"But here, Dick, is no honour to be won.

I lie in Kettley till I have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror.

Cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king's name and custody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow.

Toss-pot and Shuttle-wit run in, but my Lord Good-Counsel sits o' one side, waiting." With that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his throat.
Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear.
"Make not a sign, I do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your charity tell me the straight way to Holywood.

Beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose." "Take the path by the windmill," answered Dick, in the same tone; "it will bring you to Till Ferry; there inquire again." And without turning his head, he fell again to eating.