So soon as they had gained the park palings, and which at this period, and at this part, ran across a deep sandy lane, they threw down their burden; and casting themselves on the ground to regain breath after their rapid flight, listened attentively. In a few moments a huge broad-backed countryman, clad in the loose frock of a miller's man, mounted upon a strong-jointed horse, and carrying an empty sack on the pommel of the saddle, rode past.
"You ride late, Master Miller," said Shakespeare, as he clambered over the palings.
"Nay; rather I ride early, Master Forester," returned the other. "Hast anything for the mill to-night?"
"I have, good Froth," said Shakespeare; "but is there a clear coast?"
"By the mass! I think there be. Be quick, however, for three of Sir Thomas's fellows have passed this spot not a quarter of an hour back."
"Good!" said Shakespeare. "Then hand me thy meal bag." And the horseman threw his sack to Shakespeare, as Snare at the same moment heaved the carcase of the deer over the paling, and then following himself, the sack was quickly drawn over the body of the deer, and it was thrown across the horse, the trio making the best of their way along the deep sandy lane towards Stratford.
As they emerged from the lane upon a rushy mead, and left the boundary of the park, a low whistle was heard, which they answered. Soon afterwards they were joined by their companions, and enveloped in mists of the swampy ground they traversed.
It was about the hour when "night is at odds with morning which is which" that the party we have before seen assembled at the Lucy Arms once more entered its hospitable doors. Quietly, and with considerable caution, however, they stole in, one of them bearing upon his shoulders, nay, round his neck as it were, with the hind and fore legs protruding before him, the carcase of a goodly stag. This latter bent his tall form, as he was ushered into the kitchen of the hostel, and threw his heavy burthen upon the floor, whilst his companions and mine host, by the light of the fire, and in great glee, proceeded to examine it.
"By 'ur Lady, a fine beast," said the host. "Why, Will Shakespeare, this is even a better night's work than when you shot that beast in Fulbrook."
"A stag of ten, my masters all," said Froth. "'Fore gad, I am well nigh exhausted with long fasting and sharp watching. A cup of wine, mine host, a cup of wine to Sir Thomas Lucy's health."