is better, albeit a stitch or two will not come amiss in it,
likewise . . . THESE be very good and sound, and will keep his
small feet warm and dry–an odd new thing to him, belike, since he
has doubtless been used to foot it bare, winters and summers the
same . . . Would thread were bread, seeing one getteth a year’s
sufficiency for a farthing, and such a brave big needle without
cost, for mere love. Now shall I have the demon’s own time to
thread it!”
And so he had. He did as men have always done, and probably
always will do, to the end of time–held the needle still, and
tried to thrust the thread through the eye, which is the opposite
of a woman’s way. Time and time again the thread missed the mark,
going sometimes on one side of the needle, sometimes on the other,
sometimes doubling up against the shaft; but he was patient,
having been through these experiences before, when he was
soldiering. He succeeded at last, and took up the garment that
had lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began his work.
“The inn is paid–the breakfast that is to come, included–and
there is wherewithal left to buy a couple of donkeys and meet our
little costs for the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty
that awaits us at Hendon Hall–
“‘She loved her hus–‘
“Body o’ me! I have driven the needle under my nail! . . . It
matters little–’tis not a novelty–yet ’tis not a convenience,
neither . . .We shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it!
Thy troubles will vanish there, and likewise thy sad distemper–
“‘She loved her husband dearilee,
But another man–‘
“These be noble large stitches!”–holding the garment up and
viewing it admiringly–“they have a grandeur and a majesty that do
cause these small stingy ones of the tailor-man to look mightily
paltry and plebeian–
“‘She loved her husband dearilee,
But another man he loved she,–‘
“Marry, ’tis done–a goodly piece of work, too, and wrought with
expedition. Now will I wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed
him, and then will we hie us to the mart by the Tabard Inn in
Southwark and–be pleased to rise, my liege!–he answereth not–
what ho, my liege!–of a truth must I profane his sacred person
with a touch, sith his slumber is deaf to speech. What!”
He threw back the covers–the boy was gone!
He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment;
noticed for the first time that his ward’s ragged raiment was also
missing; then he began to rage and storm and shout for the
innkeeper. At that moment a servant entered with the breakfast.
“Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thy time is come!” roared the man
of war, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this
latter could not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and
surprise. “Where is the boy?”
In disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the information
desired.
“You were hardly gone from the place, your worship, when a youth
came running and said it was your worship’s will that the boy come
to you straight, at the bridge-end on the Southwark side. I
brought him hither; and when he woke the lad and gave his message,
the lad did grumble some little for being disturbed ‘so early,’ as
he called it, but straightway trussed on his rags and went with
the youth, only saying it had been better manners that your
worship came yourself, not sent a stranger–and so–”
“And so thou’rt a fool!–a fool and easily cozened–hang all thy
breed! Yet mayhap no hurt is done. Possibly no harm is meant the
boy. I will go fetch him. Make the table ready. Stay! the
coverings of the bed were disposed as if one lay beneath them–
happened that by accident?”
“I know not, good your worship. I saw the youth meddle with them-
-he that came for the boy.”
“Thousand deaths! ‘Twas done to deceive me–’tis plain ’twas done
to gain time. Hark ye! Was that youth alone?”
“All alone, your worship.”