Abel came out at last, very gay, for he had been given, over and above the usual payment, glove-money and a glass of beer.
'Us'll get a drop at the public,' he said.
So they turned in there. Hazel thought the red-curtained, firelit room, with its crudely coloured jugs and mugs, a most wonderful place. She sat in a corner of the settle and watched her boots steam, growing very sleepy. But suddenly there was a great clatter outside, the sound of a horse, pulled up sharply, slipping on the cobbles, and a shout for the landlord.
'Oh, my mortal life!' said Hazel, 'it met be the Black Huntsman himself.'
'No, I won't come in,' said the rider, 'a glass out here.'
Hazel knew who it was.
'Can you tell me,' he went on, 'if there's any young lady about here with auburn hair? Father plays the fiddle.'
'He's got it wrong,' thought Hazel.
'Young lady!' repeated the landlord. 'Hawburn? No, there's no lady of that colour hereabouts. And what ladies there be are weathered and case-hardened.'
'The one I'm looking for's young—young as a kitten, and as troublesome.'