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“Tonight, to Calais."

“We have a job with money on't tonight," he said with a soft purr. "There's work for a lusty lad with quick fingers."

"What can I do?" I asked with some show of interest.

""Twill be your work when we have made the way," he responded, "to shag the silver; we have a key to the case in the gun room."

"Is it a great distance from here?" said I.

"Some three hours' travel, at a house an odds distance from the Kings' highway in Darbyshire; a stone house among the trees, not a league from St. Giles and near the Surrey road in the bargain. Are you with us?"

"No, thankee," I returned after a moment's pause to consider it. "Tis my business to cry quits with merry England. We know each other. We are all gallows' birds, but I have no taste for hanging this day," and I turned across the heather.

"I bid you good fortune if you journey so soon," he cried after me somewhat snarlingly.

"My respects," I called back to him, bowing low.

Uneasy in the neighborhood of these rascals, I quickly placed a distance between us down the winding road, until I could breathe freely. The thought that there might be truth in this fellow's statements concerning the death of the wild head I had slipped a knife into the evening before, disturbed me somewhat. When ballad-making is dull (for penny work yields not a great income) 'tis ofttimes handy to filch a stuffed pocket and knife the owner if he resist, and who is to blame if the fool dies. He was drunk and -Bah! I threw it off my mind and gave myself over to making a new tune out of the sunshine.

'Tis an easy life, this beggars' existence, and I was joyful with the morning. The promise of summer puts a life into one, and I sang with the birds for my heart was light.

Once I met a peasant with a cart which looked for all the world so like the cart that poor Jack Shade rode to the gallows in, that my heart was in my throat for an instant. The thought did not please me.

I wandered on, not caring for time nor distance. The road was quiet and but little traveled, and in this solitude the wide sky and the green meadows were my companions.

At "The Hand and Glove" I stopped for some cakes and ale and sat smoking a great pipe by an open window near the chimney corner, when a chaise came clattering up the highway and stopped. The occupant was a young doctor, who had a sick man with him. He called loudly for brandy, and for water for his horse. Some discussion arose after he had driven on, in which I gathered that the patient was a young man who had been injured in a brawl of some kind and was being taken home.

A wild, reckless devil, they told me, scarcely a credit to the name of the family.

My thoughts reverted to the little affair of my own the evening before, and I began to feel that a neighborhood more secluded would suit me quite as well.

When I had paid my score I set forth again. Suddenly there arose in my head a desire for adventure; my soul cried out against the monotony of idleness.

I bethought me of my cut-throat roadmates and wondered if I might be in time for their enterprise. I could not be a great distance from the house they aimed at, and with this thought, I turned toward St. Giles.

The way through meadow lands and skirting hedges filled me with song. I had a new ballad half completed, and in the enthusiasm of it I sang with all the freedom of one unconscious of dangerous precincts.

By a sedgy brook I met two girls picking cowslips; they looked at me wonder-eyed while I was yet at some distance. I doffed my rag of a hat, made a low bow and sang a verse of my new ballad.

Before I had finished, a yokel who evidently attended the girls came toward me as if to warn me away, but a gesture from the older girl kept him from his purpose.

"You sing well," she said to me when I had finished, “and your

song deserves reward. If

you will come with me I will serve you some cheese cakes in our garden."

She walked with her companion over the downs, and I followed at the side of the groom, whom I quizzed steadily regarding the locality. I judged from his responses that I must be in the vicinity of the place I sought.

At the approach of the garden I was convinced that this must be the very house, and I immediately began wondering at my chances of success. House-breaking is not my line and I determined to take few chances.

One thing was certain, if I gained entrance I must in some way get word to my fellows to be able to reach our end.

While I was thus absorbed in reflection a maid approached and served me daintily with cakes. At some distance, among the hollyhocks, I saw the two girls who had led me hither. There was a kind-looking mother with them, who listened in gentle sympathy to the story the girls told her.

I ate with diffidence, my appetite having surfeited so short a time before.

"Master Balladmonger," said the mother, approaching me when I had done. "What is your labor in the world?"

"I sing, good madam," said I, making a profound bow. "Does your voice serve you since you have eaten," she asked kindly. "I desire greatly to hear a sweet voice."

"My heart would prompt me, madam, to sing ever to so gracious a company," I replied, and I promptly set a tune from a Scotch air I knew.

A serving-man came toward us before I had done and addressed the mother. I could not help hearing.

"Master Valentine's respects, Mem; he asks that the minstrel may come nearer the sick chamber."

"Tell Valentine, Farrel, I think he would better rest. We will keep the singer for the morrow."

"Your ballad was excellent," she continued, turning to me. "If you please, I will retain you for a day or more to sing to my son. He lies ill within."

I bowed in acknowledgement. It was the very opportunity I had wished for. An entrance to the house was as good as the plunder in my hands. I could blow a kiss to my gentlemen of the road and outwit them in the bargain.

The house was ancient and vast, but I made use of a good pair of eyes and felt a confidence in my own ability. The whole thing seemed so easy that I laughed at the idea of bungling it all with a pair of clumsy-limbed roadmates, and set about planning each detail with a quickness and precision that would give it all into my hands and a good start, besides, at sunrise.

I drowsed by the fire in the servants' quarter until an ancient looking man in green and black livery led me to my room.

A few preparations were made for my night's work, and then I waited. Within two hours it was as silent as a church. I could see but one light, a hostler's candle that flickered and presently disappeared. I dropped my shoes into the grass plot underneath the window and stole out to reconnoitre. As I judged it, I ought to have the job done before my friends came and leave a pretty trap, with the jaws wide open, for them to step into. Outside the night was as black as ink and too good to waste.

I was stealing breathlessly along the quiet halls and had nearly reached the great stairway when, turning through a passage, I came plump into a light streaming into the hall. I stopped just in time, my heart beating furiously. It was a chance, at the best, and I took it; leaning forward, I peered into the lighted room.

It was the sick chamber and in the bed lay a young man breathing heavily; near him sat the elder of the two girls, anxiously watching at his side; her eyes, for she sat so I could see them, swollen with tears. Of a sudden she looked up, too quick for me to dodge back into the darkness and I was caught. The girl rose in silence and looked at me steadily and fearlessly.

"Well?" she said at length.

A bold scheme entered my head.

"You will forgive me, madam," I said, for this intrusion. I find you are the only one awake in the house".

"I know of a plan to rob this house tonight. I am come to warn you."

The girl looked at me scornfully.

"Your memory is somewhat tardy," she said.

""Tis not a lapse of memory, madam," I replied. "I have just now overheard the plan of it. They will return in an hour. (I was figuring swiftly on the time.) If you wish to go I will remain here."

She looked at me for a moment, questioningly.

"You may stay," she said, and left me.

I glanced about the room hurriedly and then looked at the sick man. He had turned in a fit of pain and his face was toward me. My heart leaped to my mouth. It was the man I myself had robbed and stabbed at Holingshead. Things were at a danger point, and far too dangerous for me.

I stepped to the window and looked toward the ground: it was a good drop, but the occasion demanded action. I unbent the clasps and spread the windows open. The night wind coming up, a draught flickered the candle and then wiped it clean. I dropped into the darkness.

At the hedgeway I came upon two men in consultation.

"Trust to your legs and get away," I called to them in a hoarse whisper.

One of them stopped long enough to look at me.

"Blast me!" said he; "Blast me! if it ain't the ballad monger."

R. B. M., '02.

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