My father bids me not trouble my head over things too hard for me.

I tend the poultry and the young calves, and let the question of kings alone." The traveller smiled at this; but his companion was evidently something of a talker, and endued with her full share of feminine curiosity.
"I would gladly know your name, fair sir," she said shyly, "for I shall have to present you to my good father ere long." "My name is Paul Stukely," he answered.

"I am the youngest and only surviving son of one of King Henry's knights and loyal adherents.
My parents are both dead, and I have long been alone in the world.
I have little to call my own save my good horse and trusty weapons.
But I sometimes hope that there may be better days in store, if the rightful king gets back his own again." At that moment the travellers were passing by the village forge, and a bright gleam of light streamed across their path, revealing to a brawny young fellow at the door the weary horse and its double burden.

He came one step nearer, and exclaimed: "Why, Joan, what means this?
You riding pillion fashion with a stranger! What, in the name of all the saints, has befallen you ?" Sultan had paused of his own accord at the forge, and Joan was eagerly telling her story to a little crowd of listeners, and making so much capital out of the heroism of her gallant rescuer that all eyes were turned upon the battered stranger; and whilst deep curses went up from the lips of many of the men as they heard of the last attempt of the Black Robbers upon one of their own village maidens, equal meed of praise and thanks was showered upon Paul, who leaned over his saddlebow in an attitude that bespoke exhaustion, though he answered all questions, and thanked the good people for their kindly reception of him, whilst trying to make light of his own prowess, and to give the credit of their final escape to Joan, to whom, indeed, it was due.
But the elder smith, John Ives, pushed his way through the little group round the black horse, and scattered them right and left.
"Good neighbours," he said, "can you not see that this gentleman is weary and wounded, and that his good horse is like to drop as he stands?
"Go to, Will.

Lift down the maid, and lead her yourself up to Figeon's.