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160 laughter from the ranks of the archers. Another minute brought them up with the rearguard, where every man marched with his beard on his shoulder and a face which was agrin with merriment. By the side of the column walked a huge red-headed bowman, with his hands thrown out in argument and expostulation, while close at his heels followed a little wrinkled woman, who poured forth a shrill volley of abuse, varied by an occasional thwack from her stick, given with all the force of her body, though she might have been beating one of the forest trees for all the effect that she seemed likely to produce.

'I trust, Aylward,' said Sir Nigel gravely, as he rode up, 'that this doth not mean that any violence hath been offered to women. If such a thing happened, I tell you that the man shall hang, though he were the best archer that ever wore brassart.'

'Nay, my fair lord,' Aylward answered with a grin, 'it is violence which is offered to a man. He comes from Hordle, and this is his mother who hath come forth to welcome him.'

'You rammucky lurden,' she was howling, with a blow between each catch of her breath, 'you shammocking yaping over-long good-for-nought. I will teach thee! I will baste thee! Aye, by my faith!'

'Whist, mother,' said John, looking back at her from the tail of his eye. 'I go to France as an archer to give blows and to take them.'

'To France, quotha?' cried the old dame. 'Bide here with me, and I shall warrant you more blows than you are like to get in France. If blows be what you seek, you need not go further than Hordle.'

'By my hilt! the good dame speaks truth,' said Aylward. 'It seems to be the very home of them.'

'What have you to say, you clean-shaved galleybagger?' cried the fiery dame, turning upon the archer. 'Can I not speak with my own son but you must let your tongue clack? A soldier, quotha, and never a hair on his face. I have seen