Chapter 4:  Paul’s Kinsman.

“Kinsman—­marry, a brother in very sooth!” cried the hospitable farmer, eying Paul’s young companion with a glance of shrewd admiration and surprise; “and right welcome shall he be to such good cheer as my poor house can afford.

“And how found you your brother, fair youth?—­for it can scarce have been chance that led you here.  My guest spoke not of bringing you home when he started forth today.”

“Nay, he knew it not himself,” answered the prince, laughing merrily.  “Nor is he my brother, good mine host:  our kinship is a less close one than that, for all that we favour each other so well.  He had no thought of the encounter when he started forth today, but kind fortune guided us to the meeting.  As children we loved each other and played together, but for years we have not met.  I am nought but a solitary wanderer, without friends or home.  It has been a happy chance that has brought to me this trusty comrade and the welcome of this hospitable home.”

There was something so attractive in the aspect and speech of the royal youth that all who heard him felt their hearts go out to him, they knew not why.  The farmer laid his horny hand on the lad’s arm, and cried in his jovial way: 

“All travellers, be they gentle or simple, are welcome at Figeon’s Farm, and doubly so anyone who claims kinship with our guest and very good friend Paul Stukely.  And you come at a good time, too, young sir; for we have a wedding feast in prospect, and we shall want all the blithe company we can assemble to make merry at it.

“Come, my wench; you need not run away.  You are not ashamed of honest Will; and these gentlemen will doubtless honour our poor home by remaining our guests a while longer, that they may tread a measure at your marriage feast.”

Paul looked smilingly at the blushing Joan, whose face was alight with happiness, and her father continued laughingly: 

“Oh ay, they have made it up together this very day; and poor Will, who has been courting her these three years and more, cannot see what there is to wait for—­no more can I. For my part, since that rascally Simon tried to carry off the girl, I have known no peace about her.  Figeon’s is a lonely place, and the young know not how to be cautious, and it’s ill work for young blood to be cooped up ever between four walls.  Down in the village, with neighbours about her, the wench will be safe enough, and Will’s sturdy arm will be her best protection.  Simon might think twice about assaulting a wedded woman to carry her away, when he would count a maid fair spoil, seeing that he ever claimed to be called a lover of hers.  So all ways she will be safer wed, and I see no cause for them to wait.”