He succeeded to several very large farms which his father had rented of Sir Richard Warbeck, for Ned, now Lord Warbeck, insisted upon his accepting them.
Bob, and the old miller Harmer, were great companions, and many a night in the village inn would they recount their strange adventures, and of the various villanies of the famous Colonel Blood.
Colonel Blood, for many years hung around the royal court; but how it was the King could countenance such a rascal, history itself has been unable to explain. Suffice it to say that after a career of roguery, he was seized and cast into prison, charged with plotting against the Duke of Buckingham, and soon afterwards died of a broken heart, or, as some said, from want of sleep caused by terrible remorse for all his crimes.
Old Sir Richard lived to a good old age, as did also good dame Worthington, and Charley Warbeck, who, in the company of Clara, seemed to be the happiest of men; and oftentimes at Christmas, when all were assembled round the festive board, to which Tim and Bob Bertram were always invited, Sir Richard used to shout out merrily, “Fill your goblets high, my boys, let me propose the great toast of the evening.”
“Hurrah,” shouted Tim in great glee.
“Bravo, Sir Richard,” Bob would say.
“And the toast, ladies and gentlemen, which I hope we may all live long to give is this,—
“Success, long life, and all honour to Wildfire Ned who exterminated the Skeleton Crew.”
THE END.