CHAPTER VIII.
THE OLD BUCCANEER.
THE sun shone brightly that morning in a clear blue sky, shedding a glistening light upon the bare wet branches of the trees, and upon the little pools of water that lay in the hollows of the land and between the deep long furrows of the ploughed fields. The sleety snow of the previous night had not rested, but had left the ground soft and slushy, and as Timothy Trollope strode down one of the narrow lanes in the direction of the home-farm his great boots sank deep into the mud at every stride.
"'Tis true enough. God wot 'tis true I am no gentleman," he said to himself as he went along, regardless of the mire. "Nevertheless, I like not the lad's manner of telling me so. 'Twas ill-bred, at the least; and doubly hurtful in that 'twas true. Haply he knew by my raiment, or by my speech, or my ungainly movements, that I am lowly born. 'Tis passing strange how these gentlefolks do know their own class. They will recognize a man of good breeding from across the street, and tell him from a churl though he have not so much as opened his lips. And yet 'tis not the fashion of his coat that doth proclaim him a gentleman, else would Philip Oglander himself be writ down the veriest varlet, for a more ill-favoured fashion than his I have not seen upon a gentleman these many days. Nay, I like him not, despite Master Gilbert. And his words do rankle in me like the sting of a wasp. 'I thank you; but so please you, I had rather take my lessons from a gentleman.' A gentleman, forsooth! Marry, I have taught a better gentleman than him to use the rapier. Howbeit, there is a medicine for every malady, and it may be that yon simpering fool shall some day take from me a lesson that he wots not of."
At the end of the lane Timothy came upon some men who were at work thatching the roof of one of the farm cottages. The man at the foot of the ladder was Jake Thew, the same who had ridden in pursuit of the robbers.
"What ho there, Jake!" cried Timothy, as he clambered up to the gate. "Didst catch a sight of those rascally Egyptians yesternight?"
"More than a sight, Master Trollope; I catched themselves," came the ready answer. "That is to say, Thomas Lee and I did catch 'em. Thomas rid round by the highroad with William his son. They doubled at the corner of Beddington Lane with intent to meet us in the dingle. We met nigh upon half a mile from the spot where Master Gilbert was wounded, sir. The three of us did scour the country-side, now this way, now that, until well upon midnight; and at last we came upon the vagabonds lying hidden in a place that we'd passed a good half-dozen times—Beddington Dingle to wit. Thomas Lee let fire his pistol upon them, though purposely aiming above their heads, lest he should kill one of them and so be brought up for murder; and the rascals surrendered. So we carried them off and lodged them in Plymouth gaol, sir, where they both now are."
"Both?" echoed Timothy. "And were there not three of them in all?"
Jake left the foot of the ladder, his companions being now on the cottage roof, and waded through the mud to where Timothy was.
"Nay, sir, there were but two; we sought for three, but the third had made good his escape. And well for him that he did so, for 'twas he—so Robert Harvey avers—who ran his rapier into Master Gilbert's arm."