"I like the wood," observed Humphrey, with satisfaction. "It seemeth a
safer place than the Watling Street; for who knoweth what rascals ride
thereon, and who be no more what they seem than we be ourselves?"
"Why, so they be no worse than we, we need not fear," returned Hugo,
with a smile.
But Humphrey was not to be convinced. "I be forty years old," he said,
"and what be safer than a tree but many trees? And the grass is under
foot, and the sky above, and naught worse than robbers and wardens to
be feared in the wood."
Hugo laughed. "And what worse than robbers on the Watling Street?" he
asked.
"King's men, lad, king's men. A good honest robber of the woods will
take but thy purse or other goods; but the king's man will take thee,
and the king will take, perchance, thy life. I like not the Watling
Street, nor care to see it more."
They were now going slowly through the wood in a bridle-path, one
behind the other. Presently they came out into a glade, and across it,
peeping from amid the trees, they descried a hut. "That be our inn for
the night, if they will take us," said Humphrey, decisively.
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