94 MASTER SKYLARK

like bubbles in a flood. “Fair play, says we—English fair
play—hurrah!” And those inside waved their hands,
and those that were outside tossed up their caps, in sheer
delight of good fair play.

“Hurrah, my bullies! That ’s the cry!” said Carew, in
his hail-fellow-well-met, royal way. “ Why, we’re the very
best of fellows, and the very fastest friends! Come, all
to the old Three Lions inn, and douse a can of brown
March brew at my expense. To the Queen, to good fair
play, and to all the fine fellows in Albans town!”

And what did the crowd do but raise a shout, like a
parcel of school-boys loosed for a holiday, and troop off to
the Three Lions inn at Master Carew’s heels, Will Hostler
and the brawny smith bringing up the rear with Nick be-
tween them, hand to collar, half forgotten by the rest, and
his heart too low for further grief.

And while the crowd were still roaring over their tank-
ards and cheering good fair play, Master Gaston Carew
up with his prisoner into the saddle, and, mounting him-
self, with the bandy-legged man grinning opposite, shook
the dust of old St. Albans from his horse’s heels.

“Now, Nicholas Attwood,” said he, grimly, as they gal-
loped away, “hark ’e well to what I have to say, and do
not let it slip thy mind. I am willed to take thee to
London town—dost mark me ?—and to London town thou
shalt go, warm or cold. By the whistle of the Lord High
Admiral, I mean just what I say! So thou mayst take thy
choice.”

He gripped Nick’s shoulder as they rode, and glared into