—Young.
Good Lord, deliver us!” ejaculated Jock. “I’m right glad to see ye wearing red ribbons, for in truth I took ye for highwaymen.”
“What are you doing in the King’s highway at this hour of the night?” said the sergeant, whose temper had not been improved by the ill-success of his errand.
“Why, sir, as you see, I be a carrier, and be a-drivin’ my cart to Henley, same as I’ve done this many a year.”
“What’s in the cart?”
“Corn, sir, an’t please you,” said Jock, with humility.
“Why, yes, it pleases me very well,” said the sergeant, grimly. “The corn, I take it, is going by barge to London, eh?”
“Why, that’s a fact, sir, it be,” said Jock, scratching his head thoughtfully, and sorely perplexed as to what he could do.
“Then you can just turn about, my good man, and drive it to Oxford; our granaries are none too full, and we’ll store it in them instead. I annex that corn in the King’s name.”
The blood ran cold in the fugitives’ veins; they listened intently to Jock’s pleading voice.