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"Hola, Gaffer Higginson!" cried Aylward, as he spied the portly
figure of the village innkeeper. "No more of thy nut-brown, mon
gar. We leave it behind us."
"By St. Paul, no!" cried the other. "You take it with you.
Devil a drop have you left in the great kilderkin. It was time
for you to go."
"If your cask is leer, I warrant your purse is full, gaffer,"
shouted Hordle John. "See that you lay in good store of the best
for our home-coming."
"See that you keep your throat whole for the drinking of it
archer," cried a voice, and the crowd laughed at the rough
pleasantry.
"If you will warrant the beer, I will warrant the throat," said
John composedly.
"Close up the ranks!" cried Aylward. "En avant, mes enfants!
Ah, by my finger bones, there is my sweet Mary from the Priory
Mill! Ma foi, but she is beautiful! Adieu, Mary ma cherie! Mon
coeur est toujours a toi. Brace your belt, Watkins, man, and
swing your shoulders as a free companion should. By my hilt!
your jerkins will be as dirty as mine ere you clap eyes on
Hengistbury Head again.


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