“Well,” said I, “no doubt but I am, and all the better for me.  Although I heard a deal of them; for everybody was talking, and ready to come to blows; if only it could be done without danger.  But one said this, and one said that; and they talked so much about Birminghams, and Tantivies, and Whigs and Tories, and Protestant flails and such like, that I was only too glad to have my glass and clink my spoon for answer.”

“Right, John, thou art right as usual.  Let the King go his own gait.  He hath too many mistresses to be ever England’s master.  Nobody need fear him, for he is not like his father:  he will have his own way, ’tis true, but without stopping other folk of theirs:  and well he knows what women are, for he never asks them questions.  Now heard you much in London town about the Duke of Monmouth?”

“Not so very much,” I answered; “not half so much as in Devonshire:  only that he was a hearty man, and a very handsome one, and now was banished by the Tories; and most people wished he was coming back, instead of the Duke of York, who was trying boots in Scotland.”

“Things are changed since you were in town.  The Whigs are getting up again, through the folly of the Tories killing poor Lord Russell; and now this Master Sidney (if my Lord condemns him) will make it worse again.  There is much disaffection everywhere, and it must grow to an outbreak.  The King hath many troops in London, and meaneth to bring more from Tangier; but he cannot command these country places; and the trained bands cannot help him much, even if they would.  Now, do you understand me, John?”

“In truth, not I. I see not what Tangier hath to do with Exmoor; nor the Duke of Monmouth with Jeremy Stickles.”

“Thou great clod, put it the other way.  Jeremy Stickles may have much to do about the Duke of Monmouth.  The Whigs having failed of Exclusion, and having been punished bitterly for the blood they shed, are ripe for any violence.  And the turn of the balance is now to them.  See-saw is the fashion of England always; and the Whigs will soon be the top-sawyers.”

“But,” said I, still more confused, “‘The King is the top-sawyer,’ according to our proverb.  How then can the Whigs be?”

“Thou art a hopeless ass, John.  Better to sew with a chestnut than to teach thee the constitution.  Let it be so, let it be.  I have seen a boy of five years old more apt at politics than thou.  Nay, look not offended, lad.  It is my fault for being over-deep to thee.  I should have considered thy intellect.”

“Nay, Master Jeremy, make no apologies.  It is I that should excuse myself; but, God knows, I have no politics.”

“Stick to that, my lad,” he answered; “so shalt thou die easier.  Now, in ten words (without parties, or trying thy poor brain too much), I am here to watch the gathering of a secret plot, not so much against the King as against the due succession.”

“Now I understand at last.  But, Master Stickles, you might have said all that an hour ago almost.”