"As you will," he answered without heat. "We 're a'most there."
Soon a lighted window of the highwayman's humble home shone out in the darkness, and a moment later Jem Bottles was knocking at the door. It was immediately opened, and he stalked in with his blood-marks still upon his face. There was a great outcry in a feminine voice, and a large woman rushed forward and flung her arms about the highwayman.
"Oh, Jemmie, my son, my son!" she screamed, "whatever have they done to ye this time?"
"Silence, mother dear," said Bottles. "'T is nought but a wind-broken bough fallen on my head. Have you no manners? Do you not see the gentleman waiting to enter and warm himself?"
The woman turned upon me, alarmed, but fiery and defiant. After a moment's scrutiny she demanded:
"Oh, ho, and the gentleman had nought to do of course with my Jem's broken head?"
"'T is a priest but newly arrived from his native island of Asia," said Bottles piously; "and it ill beseems you, mother dear, to be haggling when you might be getting the holy man and I some supper."
"True, Jemmie, my own," responded Dame Bottles. "But there are so many rogues abroad that you must forgive your old mother if she grow often affrighted that her good Jemmie has been misled." She turned to me. "Pardon, my good gentleman," she said almost in tears. "Ye little know what it is to be the mother of a high-spirited boy."
"I can truthfully say that I do not, Dame Bottles," said I, with one of my father's French bows. She was
