"Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a
glass of ale. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?"

"Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.

"It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively.
"But I can guess what it's for. Sir Rowland is one of _us_," he added,
winking at his companions, "and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil
Trafford. Old Lancashire families both. Strict Catholics, and loyal to
the backbone. Fine woman, Lady Trafford--a little on the wane though."

"Ah! you're so very particular," sighed Mrs. Wood.

"Not in the least," returned Kneebone, slyly, "not in the least. Another
glass, Jack."

"Thank'ee, Sir," grinned Sheppard.

"Off with it to the health of King James the Third, and confusion to his
enemies!"

"Hold!" interposed Wood; "that is treason. I'll have no such toast drunk
at my table!"

"It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper.

"Not _my_ king's," returned Wood. "I quarrel with no man's political
opinions, but I will have my own respected!"