'"They go over to Rye o' Thursday in the wool–wains, hid under the wool–packs. Dirk Brenzett meets them at Udimore, as before," says John.
'"Lord! What a worn, handsmooth trade it is!" says Sebastian. "I lay we are the sole two babes in the village that have not our lawful share in the venture."
'There was a full score folk below, talking like all Robertsbridge Market. We counted them by voice.
'Master John Collins pipes: "The guns for the French carrack must lie here next month. Will, when does your young fool" (me, so please you!) "come back from Lunnon?"
'"No odds," I heard Ticehurst Will answer. "Lay 'em just where you've a mind, Mus' Collins. We're all too afraid o' the Devil to mell with the tower now." And the long knave laughed.
'"Ah! 'tis easy enow for you to raise the Devil, Will," says another—Ralph Hobden of the Forge.
'"Aaa–men!" roars Sebastian, and ere I could hold him, he leaps down the stairs—won'erful devilish–like howling no bounds. He had scarce time to lay out for the nearest than they ran. Saints, how they ran! We heard them pound on the door of the Bell Tavern, and then we ran too.
'"What's next?" says Sebastian, looping up his cow–tail as he leaped the briars. "I've broke honest John's face."
'"Ride to Sir John Pelham's," I said. "He is the only one that ever stood by me."
'We rode to Brightling, and past Sir John's lodges, where the keepers would have shot at us for deer–stealers, and we had Sir John down into his Justice's chair, and when we had told him our tale and showed him the cow–hide which Sebastian wore still girt about him, he laughed till the tears ran.
'"Wel–a–well!" he says. "I'll see justice done before daylight. What's your complaint? Master Collins is my old friend."
'"He's none of mine," I cried. "When I think how he and his likes have baulked and dozened and cozened me at every turn over the church"―and I choked at the thought.
'"Ah, but ye see now they needed it for another use," says he smoothly.
'"So they did my serpentines," Sebastian cries. "I should be half across the Western Ocean by now if my guns had been ready. But they're sold to a Scotch pirate by your old friend—"
'"Where's your proof?" says Sir John, stroking his beard.
'"I broke my shins over them not an hour since, and I heard John give order where they were to be taken," says Sebastian.
'"Words! Words only," says Sir John. "Master Collins is somewhat of a liar at best."
'He carried it so gravely that, for the moment, I thought he was dipped in this secret traffick too, and that there was not an honest ironmaster in Sussex.
'"Name o' Reason!" says Sebastian, and raps with his cow–tail on the table, "whose guns are they, then?"
'"Yours, manifestly," says Sir John. "You come with the King's Order for 'em, and Master Collins casts them in his foundry. If he chooses to bring them up from Nether Forge and lay 'em out in the church–tower, why, they are e'en so much the nearer to the main road and you are saved a day's hauling. What a coil to make of a mere act of neighbourly kindness, lad!"
'"I fear I have requited him very scurvily," says Sebastian, looking at his knuckles. "But what of the demi–cannon? I could do with 'em well, but they are not in the King's Order."
'"Kindness—loving–kindness," says Sir John. "Questionless, in his zeal for the King and his love for you, John adds those two cannon as a gift. 'Tis plain as this coming daylight, ye stockfish!"
'"So it is," says Sebastian. "Oh, Sir John, Sir John, why did you never use the sea? You are lost ashore." And he looked on him with great love.
'"I do my best in my station." Sir John strokes his beard again and rolls forth his deep drumming Justice's voice thus: "But—suffer me!—you two lads, on some midnight frolic into which I probe not, roystering around the taverns, surprise Master Collins at his"—he thinks a moment—"at his good deeds done by stealth. Ye surprise him, I say, cruelly."
'"Truth, Sir John. If you had seen him run!" says Sebastian.
'"On this you ride breakneck to me with a tale of pirates, and wool–wains, and cow–hides, which, though it hath moved my mirth as a man, offendeth my reason as a magistrate. So I will e'en accompany you back to the tower with, perhaps, some few of my own people, and three–four wagons, and I'll be your warrant that Master John Collins will freely give you your guns and your demi–cannon, Master Sebastian." He breaks into his proper voice—"I warned the old tod and his neighbours long ago that they'd come to trouble with their side–sellings and bye–dealings; but we cannot have half Sussex hanged for a little gun–running. Are ye content, lads?"
'"I'd commit any treason for two demi–cannon," said Sebastian, and rubs his hands.
'"Ye have just compounded with rank treason–felony for the same bribe," says Sir John. "Wherefore to horse, and get the guns."'
'But Master Collins meant the guns for Sir Andrew Barton all along, didn't he?' said Dan.
'Questionless, that he did,' said Hal. 'But he lost them. We poured into the village on the red edge of dawn, Sir John horsed, in half–armour, his pennon flying; behind him thirty stout Brightling knaves, five abreast; behind them four wool–wains, and behind them four trumpets to triumph over the jest, blowing: Our King went forth to Normandie. When we halted and rolled the ringing guns out of the tower, 'twas for all the world like Friar Roger's picture of the French siege in the Queen's Missal–book.'
'And what did we—I mean, what did our village do?' said Dan.
'Oh! Bore it nobly—nobly,' cried Hal. 'Though they had tricked me, I was proud of them. They came out of their housen, looked at that little army as though it had been a post, and went their shut–mouthed way. Never a sign! Never a word! They'd ha' perished sooner than let Brightling overcrow us. Even that villain, Ticehurst Will, coming out of the Bell for his morning ale, he all but runs under Sir John's horse.
'"'Ware, Sirrah Devil!" cries Sir John, reining back.
'"Oh!" says Will. "Market–day, is it? And all the bullocks from Brightling here?"
'I spared him his belting for that—the brazen knave!
'But John Collins was our masterpiece! He happened along–street (his jaw tied up where Sebastian had clouted him) when we were trundling the first demi–cannon through the lych–gate.
'"I reckon you'll find her middlin' heavy," he says. "If you've a mind to pay, I'll loan ye my timber–tug. She won't lie easy on ary wool–wain."
'That was the one time I ever saw Sebastian taken flat aback. He opened and shut his mouth, fishy–like.
'"No offence," says Master John. "You've got her reasonable good cheap. I thought ye might not grudge me a groat if I helped move her." Ah, he was a masterpiece! They say that morning's work cost our John two hundred pounds, and he never winked an eyelid, not even when he saw the guns all carted off to Lewes.'
'Neither then nor later?' said Puck.
'Once. 'Twas after he gave St Barnabas' the new chime of bells. (Oh, there was nothing the Collinses, or the Hayes, or the Fowles, or the Fenners would not do for the church then! "Ask and have" was their song.) We had rung 'em in, and he was in the tower with Black Nick Fowle, that gave us our rood–screen. The old man pinches the bell–rope one hand and scratches his neck with t'other. "Sooner she was pulling yon clapper than my neck, he says. That was all! That was Sussex—seely Sussex for everlastin'!'
'And what happened after?' said Una.
'I went back into England,' said Hal, slowly. 'I'd had my lesson against pride. But they tell me I left St Barnabas' a jewel—justabout a jewel! Wel–a–well! 'Twas done for and among my own people, and—Father Roger was right—I never knew such trouble or such triumph since. That's the nature o' things. A dear—dear land.' He dropped his chin on his chest.