Sir Godfrey gave his horse a final pat on his fine arching neck, and walked back out of the stall, to stand gazing full at his man, who slipped off his hat, and drew himself up awkwardly in soldierly fashion. Then, without a word, and to Nat’s dismay, he turned to his son.
“Yes,” he said; “take Moorcock, my boy, and the stoutest saddle and bridle you can find.”
Then he walked straight out of the stables, leaving Nat gazing after him in dismay.
“And me with such arms, Master Scar!” he cried, in a protesting tone. “Look here, sir.”
He stripped off his jerkin and rolled his shirt up over his knotted limbs, right to the shoulder, displaying thew and sinew of which a gladiator might have been proud.
“Well, Master Scar, sir, as I’m not to go, I wish I could chop off them two arms, and give ’em to you, for you’d find ’em very useful when you came to fight.”
Just then the stable door was darkened by the figure of Sir Godfrey, who looked in, and said sharply—
“Scarlett, my boy, I have been thinking that over. It would be wise to take Black Adder too, in case one of our steeds breaks down.”
Nat’s ears gave a visible twitch, and seemed to cock towards the speaker, as he continued—
“I’ll leave it in your hands to settle about Nat. You can take him if you wish.”