luck."

"I found something else," said Steadfast, and he proceeded to tell
about the child while Dame Fitter stood by with many a pitying "Dear
heart!" and "Good lack!"

Hodge knew Serjeant Gaythorn, and knew that the poor man's wife had
been shot dead in the flight from Naseby; but he demurred at the
notion of encumbering himself with the child when he went into the
town. He suspected that he should have much ado to get in himself,
and if he could not find her father, what could he do with her?

Moreover, he much doubted whether the serjeant was alive. He had
been among those on whom the sharpest attack had fallen, and not many
of them had got off alive.

"What like was he?" said Steadfast. "We looked at a many of the poor
corpses that lay there. They'll never be out of my eyes again at
night!"

"A battlefield or two would cure that," grimly smiled Hodge.
"Gaythorn--he was a man to know again--had big black moustaches, and
had lost an eye, had a scar like a weal from a whip all down here
from a sword-cut at Long Marston."

"Then I saw him," said Stead, in a low voice. "Did he wear a green
scarf?"

"Aye, aye. Belonged to the Rangers, but they are pretty nigh all
gone now."