"something o' the wrong model, belike. Nay, Master Shelton, I am for

you," he added, getting to his oars. "A cat may look at a king. I did

but take a shot of the eye at Master Matcham."

"Sirrah, no more words," said Dick. "Bend me your back."

They were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up

and down the river. Everywhere it was enclosed with islands. Clay banks

were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and

piping. There was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters.

"My master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "I

have a shrew guess that John-a-Fenne is on the island. He bears me a

black grudge to all Sir Daniel's. How if I turned me up stream and

landed you an arrow-flight above the path? Ye were best not meddle with

John Fenne."

"How, then? is he of this company?" asked Dick.

"Nay, mum is the word," said Hugh. "But I would go up water, Dick. How

if Master Matcham came by an arrow?" and he laughed again.

"Be it so, Hugh," answered Dick.

"Look ye, then," pursued Hugh. "Sith it shall so be, unsling me your

cross-bow--so: now make it ready--good; place me a quarrel. Ay, keep it

so, and look upon me grimly."

The Black Arrow