“A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not the long purse one must be content with what a short one may do—­

“‘There was a woman in our town, In our town did dwell—­’

“He stirred, methinks—­I must sing in a less thunderous key; ’tis not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him, and he so wearied out, poor chap . . .  This garment—­’tis well enough—­a stitch here and another one there will set it aright.  This other 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.