It does keep on banging my
legs so. They're quite bruised."
"It's me that'll be bruised, with you punching and sticking your
fisties into my belt. Put your legs on the other side. I can't
move my sword. I might want it to fight, you know."
"Who with?" asked the boy.
"Robbers after the bales o' cloth. I shall be precious glad to get
'em safe to the town, and be back home again with whole bones. Sit
still, will you! Wriggling again! How am I to get you safe home
to your father if you keep sidling off like that? Want me to hand
you over to one of the men?"
"Yes, please," said the boy, dolefully.
"What? Don't want to ride on one of the mules, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said the boy. "I should be more comfortable sitting
on one of the packs. I'm sure aunt would have said I was to sit
there, if she had known."
"Look here, young squire," said the man, sourly; "you've too much
tongue, and you know too much what aren't good for you. Your aunt,
my old missus, says to me:
"'David,' she says, 'you are to take young Master Robin behind you
on the horse, where he can hold on by your belt, and you'll never
lose sight of him till you give him into his father the Sheriff's
hands, along with the bales of cloth; and you can tell the Sheriff
he has been a very good boy during his visit'; and now I can't.
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