At this the jolly Beggar cocked his head on one side, like a rogue of a magpie.  Quoth he, “I am an ill jug to pour heavy things into, good friend, and, if I mistake not, thou hast few serious words to spare at any time.”

“Nay,” quoth jolly Robin, “what I would say first is the most serious of all thoughts to me, to wit, ’Where shall I get somewhat to eat and drink?’”

“Sayst thou so?” quoth the Beggar.  “Marry, I make no such serious thoughts upon the matter.  I eat when I can get it, and munch my crust when I can get no crumb; likewise, when there is no ale to be had I wash the dust from out my throat with a trickle of cold water.  I was sitting here, as thou camest upon me, bethinking myself whether I should break my fast or no.  I do love to let my hunger grow mightily keen ere I eat, for then a dry crust is as good to me as a venison pasty with suet and raisins is to stout King Harry.  I have a sharp hunger upon me now, but methinks in a short while it will ripen to a right mellow appetite.”

“Now, in good sooth,” quoth merry Robin, laughing, “thou hast a quaint tongue betwixt thy teeth.  But hast thou truly nought but a dry crust about thee?  Methinks thy bags and pouches are fat and lusty for such thin fare.”

“Why, mayhap there is some other cold fare therein,” said the Beggar slyly.

“And hast thou nought to drink but cold water?” said Robin.

“Never so much as a drop,” quoth the Beggar.  “Over beyond yon clump of trees is as sweet a little inn as ever thou hast lifted eyelid upon; but I go not thither, for they have a nasty way with me.  Once, when the good Prior of Emmet was dining there, the landlady set a dear little tart of stewed crabs and barley sugar upon the window sill to cool, and, seeing it there, and fearing it might be lost, I took it with me till that I could find the owner thereof.  Ever since then they have acted very ill toward me; yet truth bids me say that they have the best ale there that ever rolled over my tongue.”

At this Robin laughed aloud.  “Marry,” quoth he, “they did ill toward thee for thy kindness.  But tell me truly, what hast thou in thy pouches?”

“Why,” quoth the Beggar, peeping into the mouths of his bags, “I find here a goodly piece of pigeon pie, wrapped in a cabbage leaf to hold the gravy.  Here I behold a dainty streaked piece of brawn, and here a fair lump of white bread.  Here I find four oaten cakes and a cold knuckle of ham.  Ha!  In sooth, ’tis strange; but here I behold six eggs that must have come by accident from some poultry yard hereabouts.  They are raw, but roasted upon the coals and spread with a piece of butter that I see—­”

“Peace, good friend!” cried Robin, holding up his hand.  “Thou makest my poor stomach quake with joy for what thou tellest me so sweetly.  If thou wilt give me to eat, I will straightway hie me to that little inn thou didst tell of but now, and will bring a skin of ale for thy drinking and mine.”