When Charles the First Was King

had promised to go with him, and both these were men who, however brave, were somewhat of weathercocks, and apt to turn to whatever their humour tempted them at chance times. Not that I would say aught against my dear friend Jack Drumbleforth, who was as brave and valiant as any man could be. But he had a somewhat flyaway disposition, this Jack, and was apt to take sides in a quarrel without knowing much of the matter in dispute. As for Frank Wood, he had done little all his life but make love to the girls and crack jokes with whosoever would talk with him, and he was fond of excitement and adventure. Both, then, went to the war more from a liking of change than from inclination, and neither needed much converting to the King’s side. And yet there were no braver soldiers fought in that quarrel than these two, who showed their natural gallantry many a time, and endured privation and care for the sake of the cause they had espoused.

“I had hoped to take a goodly company from here, Will,” said Philip Lisle, “and yet we have got but two volunteers so far. What do you think⁠—shall I meet with any success in this neighbourhood?”

Now, I could not rightly answer him as to that, for I knew little of the feeling round about us, having rarely spoken to my acquaintance of matters concerning politics, which in my opinion were the natural concern of wise men, and not of humble folk like myself. But it occurred to me that Philip Lisle might easily satisfy himself on the subject by going with me to the market at Pontefract, and there making such inquiries among the people as he thought fit. Which project, when I mentioned it to him, he warmly commended, and promised to put in execution.

“Thou seest, Will,” said he, “his Majesty hath been exceeding gracious to me, who for many a long year carried on the trade of a robber and a highwayman, and thus forfeited my life many a time⁠—though, indeed, I never robbed a poor man in all my life, but only such as could well afford to disburse. I hold here a free pardon, and have also served the King faithfully these many years, and I would fain do something for my master, if only to show my gratitude. For ’tis a poor dog, Will, that does not lick the hand that feeds it. An thou wouldst go with me, Will, I should be content, though I had but ye three.”

“But, sir, what would my mother and Lucy do⁠—and your own daughter, Mistress Rose, too⁠—what would they all do left alone here without protection? And the farm? Jacob is old and he gets feeble, though none dare say so in his presence, and things would go to rack and ruin in my absence.”

“Why,” said he, “we must all risk something when duty calls. As for Rose, she is well used to taking care of herself, though indeed it hath somewhat puzzled me to know how she is to make her way back to Carlisle while I am away from her.”

“That she must not do, sir,” I answered. “Let her abide here with my mother and sister, so that she will have women with her. Maybe things will go on quietly hereabouts.”

“I fear there will be strife round here, Will. Yonder castle will prove a bone of contention. However, Rose shall abide where she is, and she will thank thee herself for thy kindness.”

“Nay, sir, we want no thanks.” Nor did we, for we were only too pleased to have Mistress Rose amongst us. As for me, what with seeing her daily and thinking about her when I did not see her, I was rapidly becoming more interested in Rose Lisle than was well for my peace of mind. Nay, I already looked forward to some occasion when I might perhaps show my devotion for her by protecting her from the dangers which seemed to threaten all of us.

But Ben Tuckett, if he would not go to the wars, was minded to win some glory by showing his valour at home, and it presently turned out that he desired nothing so much as to be the protector and defender of the women in our house, and more especially of my sister Lucy. This much I learnt from him in person the day after the merrymaking, when he was leaving us to go back to his shop in Pontefract.

“I can see, Will,” said he, “that thou wouldst like to travel to the wars, and I wonder not at it. If I were a King’s man like thee, I would go. But I am not. I am for neither⁠—only I wish they may soon get matters settled. But if I were thou, I would go.”

“The women, Ben, the women; and the farm! What is to become of them?”

“Why,” said Benjamin, scratching his head as if a fine idea had suddenly struck him⁠—“why, how should I do as a guardian and a caretaker? ’Od’s rats, I know a good deal about farming, and what I don’t know Jacob Trusty will teach me. And as for taking care of the women, ah, I am a famous hand with quarterstaff and pikestaff, and can strike a blow with anybody.”

“And what of your own affairs, Master Ben⁠—who is to look after them?”

“Why,” said he, “would it not be possible to combine the two, think you, Will? For surely ’tis but a step from Pontefract to Dale’s Field, and I do not see why I could not watch two birds at once. And then, Will, thou couldst go to the wars with a light heart.”

“Why, Ben, thou speakest as if it were a matter of joy to go and fight! Well, I like thy humour. Why, man, bethink thee! As for me, I see naught but sighs and sorrowing, tears and bloodshed for many a year to come.”

“What, do you think