"Come," he cried gaily; "you've been running. Have a drink, my friend, and tell us the merry news afterwards. I'll wager it's worth the hearing."
The man gulped down the contents of the extended flask readily enough, and proceeded to tell his tale in crescendo tones.
He had been working yonder with the mangels for Farmer Benton's sheep, and had just stepped into the copse near, when he heard voices on the other side of it, and the jingling of bits.
Gentlemen of the road they were,—three of them, black-masked, and dainty in their dress as any lords. How they laughed too, little dreaming of the mangel-digger, as they discussed how they and the rest of their band meant to rob the Oxford coach at Craven's Hollow, not far from Reading. Seven was the hour, and the prey secure. A lonely place, my masters, and rich booty. They had news of a certain gentleman whose valise was worth risking their necks for.
The man told his tale in the broad Berkshire dialect, but the outline of it was enough for those who rode on the Oxford coach.
Marry! What a to-do there was! Gabbling, crying, cursing,—one urging this thing, one the other, whilst the excitement of the beetroot-nosed passenger caused more than one to wonder what his valise contained.
And above all the cackling and hysterical shrieks of the women, rose a rollicking voice.
"The hour of seven," cried Michael Berrington, with gusty laughter. "And it's not six of the clock yet. Why, troth, we'll be miles away past Craven's Hollow and through Reading itself before then, so you give me leave to handle the ribbons."
More clamour at this you may be sure, more cursings too, and cries that to be robbed by highwaymen was better than to have their necks broken by a mad young blood from Oxford University.
But Michael's friends were nearest the driver, and the beetroot-nosed passenger stood their champion, so that, before more could be said, the driver of the "Red Reindeer" was whisked from his seat and stowed struggling away in the custody of two chuckling Oxonians, whilst Michael gathered up the reins with a cry of encouragement to the horses, which were growing restive with long standing in the cold.