The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about
him, and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he
was able to write these words upon a corner of the paper:
My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man
is ded? But let me rede you, marry not.
JON AMEND-ALL.
He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then Lawless,
who had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some
flickering returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow
from below his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place.
The sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to
the dead, drew a cry of horror from young Shelton; but the old
outlaw only laughed.
"Nay, I will have the credit for mine order," he hiccupped. "My
jolly boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother;" and
then, shutting his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a
precentor, he began to thunder, in a formidable voice:
"If ye should drink the clary wine" -
"Peace, sot!" cried Dick, and thrust him hard against the wall.
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