" And he
thrust his hand into his pouch for money to pay his score.
"Truly," quoth the Tinker, "without thy looks belie thee, holy friar,
the good Saint Dunstan was wise, for without such dispensation his
votary is like to ha' many a penance to make. Nay, take thy hand from
out thy pouch, brother, for thou shalt not pay this shot. Ho, landlord,
a pot of ale!"
So the ale was brought and given to Little John. Then, blowing the
froth a little way to make room for his lips, he tilted the bottom of
the pot higher and higher, till it pointed to the sky, and he had to
shut his eyes to keep the dazzle of the sunshine out of them. Then he
took the pot away, for there was nothing in it, and heaved a full deep
sigh, looking at the others with moist eyes and shaking his head
solemnly.
"Ho, landlord!" cried the Peddler, "bring this good fellow another pot
of ale, for truly it is a credit to us all to have one among us who can
empty a canakin so lustily."
So they talked among themselves merrily, until after a while quoth
Little John, "Who rideth those two nags yonder?"
"Two holy men like thee, brother," quoth the Beggar.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330