She blushed, for she was naught but a female baggage, and though Master Busy’s impassioned protestations of less than half an hour ago, must be still ringing in her ears, she declared emphatically that she could hear the throbbing of that young vermin’s heart.

Master Busy up aloft was quite sure that what she heard was a few sheep and cattle of Sir Marmaduke’s who were out to grass in a field close by, and had been scared into a canter.

What went on for the next moment or two the saintly man on the elm tree branch could not rightly perceive, but the next words from Mistress Charity’s lips sent a thrill of indignation through his heart.

“Oh!  Master Courage,” she said with a little cry, “you must not squeeze me so!  I vow you have taken the breath out of my body!  The Lord love you, child! think you I can stay here all this while and listen to your nonsense?”

“Just one minute longer, fair mistress,” entreated the young reprobate, “the moon is not yet up, the birds have gone to their nests for sleep, will ye not tarry a while here with me?  That old fool Busy will never know!”

It is a fact that at this juncture the saintly man well-nigh fell off his perch, and when Master Courage, amidst many coy shrieks from the fickle female, managed to drag her down beside him, upon the carpet of moss immediately beneath the very tree whereon Hymn-of-Praise was holding watch, the unfortunate man had need of all his strength of mind and of purpose not to jump down with both feet upon the lying face of that young limb of Satan.

But he felt that the discovery of his somewhat undignified position by these two evil-doers would not at this moment be quite opportune, so he endeavored to maintain his equilibrium at the cost of supreme discomfort, and the loud cracking of the branch on which he was perched.

Mistress Charity gave a cry of terror.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing, mistress, I swear,” rejoined Courage reassuringly, “there are always noises in old elm trees, the ivy hangs heavy and ...”

“I have heard it said of late that the pavilion is haunted,” she murmured under her breath.

“No! not haunted, mistress!  I vow ’tis but the crackling of loose branches, and there is that which I would whisper in your ear ...”

But before Master Courage had the time to indulge in this, the desire of his heart, something fell upon the top of his lean head which certainly never grew on the elm tree overhead.  Having struck his lanky hair the object fell straight into his lap.

It was a button.  An ordinary, brown, innocent enough looking button.  But still a button.  Master Courage took it in his hand and examined it carefully, turning it over once or twice.  The little thing certainly wore a familiar air.  Master Courage of a truth had seen such an one before.

“That thing never grew up there, master,” said Mistress Charity in an agitated whisper.