Chapter X. How I Swore to the Blood-Brotherhood
　　I remember the moon was very bright as, reaching the end of a grassy lane (or rather cart-track) I saw before me a small, snug- seeming tavern with a board over the door, whereon were the words:
　　YE PECK OF MALT
　　BY
　　JOEL BYM.
　　And looking the place over, from trim, white steps before the door to trim thatched roof, I marvelled at its air of prosperity; for here it stood, so far removed from road and bye-road, so apparently away from all habitation, and so lost and hid by trees (it standing within a little copse) that it was great wonder any customer should ever find his way hither.
　　The place was very quiet, not a light showed anywhere and the door was fast shut, which was nothing strange, for the hour was late. Stepping up to the door I knocked loudly thereon with my cudgel, at first without effect, but having repeated the summons, a voice from within hailed me gruffly:
　　"Who knocks?"
　　"'The Faithful Friend!'" says I. At this, the door swung suddenly open and a lanthorn was thrust into my face, whereupon I fell back a step, dazzled; then gradually, beyond this glare, I made out a dark shape blocking the doorway, a great fellow, so prodigiously hairy of head and face that little was there to see of features, save two round eyes and a great, hooked nose.
　　"And who d'ye seek, Faithful Friend?" says he.
　　"Master Adam Penfeather."
　　"Why then, Faithful Friend, heave ahead!" says he, and, making way for me to enter, closed the door (the which I noticed was mighty stout and strong) and, having locked and bolted it, barred it with a stout iron set into massy sockets in either wall.
　　"You go mighty secure!" says I.
　　"Cock," quoth the giant, eyeing me over slowly, "Cock, be ye a cackler--because if so be you do cackle overly here's we as won't love ye no whit, my cock."
　　"Good!" says I, returning his look. "I seek no man's love!"
　　"Cock," quoth he, plunging huge fist into his beard and giving it a tug, "I begin to love ye better nor I thought! This way, cock!" Herewith he led me along a wide, flagged passage and up a broad stair with massy, carven handrail; and as I went I saw the place was much bigger than I had deemed it, the walls, too, were panelled, and I judged it had once formed part of a noble house. At last we reached a door whereon the fellow knocked softly, and so presently ushered me into a fair chamber lit by wax candles; and here, seated at a table with papers before him and a pen in his fingers, sat Master Adam Penfeather.
　　"Ha, shipmate," says he, motioning to a chair, "you be something earlier than I expected. Suffer me to make an end o' this business--sit ye, comrade, sit! As for you, Bo'sun, have up a flask o' the Spanish wine--the black seal!"
　　"Aye, cap'n!" says he, and seizing a fistful of hair above his eyebrow, strode away, closing the door behind him.
　　Now beholding Penfeather as he bent to his writing--the lean, aquiline face of him so smooth and youthful in contrast to his silver hair--I was struck by his changed look; indeed he seemed some bookish student rather than the lawless rover I had thought him, despite the pistols at his elbow and the long rapier that dangled at his chair-back; moreover there was about him also an air of latent power I had not noticed ere this.
　　At length, having made an end of his writing, he got up and stretched himself:
　　"So, shipmate, art ready to swear the blood-fellowship wi' me?"