“Who is Boniface?” meekly asked Edmund.

“The landlord, of course; and your friends are with him, too,” was the curt reply.

Edmund shrank back still further into the shadow of the room.  “It would never do for them to see me here,” he explained; “it would upset all our plans.  You must screen me somehow, won’t you?”

“Take care of yourself, sir,” returned the ostler as he snatched up the pitchfork and began to toss the hay about.  “Take care of yourself, sir, for he’s coming up here, upon my faith he is.  Here’s luck!” and the hay flew about in all directions.

No second bidding was required.  Edmund scrambled over the heaps of hay and straw which lay upon the floor and never slackened his haste until he found himself hidden from view behind the stack in the further-most corner of the loft.  Barely had he succeeded in ensconcing himself there, when footsteps were heard ascending the ladder, and a moment later a sharp knocking at the door announced to the only too conscious conspirators that the landlord was waiting to enter.

“Halloa,” shouted the ostler, as he stamped upon the floor with his fork, to convey the impression that he was busily engaged, at work.  “You can’t get in here, I’ve got my work to do.”

Edmund was astonished at the cool impudence of his friend, and he lifted his head to accord him a nod of approval, but a bundle of straw which the ostler purposely tossed at him from the other side of the room made him quickly withdraw his cranium again into the shelter.

“Let me in, I say,” shouted a voice from below.  “You knave, let me in, I tell you.”

The ostler had played his little game, and, having sheltered his companion, he now anxiously awaited the result.  Glancing round to see that Edmund was completely buried from sight, he dropped upon his knees, and moving the catch on one side he slowly raised the door.

“You knave! you villain!” exclaimed his irate master, as he stepped into the room.  “Wasting your time in looking at puppet-shows.  How dare you, sir; how dare you?  Get you gone, sirrah!” and he gave him a kick which considerably accelerated the speed with which he disappeared below.

Having thus satisfactorily vented his displeasure, his brow relaxed and he turned to the baron and Sir Thomas and conducted them to a seat so lately vacated by the guilty pair, with an urbanity which looked positively impossible to ruffle.

“You see, my lord, there is a seat ready provided,” he exclaimed, as he pointed to the bale of hay which stood beside the wall.  “Perhaps your lordships will be pleased to seat yourself on that?  I’ll warrant me ’tis clean enough, for I espied the rogue sitting on it.”

Sir George Vernon, nothing loth, accepted the proffered seat.

“I will reach another bundle down for you,” continued the loquacious innkeeper, turning to the younger knight.  “I will get you one of a convenient size; most of them are far too big to be comfortable, I fear, but I have them in all shapes and sizes; you shall be made comfortable in a trice, my lord.”