Now, in a while, being come to the brow of a hill, needs must my Beltane pause to look back upon the woodlands he had loved so well and, sighing, he stretched his arms thitherward; and lo! out of the soft twilight of the green, stole a gentle wind full of the scent of root and herb and the fresh, sweet smell of earth, a cool, soft wind that stirred the golden hair at his temples, like a caress, and so—­was gone.  For a while he stood thus, gazing towards where he knew his father yet knelt in prayer for him, then turned he slowly, and went his appointed way.

Thus did Beltane bid farewell to the greenwood and to woodland things, and thus did the green spirit of the woods send forth a gentle wind to kiss him on the brow ere he went out into the world of men and cities.

Now, after some while, as he walked, Beltane was aware of the silvery tinkle of bells and, therewith, a full, sweet voice upraised in song, and the song was right merry and the words likewise: 

  “O ne’er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
   Nor my love for my good long bow;
   For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
   Is a maid to a man, I trow.”

Looking about, Beltane saw the singer, a comely fellow whose long legs bestrode a plump ass; a lusty man he was, clad in shirt of mail and with a feather of green brooched to his escalloped hood; a long-bow hung at his back together with a quiver of arrows, while at his thigh swung a heavy, broad-bladed sword.  Now he, espying Beltane amid the leaves, brought the ass to a sudden halt and clapped hand to the pommel of his sword.

“How now, Goliath!” cried he. “Pax vobiscum, and likewise benedicite!  Come ye in peace, forsooth, or is it to be bellum internecinum? Though, by St. Giles, which is my patron saint, I care not how it be, for mark ye, vacuus cantat coram latrone viator, Sir Goliath, the which in the vulgar tongue signifieth that he who travels with an empty purse laughs before the footpad—­moreover, I have a sword!”

But Beltane laughed, saying: 

“I have no lust to thy purse, most learned bowman, or indeed to aught of thine unless it be thy company.”

“My company?” quoth the bowman, looking Beltane up and down with merry blue eyes, “why now do I know thee for a fellow of rare good judgment, for my company is of the best, in that I have a tongue which loveth to wag in jape or song.  Heard ye how the birds and I were a-carolling?  A right blithesome morn, methinks, what with my song, and the birds’ song, and this poor ass’s bells—­aye, and the flowers a-peep from the bank yonder.  God give ye joy of it, tall brother, as he doth me and this goodly ass betwixt my knees, patient beast.”

Now leaning on his quarter-staff Beltane smiled and said: 

“How came ye by that same ass, master bowman?”