“E’en let them go, so we have the monkey,” he said.
The knight administered a sharp rating, and bade them tie up their comrade’s broken head and be off; a permission of which they were only too glad to avail themselves, the bear shuffling after them and causing a fresh panic among the horses.
“Quiet, Saladin!” said Sir Thomas, irritably. “Master Carver, somebody must suffer for this, and the boy who stole and sold the beast is the worst offender. Thou—what is thy name—Hugo? Hugh?—what sayest thou should be done to him?”
“Your worship,” said Hugh, tingling all over with eager thrill of hope, “your worship, I should like to fight him.”
“Trial by combat,” said the knight, laughing.
“Nay, nay, he’s a false loon, and that were too honourable a punishment. Here, Dick-o’-the-Hill, thou knowest every knave for miles round, go to the watch, and bid them take the thievish young varlet to the whipping-post, and let him remember it. Tell them I will answer for them to their masters.”
“Tell them,” Matthew called after him, “that it is a case of flagrant delict.”
“Here, Master Carver,” said Sir Thomas, moving his horse a few paces off and beckoning to Bassett, “that boy of thine is a gallant little urchin, and my babies have taken a fancy to him. Wilt thou spare him to us? He shall be well eared for; my lady has but too soft a heart, as I tell her, for the youngsters of the household.”
“I am deeply beholden to your worship,” returned Stephen, hastily. “It sounds ungracious to refuse so good an offer, but I cannot part with him while I live. You may guess from my face that that will not be for long.”
At the first part of this speech Sir Thomas had frowned heavily, but he could not be wroth with the end.