THE BANDY-LEGGED MAN 253

were fallen apart so that her little white teeth showed
through. Her long, dark lashes cast shadow circles under
her eyes. Her curly hair in elfin locks tossed all about
her face, and through it was tied a crimson ribbon, mock-
ing the quick color of the blood which came and went
beneath her delicate skin. “My faith!” cried Tommy
Webster, “her face be as fair as a K in acopy-book! Hey,
bullies, what? let’s make her queen!”

“A queen?” “What queen?” “Where isa queen?”
“T granny ! Tom Webster hath catched a queen !” “ Where
is she, Tom?” “Up with her, mate, and let a fellow
see.”

“Hands off, there!” snarled the bandy-legged man.

“Up with her, Tom!” eried out the strapping fellow at
his back. “A queen it is; and aright good smacking toll
all round—I have not bussed a maid this day! Up with
her, Tom!”

“Stand back, ye rogues, and let us pass!”

But alas and alack for the bandy-legged man! He could
not ruffle and swagger it off as Gaston Carew had done
of old; a London apprentice was harder nuts than his
cowardly heart could crack.

“Stand back, ye rogues!” he cried again.

“Rogues? Rogues? Who calls us rogues? Hi, Mar.
tin Allston, crack me his crown!”

“Good masters,” faltered Gregory, seeing that bluster
would not serve, “I meant ye no offense. I pr’ythee, do
not keep a father and his children from their dying
mother’s bed!”