, sir, you did not stay with Moore yourself. You
like this kind of thing."

"So I should have done, had I not unfortunately happened to engage
Boultby to sup with me on his way home from the Bible Society meeting at
Nunnely. I promised to send you as my substitute; for which, by-the-bye,
he did not thank me. He would much rather have had me than you, Peter.
Should there be any real need of help I shall join you. The mill-bell
will give warning. Meantime, go--unless (turning suddenly to Messrs.
Sweeting and Donne)--unless Davy Sweeting or Joseph Donne prefers
going.--What do you say, gentlemen? The commission is an honourable one,
not without the seasoning of a little real peril; for the country is in
a queer state, as you all know, and Moore and his mill and his machinery
are held in sufficient odium. There are chivalric sentiments, there is
high-beating courage, under those waistcoats of yours, I doubt not.
Perhaps I am too partial to my favourite Peter. Little David shall be
the champion, or spotless Joseph.--Malone, you are but a great
floundering Saul after all, good only to lend your armour. Out with your
firearms; fetch your shillelah. It is there--in the corner."

With a significant grin Malone produced his pistols, offering one to
each of his brethren. They were not readily seized on. With graceful
modesty each gentleman retired a step from the presented weapon.

"I never touch them. I never did touch anything of the kind," said Mr.
Donne.

"I am almost a stranger to Mr. Moore," murmured Sweeting.

"If you never touched a pistol, try the feel of it now, great satrap of
Egypt. As to the little minstrel, he probably prefers encountering the
Philistines with no other weapon than his flute.--Get their hats, Peter.
They'll both of 'em go."

"No, sir; no, Mr. Helstone. My mother wouldn't like it," pleaded
Sweeting.

"And I make it a rule never to get mixed up in affairs of the kind,"
observed Donne.

Helstone smiled sardonically; Malone laughed a horse-laugh. He then
replaced his arms, took his hat and cudgel, and saying that "he never
felt more in tune for a shindy in his life, and that he wished a score
of greasy cloth-dressers might beat up Moore's quarters that night," he
made his exit, clearing the stairs at a stride or two, and making the
house shake with the bang of the front-door behind him.

CHAPTER II.

THE WAGONS.

The evening was pitch dark: star and moon were quenched in gray
rain-c