"Come with me, I've got him safe," Dormy chuckled to himself.

Ranulph's heavy hand dropped on his shoulder. "What's that you're
saying--my father with you! What's the matter?"

As though oblivious of Ranulph's hand Dormy went on chuckling.

"Whoever burns me for a fool 'll lose their ashes. Des monz a fous--I
have a head! Come with me." Ranulph saw that he must humour the shrewd
natural, so he said:

"Et ben, put your four shirts in five bundles and come along." He was a
true Jerseyman at heart, and speaking to such as Dormy Jamais he used the
homely patois phrases. He knew there was no use hurrying the little man,
he would take his own time.

"There's been the devil to pay," said Dormy as he ran towards the shore,
his sabots going clac--clac, clac--clac. "There's been the devil to pay
in St. Heliers, boy." He spoke scarcely above a whisper.

"Tcheche--what's that?" said Ranulph. But Dormy was not to uncover his
pot of roses till his own time. "That connetable's got no more wit than
a square bladed knife," he rattled on. "But gache-a-penn, I'm hungry!"
And as he ran he began munching a lump of bread he took from his pocket.

For the next five minutes they went on in silence. It was quite dark,
and as they passed up Market Hill--called Ghost Lane because of the Good
Little People who made it their highway--Dormy caught hold of Ranulph's
coat and trotted along beside him. As they went, tokens of the life