letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future. Doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. A prayer without gifts is like a song without music: I surfeit him with promises, boys—I spare not to promise. What, then, is lacking? Nay, a great thing—wherefore should I deceive you?—a great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it. The woods—y' are not ignorant of that—lie thick with our ill-willers. Haste is most needful; but without sleight and caution all is naught. Which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear it to my Lord of Wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?"
One man instantly arose.
"I will, an't like you," said he. "I will even risk my carcase."
"Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so," returned the knight. "It likes me not. Y' are sly indeed, but not speedy. Ye were a laggard ever."
"An't be so. Sir Daniel, bare am I," cried another.
"The saints forfend!" said the knight. "Y' are speedy, but not sly. Ye would blunder me headforemost into John Amend-All's camp. I thank you both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be."
Then Hatch offered himself, and he also was refused.
"I want you here, good Bennet; y' are my right hand, indeed," returned the knight; and then several
