’"Truth, Sir John.  If you had seen him run!” says Sebastian.

’"On this you ride breakneck to me with a tale of pirates, and wool-wains, and cow-hides, which, though it hath moved my mirth as a man, offendeth my reason as a magistrate.  So I will e’en accompany you back to the tower with, perhaps, some few of my own people, and three-four wagons, and I’ll be your warrant that Master John Collins will freely give you your guns and your demi-cannon, Master Sebastian.”  He breaks into his proper voice—­“I warned the old tod and his neighbours long ago that they’d come to trouble with their side-sellings and bye-dealings; but we cannot have half Sussex hanged for a little gun-running.  Are ye content, lads?”

’"I’d commit any treason for two demi-cannon,” said Sebastian, and rubs his hands.

’"Ye have just compounded with rank treason-felony for the same bribe,” says Sir John.  “Wherefore to horse, and get the guns."’

’But Master Collins meant the guns for Sir Andrew Barton all along, didn’t he?’ said Dan.

‘Questionless, that he did,’ said Hal.  ’But he lost them.  We poured into the village on the red edge of dawn, Sir John horsed, in half-armour, his pennon flying; behind him thirty stout Brightling knaves, five abreast; behind them four wool-wains, and behind them four trumpets to triumph over the jest, blowing:  Our King went forth to Normandie.  When we halted and rolled the ringing guns out of the tower, ’twas for all the world like Friar Roger’s picture of the French siege in the Queen’s Missal-book.’

‘And what did we—­I mean, what did our village do?’ said Dan.

‘Oh!  Bore it nobly—­nobly,’ cried Hal.  ’Though they had tricked me, I was proud of them.  They came out of their housen, looked at that little army as though it had been a post, and went their shut-mouthed way.  Never a sign!  Never a word!  They’d ha’ perished sooner than let Brightling overcrow us.  Even that villain, Ticehurst Will, coming out of the Bell for his morning ale, he all but runs under Sir John’s horse.

’"’Ware, Sirrah Devil!” cries Sir John, reining back.

’"Oh!” says Will.  “Market-day, is it?  And all the bullocks from Brightling here?”

’I spared him his belting for that—­the brazen knave!

’But John Collins was our masterpiece!  He happened along-street (his jaw tied up where Sebastian had clouted him) when we were trundling the first demi-cannon through the lych-gate.

‘"I reckon you’ll find her middlin’ heavy,” he says.  “If you’ve a mind to pay, I’ll loan ye my timber-tug.  She won’t lie easy on ary wool-wain.”

’That was the one time I ever saw Sebastian taken flat aback.  He opened and shut his mouth, fishy-like.

’"No offence,” says Master John.  “You’ve got her reasonable good cheap.  I thought ye might not grudge me a groat if I helped move her.”  Ah, he was a masterpiece!  They say that morning’s work cost our John two hundred pounds, and he never winked an eyelid, not even when he saw the guns all carted off to Lewes.’