me his house, if he wished. But I hoped that he would not. It appeared
that when the news of Sir Edmund's death had come, there had been
something of a to-do in the village, of no great signification; for it
was no more than a few young men who marched up and down shouting
together--as such yokels will, upon the smallest excuse; and one of them
had cried out at the gate of Hare Street House. At Barkway there had
been more of a business; for there they had burnt an effigy of the Pope
in the churchyard; and the parson--who was a stout Churchman--had made a
speech upon it. However, this had played upon Cousin Tom's fears, and he
had fortified the house with bolts, and slept with a pistol by his bed.

I told him that same night--not indeed all that happened to me; but
enough of it to satisfy him. I said that I had been a good deal at the
Jesuits' lodgings; and at the trial of the three; and that a fellow had
attempted to follow me home; but that I had thrown him off.

Cousin Tom had the pipe from his mouth and was holding it in his hand,
by the time I had done.

"Now, Cousin," I said, "if you think I am anything of a danger to the
house, you have but to say the word, and I will be off. On the other
hand, I and my man might be of some small service to you if it came to a
brawl."

"You threw him off?" asked Cousin Tom.

"It was at Whitehall--" I began; and then I stopped: for I had not
intended to speak of the King.

"Oho!" said Cousin Tom. "Then you have been at Whitehall again?"