Then hey, Willy Waddykin,
Stay, Billy Waddykin,
And let the brown ale flow free, flow free,
The beggar's the man for me_."
Robin listened till the song ended in the distance, then he also crossed
the stile into the road, but turned his toes away from where the Beggar
had gone. The road led up a gentle hill and up the hill Robin walked, a
half score or more of bags dangling about his legs. Onward he strolled
for a long time, but other adventure he found not. The road was bare of
all else but himself, as he went kicking up little clouds of dust at
each footstep; for it was noontide, the most peaceful time of all the
day, next to twilight. All the earth was silent in the restfulness of
eating time; the plowhorses stood in the furrow munching, with great
bags over their noses holding sweet food, the plowman sat under the
hedge and the plowboy also, and they, too, were munching, each one
holding a great piece of bread in one fist and a great piece of cheese
in the other.
So Robin, with all the empty road to himself, strode along whistling
merrily, his bags and pouches bobbing and dangling at his thighs.
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