unawares. That will
be the best, for the boat may not linger at the wharf side. We know
not what news may be afoot in the city, nor that there may not be
searchers bent on finding Father Urban, let him land where he may."

Whether or not Jacob relished this adventure, he was too stanch and
too honest hearted to turn back now. The priest lay insensible at
the bottom of the boat, his head pillowed upon the cloaks the
youths had sacrificed for his better comfort. It was plainly a
matter of consequence that he should soon be housed in some
friendly shelter. His gray face looked ghastly in the dim moonlight
which began to struggle through the fog wreaths. When Cuthbert
leaped lightly ashore hard by the bridge, and Jacob sheered off
again in the darkness, he felt as though he were out alone on the
black river, with only a corpse for company.

"If it were but for Cherry's sake, I would do ten-fold more," he
murmured, as he glanced up in the direction of the wool stapler's
shop, and pictured pretty Cherry stepping backwards and forwards at
her spinning wheel. "But I trow she will hear naught of it; or if
she does, she will think only of Cuthbert's share. Alack! I fear me
she will never think of me now. Why should she, when so proper a
youth is nigh? If he should go away and leave her, perchance her
heart might turn to me for comfort; but I fear me he looks every
day more tenderly into her bright eyes. How could he live beneath
the roof and not learn to love her? He would be scarce human,
scarce flesh and blood, were he to fail in loving her; and what is
my chance beside his? I might, almost as well yield her at once,
and take good Kezzie instead. Kezzie would make a better
housewife--my mother has told me so a hundred times; and I am fond
of her, a