"Well wast thou bringing it," Master Headley answered. "I might be
still standing bound like an eagle displayed, against yonder tree,
for aught you fellows recked."

"Nay, sir, the odds--" began the youth.

"Odds! such odds as were put to rout--by what, deem you? These two
striplings and one poor hound. Had but one of you had the heart of
a sparrow, ye had not furnished a tale to be the laugh of the
Barbican and Cheapside. Look well at them. How old be you, my
brave lads?"

"I shall be sixteen come Lammas day, and Stephen fifteen at
Martinmas day, sir," said Ambrose; "but verily we did nought. We
could have done nought had not the thieves thought more were behind
us."

"There are odds between going forward and backward," said Master
Headley, dryly. "Ha! Art hurt? Thou bleedst," he exclaimed,
laying his hand on Stephen's shoulder, and drawing him to the light.

"'Tis no blood of mine," said Stephen, as Ambrose likewise came to
join in the examination. "It is my poor Spring's. He took the
coward's blow. His was all the honour, and we have left him there
on the heath!" And he covered his face with his hands.

"Come, come, my good child," said Master Headley; "we will back to
the place by times to-morrow when rogues hide and honest men walk
abroad. Thou shalt bury thine hound, as befits a good warrior, on
the battle-field. I would fain mark his points for the effigy we