“Why say’st thou so, Dickon?” cried another man. “Surely ’tis well for a bold lad to see the world a bit, in place of being mewed up at home like a caged singing-bird!”
“Ay, but how if the bold lad fall sick and die, through being not yet strong enow for such rough work?”
“Dickon is right,” chimed in an older man. “My young lords (God bless them both!) are full young yet for open field and hard fare; and methinks,” he added in a cautious undertone, “their loving uncle yonder would not be too sorely grieved, were it to befall them as Dickon hath said!”
“What say’st thou?” asked three or four voices at once, in tones of dismay.
“Know ye not he is the next heir after their death?” said the veteran, with grim significance. “Didst ever hear yon ballad of the ‘Babes in the Wood’?”
“Why, comrade, thou canst not mean, surely——”
“Nay, I mean nought. A man may speak of a good ballad, and no harm done.”
But the old soldier’s gloomy hints had left their mark, and thenceforth he and his comrades rode on in sombre silence.
Meanwhile the two knights who headed the train were in no blither mood.
“St. Edward! ’tis as if we were in one of the enchanted woods whereof romances tell, in which a man may wander for ever, and ne’er get one foot from his starting-place!” cried the younger man, impatiently. “My mind misgives me, Sir Simon, that we have gone much astray.”