"Even in Sleaford town aw kem to know it. Aw stood no further from his
Majesty and Lord Rippin'dale than aw stand from you, when the pair talked
by the Great Boar inn. Where doos tha sleep to-night?"

"At Spilsby."

"To-night the King sleeps at Sutterby on the Wolds. 'Tis well for thee
tha doost not bide wi' his Majesty. Theer, aw've done thee a service."

"What service have you done me?"

"Aw've told thee that tha moost sleep by Spilsby when the King sleeps at
Sutterby. Fare-thee-well, maister."

Doffing his cap once more, the stilt-walker suddenly stopped, and,
turning aside, made his way with an almost incredible swiftness across
the fen, taking the ditches with huge grotesque strides. Enderby looked
back and watched him for a moment curiously. Suddenly the man's words
began to repeat themselves in Enderby's head: "To-night the King sleeps
at Sutterby on the Wolds. 'Tis well for thee tha doost not bide wi' his
Majesty." Presently a dozen vague ideas began to take form. The man had
come to warn him not to join the King at Sutterby.

There was some plot against Charles! These stiltwalkers were tools in the
hands of the King's foes, who were growing more powerful every day. He
would sleep to-night, not at Spilsby, but at Sutterby. He was a loyal
subject; no harm that he could prevent should come to the King.

Before you come to Sutterby on the Wolds, as you travel north to the
fenland, there is a combe through which the highway passes, and a stream