Off we go, we
three." So saying, he swung his stout staff over his shoulder and
trudged off, measuring his pace with that of the two nags.
The two brothers glowered at Little John when he so pushed himself
betwixt them, then they drew as far away from him as they could, so that
the yeoman walked in the middle of the road, while they rode on the
footpath on either side of the way. As they so went away, the Tinker,
the Peddler, and the Beggar ran skipping out into the middle of the
highway, each with a pot in his hand, and looked after them laughing.
While they were in sight of those at the inn, the brothers walked their
horses soberly, not caring to make ill matters worse by seeming to run
away from Little John, for they could not but think how it would sound
in folks' ears when they heard how the brethren of Fountain Abbey
scampered away from a strolling friar, like the Ugly One, when the
blessed Saint Dunstan loosed his nose from the red-hot tongs where he
had held it fast; but when they had crossed the crest of the hill and
the inn was lost to sight, quoth the fat Brother to the thin Brother,
"Brother Ambrose, had we not better mend our pace?"
"Why truly, gossip," spoke up Little John, "methinks it would be well to
boil our pot a little faster, for the day is passing on.
Pages:
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336