"I'm glad to tell you, Noll."

"I'm glad to hear it, Jack. Come back, for Kate's sake."

The good fellow bubbled with joy at the meaning in my words, and we
continued our way up the entry, intending a detour where we could talk in
quiet, but before we had got out of the glare of the torches, he stopped
me, looked searchingly at me and said, "Old Noll, there's more in your
head now than Virgil." This confirmed my suspicion that Master Jack Dobson
was learning in his way more than I had learned in mine.

"Farming," said I. "Tell me why Brocton is a beast."

"He thinks every pretty woman a butterfly for his filthy fingers to crush
the beauty out of. But if he rolls his beast's tongue round one name,
either he or I will want that ferryman chap. What's his name?"

"Charon," said I, forgetting to tease him.

"That's him, Charon, I'm sure you're right this time. I wasn't sure about
the sulky old boy in the tent. I always thought Iphi-something was the one
that got his throat--Abram and Isaac sort of tale without any ram and
thicket at the end of it--but of course you'll be right."

"And what sort of dragoons are you cornet of?" I asked.

"They give me the bats, Noll. There's about two hundred town-sweepings,
not worth powder and shot, who want tying on their horses, and hardly know
butt from bayonet, and there's another two hundred better men, got