had it a more devoted adherent than in Humphrey, the Saxon serving-man,
and nowhere a greater scoffer than in William Lorimer.

"I see thou scoffest, William Lorimer," pursued Humphrey. "But were he
put out, then might those minions of the king shoot at him once more,
and spare to shoot at our young lord. I will away to our lady, and see
what she ordereth."

There had always been times in England when no man who stood in the way
of another was safe, but these were the times when women and children
were not safe. For perhaps the wickedest king who ever sat upon the
English throne occupied it now, and his name was John.

This king had tried to snatch the kingdom from his brother, Richard
Coeur de Lion, and had failed. When Richard was dead, and John was made
king in his stead, there was still another claimant to the throne,--his
nephew Arthur,--and him the king in 1204 had murdered, so report said,
with his own hand. This was the deed that lost him Normandy and all his
other French possessions, and shut him up to rule in England alone. And
the English soon had enough of him. He was now in a conflict with the
Pope, who had commanded him to receive Stephen Langton as Archbishop of
Canterbury. This John had refused to do. Now, the kingdom, on account
of the king's disobedience, was under the papal interdict, and the king
was threatened with excommunication.

England had at this time many, many churches, and their bells, before
this unfortunate situation, had seemed to be ringing all day long. They
rang to call the people to the ordinary church services; they rang to
call them to work, and to bid them cease from work. They rang when a
baby was born, and when there was a death. And for many other things