Beltane awoke to the shrill notes of a horn and starting to sleepy elbow, heard the call and challenge of sentinel and outpost from the bank above.  Thereafter presently appeared Giles (that chanced to be captain of the watch) very joyously haling along a little man placid and rotund.  A plump little man whose sober habit, smacking of things ecclesiastic, was at odds with his face that beamed forth jovial and rubicund from the shade of his wide-eaved hat:  a pilgrim-like hat, adorned with many small pewter images of divers saints.  About his waist was a girdle where hung a goodly wallet, plump like himself and eke as well filled.  A right buxom wight was he, comfortable and round, who, though hurried along in the archer’s lusty grip, smiled placidly, and spake him sweetly thus:  “Hug me not so lovingly, good youth; abate—­ abate thy hold upon my tender nape lest, sweet lad, the holy Saint Amphibalus strike thee deaf, dumb, blind, and latterly, dead.  Trot me not so hastily, lest the good Saint Alban cast thy poor soul into a hell seventy times heated, and ’twould be a sad—­O me! a very sad thing that thou should’st sniff brimstone on my account.”

“Why, Giles,” quoth Beltane, blinking in the dawn, “what dost bring hither so early in the morning?”

“Lord, ’tis what they call a Pardoner, that dealeth in relics, mouldy bones and the like, see you, whereby they do pretend to divers miracles and wonders—­”

“Verily, verily,” nodded the little man placidly, “I have here in my wallet a twig from Moses’ burning bush, with the great toe of Thomas a’ Didymus, the thumb of the blessed Saint Alban—­”

“Ha, rogue!” quoth Giles, “when I was a monk we had four thumbs of the good Saint Alban—­”

“Why then, content you, fond youth,” smiled the Pardoner, “my thumb is number one—­”

“Oh, tall brother,” quoth Giles, “’tis an irreverent knave, that maketh the monk in me arise, my very toes do twitch for to kick his lewd and sacrilegious carcase—­and, lord, he would kick wondrous soft—­”

“And therein, sweet and gentle lord,” beamed the little buxom man, “therein lieth a recommendation of itself.  Divers noble lords have kicked me very familiarly ere now, and finding me soft and tender have, forthwith, kicked again.  I mind my lord Duke Ivo, did with his own Ducal foot kick me right heartily upon a time, and once did spit upon my cloak—­I can show you the very place—­and these things do breed and argue familiarity.  Thus have I been familiar with divers noble lords—­ and there were ladies also, ladies fair and proud—­O me!”

“Now, by the Rood!” says Beltane, sitting up and staring, “whence had you this, Giles?”

“My lord, ’twas found by the man Jenkyn snoring within the green, together with a mule—­a sorry beast! a capon partly devoured, a pasty—­ well spiced! and a wine-skin—­empty, alas!  But for who it is, and whence it cometh—­”