"How long is it since the good keeper has been here?" said the knight

to his host, after having swallowed several hasty morsels of this

reinforcement to the hermit's good cheer.

"About two months," answered the father hastily.

"By the true Lord," answered the knight, "every thing in your hermitage

is miraculous, Holy Clerk! for I would have been sworn that the fat buck

which furnished this venison had been running on foot within the week."

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this observation; and,

moreover, he made but a poor figure while gazing on the diminution of

the pasty, on which his guest was making desperate inroads; a warfare

in which his previous profession of abstinence left him no pretext for

joining.

"I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk," said the knight, stopping short

of a sudden, "and I bethink me it is a custom there that every host who

entertains a guest shall assure him of the wholesomeness of his food, by

partaking of it along with him. Far be it from me to suspect so holy a

man of aught inhospitable; nevertheless I will be highly bound to you

would you comply with this Eastern custom."

"To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight, I will for once depart

from my rule," replied the hermit. And as there were no forks in those

days, his clutches were instantly in the bowels of the pasty.

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter of rivalry

between the guest and the entertainer which should display the best

appetite; and although the former had probably fasted longest, yet the

hermit fairly surpassed him.

"Holy Clerk," said the knight, when his hunger was appeased, "I would

gage my good horse yonder against a zecchin, that that same honest

keeper to whom we are obliged for the venison has left thee a stoup of

wine, or a runlet of canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally to this

noble pasty. This would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy

to dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite; yet, I think, were you

to search yonder crypt once more, you would find that I am right in my

conjecture."

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to the hutch, he

produced a leathern bottle, which might contain about four quarts. He

also brought forth two large drinking cups, made out of the horn of

the urus, and hooped with silver. Having made this goodly provision

for washing down the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious

scruple necessary on his part; but filling both cups, and saying, in the

Saxon fashion, "'Waes hael', Sir Sluggish Knight!" he emptied his own at

a draught.




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