The terrified miller threw himself at his ruler’s feet, crying out for mercy.  Again the sword was raised, and down it fell, but lightly, upon the miller’s shoulder, and the king said: 

[Illustration:  The king knights the miller]

“Your kind courtesy I will repay; so I here dub thee Knight.  Rise, Sir John of Mansfield.”

For many a day the miller and his wife told of the night the king spent with them.  And for many a day the king told of the time he was taken for a thief and ate of his own deer in the miller’s house.

—­ENGLISH BALLAD (Adapted).

SADDLE TO RAGS

I

  This story I’m going to sing,
    I hope it will give you content,
  Concerning a silly old man
    That was going to pay his rent,
  With a till-a-dill, till-a-dill-dill,
    Till-a-dill, dill-a-dill, dee,
  Sing fol-de-dill, dill-de-dill, dill,
    Fol-de-dill, dill-de-dill, dee.

A silly old man said to his wife one day, “Well, ’tis time I paid my rent.  The landlord has been away for a year and a day, but now he is back, and I must pay for twelve months.”

“Yes, it’s twice forty pounds that is due, and it should be paid,” said the good wife.  “So much money in the house keeps me from sleeping at night.”

“Well, I’ll bridle old Tib, and away we shall go,” said the old man.  “Right glad I’ll be, too, to be rid of the gold.”

The silly old man bridled old Tib and saddled her too.  And away they started.  As he was jogging along, a stranger came riding up on a fine horse with fine saddle bags.

“Good morning, old man,” said the stranger.

“Good morning,” said the old man.

“How far are you going?”

“To tell the truth, kind sir, I am going just two miles,” said the old man.

“And where are you going?” asked the stranger.

“I am going to pay my rent, kind sir,” said the old man.  “I am but a silly old man who farms a piece of ground.  My rent for a half year is forty pounds; but my landlord has been away for a year, and now I owe him eighty pounds.  Right glad I am to pay it.”

“Eighty pounds!  That is indeed a large sum,” cried the stranger, “and you ought not to tell anybody you carry so much.  There are many thieves about, and you might be robbed.”

“Oh, never mind!” said the old man.  “I do not fear thieves.  My money is safe in my saddle bags, on which I ride.”

So they rode along most pleasantly.

When they came to a thick wood, the stranger pulled out a pistol and said, “Stand still, and give me your money.”

“Nay,” said the old man.  “The money is for my landlord.  I will not give it to you.”

“Your money or your life!”

“Well, if you will have it, you can go for it,” cried the old man, as he threw his old saddle bags over a hedge.