and I. He has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long,
mayhap, ere I pay mine. Sir Daniel driveth over-hard."

"This is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in
his hand.

"Ay, by my faith!" cried Bennet. "Black, and black-feathered.
Here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say,
bodes burial. And here be words written. Wipe the blood away.
What read ye?"

"'Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-All,'" read Shelton. "What should this
betoken?"

"Nay, I like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head.
"John Amend-All! Here is a rogue's name for those that be up in
the world! But why stand we here to make a mark? Take him by the
knees, good Master Shelton, while I lift him by the shoulders, and
let us lay him in his house. This will be a rare shog to poor Sir
Oliver; he will turn paper colour; he will pray like a windmill."

They took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his
house, where he had dwelt alone. And there they laid him on the
floor, out of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they
might, to straighten and compose his limbs.

Appleyard's house was clean and bare. There was a bed, with a blue
cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged
table in the chimney corner, and hung upon the wall the old
soldier's armoury of bows and defensive armour. Hatch began to