'Hope he will. Do people talk about me here, Cripplestraw?' asked
the yeoman, as the other continued busy with his boots.

'Well, yes, sir; they do off and on, you know. They says you be as
fine a piece of calvery flesh and bones as was ever growed on
fallow-ground; in short, all owns that you be a fine fellow, sir. I
wish I wasn't no more afraid of the French than you be; but being in
the Locals, Maister Derriman, I assure ye I dream of having to
defend my country every night; and I don't like the dream at all.'

'You should take it careless, Cripplestraw, as I do; and 'twould
soon come natural to you not to mind it at all. Well, a fine fellow
is not everything, you know. O no. There's as good as I in the
army, and even better.'

'And they say that when you fall this summer, you'll die like a
man.'

'When I fall?'

'Yes, sure, Maister Derriman. Poor soul o' thee! I shan't forget
'ee as you lie mouldering in yer soldier's grave.'

'Hey?' said the warrior uneasily. 'What makes 'em think I am going
to fall?'

'Well, sir, by all accounts the yeomanry will be put in front.'

'Front! That's what my uncle has been saying.'