A tale of the days of Good Queen Anne. Across the pages flit the Queen, the great Duke of Marlborough, and, almost the last of his ill-fated race, James Stuart the Old Pretender--all these serve but for a background against which is shown as gallant a romance of villainy, misunderstanding, and high-hearted love as ever made crowns and kingdoms seem of little worth.
done now, and--" Benjamin went down on his back in the mud with Harry on top of him. "Ugh! What's the game, bully?"
"I think you call it the high toby," said Harry delicately and began to sing to the tune of a catch:
"Oh, three merry men, three merry men, three highwaymen were we. You in a quag and he on a nag and I on top of the three."
"Lord love you, are you on the road?" Benjamin cried. "Why, rot you, did you want a share then? You should ha' said so, bully. Come on now, my dear, let's up. We do be gentlemen and share fair enough."
"I warrant you I am having my share," Harry laughed; "and I like it very well. But oh, Benjamin, there would have been nought to share if I had not come up. No fun at all, Benjamin." He wrenched the pistol away. "'Tis I have made the business joyous. You are a dull fellow by yourself."
"Rot you," said Benjamin frankly. "When Ned comes back he'll shoot you like vermin."
On which they both heard horses, and both, according to their abili