d at the rogue in the
pillory,--with no prescience, I suppose, of a day when he was to stand
there himself; then looked up at me with as much malevolence as his
small soul could write upon his mean features, and passed on. He had a
jaded look; moreover, his clothes were swamp-stained and his cloak had
been torn by briers. "What did you go to the forest for?" I muttered.

The key grated in the door behind me, and it opened to admit the gaoler
and Diccon with my dinner,--which I was not sorry to see. "Sir George
sent the venison, sir," said the gaoler, grinning, "and Master Piersey
the wild fowl, and Madam West the pasty and the marchpane, and Master
Pory the sack. Be there anything you lack, sir?"

"Nothing that you can supply," I answered curtly.

The fellow grinned again, straightened the things upon the table, and
started for the door. "You can stay until I come for the platters,"
he said to Diccon, and went out, locking the door after him with
ostentation.

I applied myself to the dinner, and Diccon went to the window, and stood
there looking out at the blue sky and at the man in the pillory. He had
the freedom of the gaol. I was somewhat more straitly confined, though
my friends had easy access to me. As for Jeremy Sparrow, he had spent
twenty-four hours in gaol, at the end of which time Madam West had a
fit of the spleen, declared she was dying, and insisted upon Master
Sparrow's being sent for to administer consolation; Master Bucke,
unfortunately, having gone up to Henricus on business connected with the
college. From the bedside of that despotic lady Sparrow was called to
bury a man on the other side of the river, and from the grave to marry
a couple at Mulberry Island. And the next day being Sunday, and no
minister at hand, he preached again in Master Bucke's pulpit,--and
preached a sermon so powerful and moving that its like had never been
heard in Virginia. They marched him not back from the pulpit to gaol.
There were but five ministers in Virginia, and there were a many more
sick to visit and dead to bury. Master Bucke, still feeble in body,
tarried up river discussing with Thorpe the latter's darling project of
converting every imp of an Indian this side the South Sea, and Jeremy
slipped into his old place. There had been some talk of a public
censure, but it died away.

The pasty and sack disposed of, I turned in my seat and spoke to Diccon:
"I looked for Master Rolfe to-day. Have you heard aught of h