"What?" cried the serving man, and he looked round at the great oak
and beech trees through which the faintly marked road lay, and then
forward and backward at the dozen mules, laden with packs of cloth,
every two of which were led by an armed man. "You'd like that?"

"Yes," said the boy. "I want to see him."

"Here's a pretty sort of a boy," said the man. "Why, he'd eat you
like a radish."

"No, he wouldn't," said the boy, "because I'm not a bit like a
radish; and I say, David, do turn your belt round."

"Turn my belt round?" said the man, in astonishment. "What for?"

"So as to put the sword the other side. It does keep on banging my
legs so. They're quite bruised."

"It's me that'll be bruised, with you punching and sticking your
fisties into my belt. Put your legs on the other side. I can't
move my sword. I might want it to fight, you know."

"Who with?" asked the boy.

"Robbers after the bales o' cloth. I shall be precious glad to get
'em safe to the town, and be back home again with whole bones. Sit
still, will you! Wriggling again! How am I to get you safe home
to your father if you keep sidling off like that? Want me to hand
you over to one of the men?"