“Well, then, what are they waiting for?
Why don’t they leave? Nobody’s hindering.
Good land, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones,
I’m sure.”
“Leave, is it? Oh, give thyself easement
as to that. They dream not of it, no, not they.
They wait to yield them.”
“Come—really, is that ’sooth’—as
you people say? If they want to, why don’t
they?”
“It would like them much; but an ye wot how
dragons are esteemed, ye would not hold them blamable.
They fear to come.”
“Well, then, suppose I go to them instead, and—”
“Ah, wit ye well they would not abide your coming.
I will go.”
And she did. She was a handy person to have
along on a raid. I would have considered this
a doubtful errand, myself. I presently saw the
knights riding away, and Sandy coming back. That
was a relief. I judged she had somehow failed
to get the first innings —I mean in the
conversation; otherwise the interview wouldn’t
have been so short. But it turned out that she
had managed the business well; in fact, admirably.
She said that when she told those people I was The
Boss, it hit them where they lived: “smote
them sore with fear and dread” was her word;
and then they were ready to put up with anything she
might require. So she swore them to appear at
Arthur’s court within two days and yield them,
with horse and harness, and be my knights henceforth,
and subject to my command. How much better she
managed that thing than I should have done it myself!
She was a daisy.
SANDY’S TALE
“And so I’m proprietor of some knights,”
said I, as we rode off. “Who would ever
have supposed that I should live to list up assets
of that sort. I shan’t know what to do
with them; unless I raffle them off. How many
of them are there, Sandy?”
“Seven, please you, sir, and their squires.”
“It is a good haul. Who are they?
Where do they hang out?”
“Where do they hang out?”
“Yes, where do they live?”
“Ah, I understood thee not. That will
I tell eftsoons.” Then she said musingly,
and softly, turning the words daintily over her tongue:
“Hang they out—hang they out—where
hang—where do they hang out; eh, right
so; where do they hang out. Of a truth the phrase
hath a fair and winsome grace, and is prettily worded
withal. I will repeat it anon and anon in mine
idlesse, whereby I may peradventure learn it.
Where do they hang out. Even so! already it
falleth trippingly from my tongue, and forasmuch as—”
“Don’t forget the cowboys, Sandy.”
“Cowboys?”
“Yes; the knights, you know: You were going
to tell me about them. A while back, you remember.
Figuratively speaking, game’s called.”
“Game—”
“Yes, yes, yes! Go to the bat. I
mean, get to work on your statistics, and don’t
burn so much kindling getting your fire started.
Tell me about the knights.”
