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‘She wants you. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. The roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. "I'll see him fettered myself.
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