Thus it was that Myles, with an eye to open war with the bachelors, gathered a following to his support. It was some little while before matters were brought to a crisis—a week or ten days. Perhaps even Myles had no great desire to hasten matters. He knew that whenever war was declared, he himself would have to bear the brunt of the battle, and even the bravest man hesitates before deliberately thrusting himself into a fight.
 
One morning Myles and Gascoyne and Wilkes sat under the shade of two trees, between which was a board nailed to the trunks, making a rude bench—always a favorite lounging-place for the lads in idle moments. Myles was polishing his bascinet with lard and wood-ashes, rubbing the metal with a piece of leather, and wiping it clean with a fustian rag. The other two, who had just been relieved from household duty, lay at length idly looking on.
 
Just then one of the smaller pages, a boy of twelve or thirteen, by name Robin Ingoldsby, crossed the court. He had been crying; his face was red and blubbered, and his body was still shaken with convulsive sniffs.
 
Myles looked up. “Come hither, Robin,” he called from where he sat. “What is to do?”
 
The little fellow came slowly up to where the three rested in the shade. “Mowbray beat me with a strap,” said he, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes, and catching his breath at the recollection.
 
“Beat thee, didst say?” said Myles, drawing his brows together. “Why did he beat thee?”
 
“Because,” said Robin, “I tarried overlong in fetching a pot of beer from the buttery for him and Wyatt.” Then, with a boy's sudden and easy quickness in forgetting past troubles, “Tell me, Falworth,” said he, “when wilt thou give me that knife thou promised me—the one thou break the blade of yesterday?”
 
“I know not,” said Myles, bluntly, vexed that the boy did not take the disgrace of his beating more to heart. “Some time soon, mayhap. Me thinks thou shouldst think more of thy beating than of a broken knife. Now get thee gone to thy business.”
 
The youngster lingered for a moment or two watching Myles at his work. “What is that on the leather scrap, Falworth?” said he, curiously.
 
“Lard and ashes,” said Myles, testily. “Get thee gone, I say, or I will crack thy head for thee;” and he picked up a block of wood, with a threatening gesture.
 
The youngster made a hideous grimace, and then scurried away, ducking his head, lest in spite of Myles's well-known good-nature the block should come whizzing after him.
 
“Hear ye that now!” cried Myles, flinging down the block again and turning to his two friends. “Beaten with straps because, forsooth, he would not fetch and carry quickly enough to please the haste of these bachelors. Oh, this passeth patience, and I for one will bear it no longer.”
 
“Nay, Myles,” said Gascoyne, soothingly, “the little imp is as lazy as a dormouse and as mischievous as a monkey. I'll warrant the hiding was his due, and that more of the like would do him good.”
 
“Why, how dost thou talk, Francis!” said Myles, turning ............