“‘Fourthly,’” recited Mr. Carroll, with an exceeding sober face, “’Fourthly, that we will not kill, or suffer to be killed, or sell, or dispose to any person whom we have reason to believe intends to kill, any ewe-lamb that shall be weaned before the first day of May, in any year during the time aforesaid.’  Have you ever heard anything of that sound, Mr. Chipchase?”

Mr. Chipchase had.  And if their honours pleased, he had a defence to make, if their honours would but listen.  And if their honours but knew, he was as good a patriot as any in the province, and sold his wool to Peter Psalter, and he wore the homespun in winter.  Then Mr. Carroll drew a paper from his pocket, and began to read:  “Mr. Thomas Hincks, personally known to me, deposeth and saith,—­”

Master Chipchase’s knees gave from under him.

“And your honours please,” he cried piteously, “I killed the lamb, but ’twas at Mr. Grafton Carvel’s order, who was in town with his Excellency.” (Here Mr. Swain and the captain glanced significantly at me.) “And I lose Mr. Carvel’s custom, there is twelve pounds odd gone a year, your honours.  And I am a poor man, sirs.”

“Who is it owns your shop, my man?” asks Mr. Bordley, very sternly.

“Oh, I beg your honours will not have me put out—­”

The wailing of his voice had drawn a crowd of idlers and brother shopkeepers, who seemed vastly to enjoy the knave’s discomfiture.  Amongst them I recognized my old acquaintance, Weld, now a rival butcher.  He pushed forward boldly.

“And your honours please,” said he, “he has sold lamb to half the Tory gentry in Annapolis.”

“A lie!” cried Chipchase; “a lie, as God hears me!”

Now Captain Clapsaddle was one who carried his loves and his hatreds to the grave, and he had never liked Weld since the day, six years gone by, he had sent me into the Ship tavern.  And when Weld heard the captain’s voice he slunk away without a word.

“Have a care, Master Weld,” says he, in a quiet tone that boded no good; “there is more evidence against you than you will like.”

Master Chipchase, after being frightened almost out of his senses, was pardoned this once by Captain Daniel’s influence.  We went thence to Mr. Hildreth’s shop; he was suspected of having got tea out of a South River snow; then to Mr. Jackson’s; and so on.  ’Twas after two when we got back to the Coffee House, and sat down to as good a dinner as Mr. Claude could prepare.  “And now,” cried Colonel Lloyd, “we shall have your adventures, Richard.  I would that your uncle were here to listen to them,” he added dryly.

I recited them very much as I had done the night before, and I warrant you, my dears, that they listened with more zest and eagerness than did Mr. Walpole.  But they were all shrewd men, and kept their suspicions, if they had any, to themselves.  Captain Daniel would have me omit nothing,—­my intimacy with Mr. Fox, the speech at Brooks’s Club, and the riding-match at Hyde Park.