"Silence!" he cried presently. "This yeoman's tongue is as sharp as his
shafts. I am pierced. Let us hear whom he will hit next."
"You again, Sire, I think," went on Dick, "because, after the fashion of
kings, you are unjust. You praise me for my shooting, whereas you should
praise God, seeing that it is no merit of mine, but a gift He gave me at
my birth in place of much which He withheld. Moreover, my master there,"
and he pointed to Hugh, "who has just done you better service than
hitting a clout in the red and a dow beneath the wing, you forget
altogether, though I tell you he can shoot almost as well as I, for I
taught him."
"Dick, Dick!" broke in Hugh in an agony of shame. Taking no heed, Dick
went on imperturbably: "And is the best man with a sword in Suffolk, as
the ghost of John Clavering knows to-day. Lastly, Sire, you send this
master of mine upon a certain business where straight arrows may be
wanted as well as sharp swords, and yet you'd keep me here whittling
them out of ashwood, who, if I could have had my will, would have been
on the road these two hours gone. Is that a king's wisdom?"
"By St. George!" exclaimed Edward, "I think that I should make you
councillor as well as fletcher, since without doubt, man, you have a
bitter wit, and, what is more rare, do not fear to speak the truth as
you see it. Moreover, in this matter, you see it well.
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