The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner. “Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. And if he would, I would not subject him to the annoyance. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house.
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