There was no time to waste in conjecture.
Grim rushed from his dwelling. Convinced that some catastrophe was at
hand, his intention was to climb the hill behind his little hovel, in
order to reconnoitre the premises with greater facility. Sallying forth,
he saw numbers of the peasantry on the same errand. All was bustle and
inquiry; each giving his neighbour credit for the possession of some
intelligence whereby the mystery might be unravelled.
"Sir William cannot have returned!" said one.
"No," replied another, "or the buck would soon butt the Welshman out of
his stall."
"Ha, ha!" said a neighbouring gossip, "those horns are big enough,"
pointing to the device upon the banner--a buck _passant_.
As they drew nearer to the great gate the bell had ceased, when suddenly
appeared, perched on a corner of the tower, the well-known form of "Daft
Humpy." He threw up his cap, caught it, and whirled it round his head
with every demonstration of joyous extravagance. "Hurrah!" shouted he,
with a distinct and shrill enunciation, which might be heard to the very
extremities of the crowd. "Hurrah for Sir William Bradshaigh!--he is
come again!--hurrah, neighbours!--in, in!"
He ran round the battlements with unceasing vociferation.
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