“Bite upon it and see if the gold be good,” said Sholto, smiling.

“Alas,” cried the cripple, “I have but one tooth.  But I know the coin.  It is of the right mintage and greasiness.  O lovely gold!  Beautiful gentlemen, bide where you are and I will be back with you in a moment.”

And the old man limped away with astonishing quickness to hide his acquisition, lest, mayhap, his guests should repent them and retract their liberality.

CHAPTER XLVII

CAESAR MARTIN’S WIFE

Presently he returned and conducted them to a decent stable, where they saw their beasts bestowed and well provided with bedding and forage for the night.  Then the old cripple, more than ever bent upon his stick, but nevertheless chuckling to himself all the way, preceded them into the house.

“Ah, she is clever,” he muttered; “she thinks her demon tells her everything.  But even La Meffraye will not know where I have hidden that beautiful gold.”

So he sniggered senilely to himself between his fits of coughing.

It was a low, wide room of strange aspect into which the old man conducted his guests.  The floor was of hard-beaten earth, but cleanly kept and firm to the feet.  The fireplace, with a hearth round it of built stone, was placed in the midst, and from the rafters depended many chains and hooks.  A wooden settle ran half round the hearthstone on the side farthest from the draught of the door.  The weary three sat down and stretched their limbs.  The fire had burnt low, and Sholto, reaching to a faggot heap by the side wall, began to toss on boughs of green birch in handfuls, till the lovely white flame arose and the sap spat and hissed in explosive puffs.

    "Birk when ’tis green
      Makes a fire for a king!"

Malise hummed the old Scots lines, and the cripple coming in at that moment raised a shrill bark of protest.

“My good wood, my fuel that cost me so many sore backs—­be careful, young sir.  Faggots of birch are dear in this country of Machecoul.  My lord is of those who give nothing for naught.”

“Oh, we shall surely pay for what we use,” cried careless James; “let us eat, and warm our toes, and therewith have somewhat less of thy prating, old dotard.  It can be shrewdly cold in this westerly country of yours.”

“Pay,” cried the old man, holding up his clawed hands; “do you mean more pay—­more besides the beautiful gold angel?  Here—­”

He ran out and presently returned with armful after armful of faggots, while his guests laughed to find his mood so changed.

“Here,” he cried, running to and fro like a fretful hen, “take it all, and when that is done, this also, and this.  Nay, I will stay up all night to carry more from the forest of Machecoul.”

“And you who were so afraid to open to three honest men, would you venture to bring faggots by night from yon dark wood?”