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"This is no-man's land. The idol hath eaten up his worshippers like Bel."

"By Zembletee! Better be off at once and find a lodging. I've had enough of sleeping in ditches."

"And of drinking ditchwater. To-night we'll drink lambswool and sleep in beds—the King of Spain will not land to-night."

"Nor to-morrow night, by Mack! nor any night this year nor any year. We can go back to our wives."

"Hooray!" cried some; "Cuckoo!" cried others, and they all rode off towards Vinehall, singing an old song that soon would die:

"Com'st thou not from Walsingham? That holy land . . ."

§ II

They would no doubt have attracted more attention had the men at Holly Crouch Yard been working as usual in the fields. But as it happened, everyone to-day was busy with the new house that Thomas Harman of Holly Crouch was building for his eldest son Oliver, down at the south-west horn of his land, beside the Hastings road. Young Oliver was to be married at the end of the month, and if everyone did not work hard his house would not be ready for him. There was a clear week now before harvest, and it seemed a good opportunity for the whole farm to set to the building: all except old William Luck, of course, who was past his work, though they still kept him on the farm, since he had worked from childhood for Thomas Harman and his father.