yon informer would have you believe is a vile heretic, has nursed him like his own mother, and brought him back from the very jaws of death.  And is she who has done a service that royal Henry will one day thank her for publicly (for this pallid youth is as a brother in love to young Edward, and his especial charge to us till he comes again to claim him and bestow his well-earned knighthood upon him)—­is she to suffer from the unproven charges of a base spy and Yorkist tool like yon fellow there, who would have betrayed his own king’s son to death?  Away with such a fellow from the earth, I say; and let those who have sheltered England’s heir, and rescued this bold youth from worse than death—­let them, I say, live in peace and honour for the service they have done their country!  For I wot that when young Edward comes in his own proper state again, his first care will be for those who befriended him in his hour of need, his first chastisement against those who have done aught to harm them, if they be still cumbering the earth.”

And with that the usually jovial brother, moved now by a great access of wrath, which had given him unwonted eloquence, pointed a finger significantly at the trembling peddler; and Jack, who held him by the collar, gave him a shake and said: 

“Give me leave to carry him to the village green and tell the good folks there the tale, and I warrant that he will not cumber the ground much longer.”

“Do with him as you will,” said the tall monk, “he is no charge of mine; and if all be true that is said, he well deserves his fate.”

The peddler was borne away, crying and entreating, and before an hour had passed, his dead body was hanging on an oak tree nigh to the blacksmith’s forge—­a warning to all informers; and when he had gone the tall monk turned to Paul with a more benign air, and laid his hand upon his head as he said: 

“Thou art a stanch lad; and for their care to thee these honest folks deserve the gratitude of the Church.  I believe none of the accusations of that lewd fellow.  I trow this is a godly house, where the Lord is rightly honoured in His holy ordinances.”

“That indeed is so,” answered Paul fervently.

The visitors departed well satisfied; whilst Paul heaved a great sigh of relief, and wondered if he had in any way sinned by thought or word or deed.  But his conscience was clear; he could not see that there was sin in reading holy words from God’s own Book.  Such matters of dispute were too hard for him, and he closed his tired eyes and was soon sound asleep.  He saw the great Bible no more whilst he remained beneath that roof; but many of its words were engraved upon his heart, and were a guide to his steps and a light to his path throughout his subsequent life.

“You have saved us from a great peril this day, Paul,” said the farmer that night, with a moisture in his eyes and a gravity upon his jolly face.  “If we have given shelter and protection to you, your protection of us has been equally great.  You must make this your home, my boy, so long as you need one.”