he forgot his cloth and put his arms sudden about her and kist her. And
the men roared shameful, for the one who told it said she knocked him
down on his knees and held him there with one hand on his shoulder
while she boxed his face from side to side till his nose bled in
streams, and cried she (Oh, Tom!) 'Damn thy fat head,' each time she
struck him 'if that is thy way to convert women, this is my way to
convert men.' And he could scarce crawl away weeping, his blood and
tears streeming down his face, which shows she hath not a reverence
even for the cloth itself. Dere brother Thomas, if you should meet her
in England when you come back from the wars, and she is a woman, I do
pray you will not be like the other gentlemen and be so silly as to
praise her, for such creatures should not be encorragd."

Throughout the reading of the letter uproarious shouts of laughter had
burst forth at almost every sentence, and when he had finished the
epistle, little Tantillion fell forward, his face on his arms on the
table, his mirth almost choking him, while the others leaned back and
roared. 'Twas only Roxholm who was not overcome, the story not seeming
so comical to him as to the others, and yet there were points at which
he himself could not help but laugh.

"'Damn thy fat head,'" shrieked Tom Tantillion, "'If that is thy way to
convert women, this is mine to convert men.' Oh, Lord! I think I see
the parson!"

"With his fat, slapped face and his streaming eyes and bloody nose!"
shouted Langford.

"Serve him damn right!" said Tantillion, sobering and wiping his own
eyes. "To put their heads into such hornets' nests would make a lot of