"They are now
having a goodly feast within, for I smelled the steam of a boiled pullet
just now. The landlady sayeth they come from Fountain Abbey, in
Yorkshire, and go to Lincoln on matters of business."
"They are a merry couple," said the Tinker, "for one is as lean as an
old wife's spindle, and the other as fat as a suet pudding."
"Talking of fatness," said the Peddler, "thou thyself lookest none too
ill-fed, holy friar."
"Nay, truly," said Little John, "thou seest in me what the holy Saint
Dunstan can do for them that serve him upon a handful of parched peas
and a trickle of cold water."
At this a great shout of laughter went up. "Truly, it is a wondrous
thing," quoth the Beggar, "I would have made my vow, to see the masterly
manner in which thou didst tuck away yon pot of ale, that thou hadst not
tasted clear water for a brace of months. Has not this same holy Saint
Dunstan taught thee a goodly song or two?"
"Why, as for that," quoth Little John, grinning, "mayhap he hath lent me
aid to learn a ditty or so."
"Then, prythee, let us hear how he hath taught thee," quoth the Tinker.
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