A few minutes later I was flying across the park on Ben's back. I was at this time nearly twenty-three years of age, and having taken after my father, was not a light man, but he bore me as though I were a feather.
When I reached the park gates I saw old Adam Winkley, who still lived at the cottage and called himself the gatekeeper, although there was no need of his services.
"Ah, Mester Roland," he said as I came up, "I do 'ear as 'ow the new king is comin'."
"Ay, so it is said."
"Well, God bless the king! I be always a king's man, I be. I be noan for Old Nol's crew. Not but what they can fight. Give Old Nol his due, he've made the furriners see that the English caan't be bait."
"We didn't need Old Nol to make them know that," I replied.
"Well, as to that, Mester Roland, forgive me for not havin' the same opinion as you; but I fought in the wars with your father, and I shall go lame to the end of my days because of it, and I know somethin' of fightin'. This I knaw, the furinners never feared the English so much as they did durin' Old Nol's time. Not that I believed in him. I bean't a young man, but I still like a carouse I do, and I like good ale, and plenty of it, and I say let people enjoy themselves. And I reckon we shall see a change soon. When young Charles do come, we shall no longer have these sour-faced Independents rulin' the roost, and so I say with a full heart, God bless King Charles."
I let the old man talk in this way for old time's sake. He had served our family all his life, and although others had left during our fallen fortunes, he had remained faithful.
"And when do the king come, Mester Roland?"
"Next Tuesday, I have heard, but I am not quite sure."