“I tell you,” answered Tom, in the same stubborn way, “that if you take my money, you will have first to take my life.  Here have I been leading the life of a dog or of a boor all these years—­squire’s son though men call me.  I have seen nothing, I have learned nothing; I have consorted with low hinds; I have been no better than the swine in the fields.  Now at last I have my liberty and a bag of gold given to me.  I am sent out to see the world, and to enjoy life.  Take my gold from me, and I must perforce go back to the old life.  I would choose death sooner.  Therefore, sir, let us fight like men for this same bag of gold; for I will defend it with every drop of my blood!”

And in spite of the peril of so doing, Tom sprang to his feet and stood facing his antagonist with the air of a man whose blood is up, and who will prove no mean adversary.

“Come now, I like that spirit,” said the other.  “In these days of dandies and ruffled courtiers, stuffed with fine-sounding words but puling cowards at heart, it refreshes the spirit to meet a youngster of your sort.  Tell me your name, young master, and let us talk this matter over together.  I have ever sought to mingle mercy and discretion with the need for making a livelihood out of my fellowmen.”

Tom was surprised into a short laugh at this unexpected address.

“I am Tom Tufton of Gablehurst,” he began, but was quickly interrupted.

“What! the son of the good Squire of Gablehurst!  Lad, is this the truth?”

“Ay, verily,” answered Tom, somewhat taken aback.  “Did you know my father?  Alas! he is dead.”

“Dead!  What!  Is that so?  Then the world is the poorer by one good man.  And you are his son, and called by his name!  What are you doing away from home?  Are you not master there?”

“No,” answered Tom, with a flush on his cheek.  “I am to see the world first.  My mother will rule for me till I be five and twenty.  I have money given me, and I am to seek fame and fortune afar.  That is what I said to you.  Take my money from me, and I must needs return to the life I have left—­and I would sooner die!”

“Tut, tut, boy.  Speak not so wildly; nor think that I will touch a penny of your good father’s gold.  I am not sunk so low as that.  Did he ever speak to you of Captain Jack, whom he once saved from the gallows?”

Tom shook his head.  His father had not been a talking man.

“It was years ago now,” said the man thoughtfully, “and I did try for long after that to lead a different life; but in the end I came back to the one I love the best—­the free life of the road.  But believe me, Tom Tufton, your father’s act of clemency has never been forgotten.  I too have shown mercy many a time and oft.  I have my own code of honour and chivalry.  I want money badly enough; but I will touch none of yours.  I want a good horse; but I will lay no finger on yours.  Go your way in peace, and drink your fill of the world’s pleasures; but remember that if the time should come when you want a friend and a place of refuge, ask at The Three Ravens tavern on the skirts of this forest for news of Captain Jack, and whensoever you may come to me, I will share my last penny and my last crust with you, for love of the good man your father, who saved my unworthy life.”