“I’m so glad we are to play again, after all, Corp,” she said; but he replied grandly, “Thou little kennest wha you’re speaking to, my gentle jade.”

He gave a curious hitch to his breeches, but it only puzzled her.  “I wear gallowses no more,” he explained, lifting his waistcoat to show that his braces now encircled him as a belt, but even then she did not understand.  “Know, then,” said Corp, sternly, “I am Ben the Boatswain.”

“And am I not the Lady Griselda any more?” she asked.

“I’m no sure,” he confessed; “but if you are, there’s a price on your head.”

“What is Tommy?”

“I dinna ken yet, but Gavinia says he telled her he’s Champion of Damns.  I kenna what Elspeth’ll say to that.”

Grizel was starting for the Lair, but he caught her by the skirt.

“Is he not at the Lair?” she inquired.

“We knowest it not,” he answered gravely.  “We’re looking for’t,” he added with some awe; “we’ve been looking for’t this three year.”  Then, in a louder voice, “If you can guide us to it, my pretty trifle, you’ll be richly rewarded.”

“But where is he?  Don’t you know?”

“Fine I knowest, but it wouldna be mous to tell you, for I kenna whether you be friend or foe.  What’s that you’re carrying?”

“It is a—­a medicine bottle.”

“Gie me a sook!”

“No.”

“Just one,” begged Corp, “and I’ll tell you where he is.”

He got his way, and smacked his lips unctuously.

“Now, where is Tommy?”

“Put your face close to mine,” said Corp, and then he whispered hoarsely, “He’s in a spleet new Lair, writing out bills wi’ a’ his might, offering five hunder crowns reward for Stroke’s head, dead or alive!”

* * * * *

The new haunt was a deserted house, that stood, very damp, near a little waterfall to the east of the Den.  Bits of it well planted in the marsh adhere doggedly together to this day, but even then the roof was off and the chimney lay in a heap on the ground, like blankets that have slipped off a bed.

This was the good ship Ailie, lying at anchor, man-of-war, thirty guns, a cart-wheel to steer it by, T. Sandys, commander.

On the following Saturday, Ben the Boatswain piped all hands, and Mr. Sandys delivered a speech, of the bluff, straightforward kind that sailors love.  Here, unfortunately, it must be condensed.  He reminded them that three years had passed since their gracious queen (cheers) sent them into these seas to hunt down the Pretender (hisses).  Their ship had been christened the Ailie, because its object was to avenge the insults offered by the Pretender to a lady of that name for whom everyone of them would willingly die.  Like all his race the Pretender, or Stroke, as he called himself, was a torment to single women; he had not only stolen all this lady’s wealth, but now he wanted to make her walk the plank, a way of getting rid of enemies the mere mention of which set the blood of all honest men boiling (cheers).  As yet they had not succeeded in finding Stroke’s Lair, though they knew it to be in one of the adjoining islands, but they had suffered many privations, twice their gallant vessel had been burned to the water’s edge, once she had been sunk, once blown into the air, but had that dismayed them?