"Father said 'twas rank popery railing in the Communion table, when
it was so handy to sit on or to put one's hat on," added one of the
youths looking up. "So he was willing for me to go, and I thought
I'd like to see the world, but I'd fain be at home again."

"So would not I," muttered the other lad.

"No," said the ex-tapster humorously, "for thou knowst the stocks be
gaping for thee, Dick."

By this time Jeph and Stead had returned with a jug of small beer, a
horn cup, and three hunches of the barley loaf. The men ate and
drank, and then the tapster returning hearty thanks, called the
others on, observing that if they did not make the best speed, they
might miss their billet, and have to sleep in the streets, if not
become acquainted with the lash.

On then unwillingly they dragged, as if one foot would hardly come
after the other.

"Poor lads!" said Kenton, as he looked after them, "methinks that's
enough to take the taste for soldiering out of thy mouth, son Jeph."

"A set of poor-spirited rogues," returned Jeph contemptuously, as he
nevertheless sauntered on so as to watch them down the lane.

"Be they on the right side or the wrong, father?" asked Steadfast, as
he picked up the pitcher and the horn.