"Then wherefore are you here, a-trespassing on private lands?" demanded Sir Richard.
"Mistress Oglander did arrest me, yonder by the trees," answered Tim. "I was about to go home when she came behind me and seized me, declaring that I was a Spanish treasure-ship. I yielded to her humour, and—"
"Ay," interrupted Sir Richard with a grim smile, "I'll be sworn you yielded—as all Spaniards must when 'tis question of fighting with a well-found English ship such as the one that conquered you. But, prithee, what may it be that you have concealed in yon fat wallet at your back? I'll engage it is a pheasant-bird, or else a brace of plump partridges. Come, my young poacher, open your wallet that I may see!"
He caught the boy by the shoulder and turned him round, grabbing at the bag.
"'Tis but a few poor herbs, your honour, that I have been gathering for my father," explained Tim, opening the bag.
"And what does your father with such wretched weeds?" demanded Sir Richard.
"They are to be made into physic, sir," said the lad.
"Physic?" cried Sir Richard, shaking his head in doubt. "Nay, poison more like! What is thy name, boy?"
"Timothy Trollope, at your honour's service," returned Tim. "Father's a barber-surgeon."