“What stirring is that in the wood, father? I am afraid,” came the girl’s voice.
“Belike a fox shifting his lair. Push on, Maid Elliot.” The horses advanced, when, by the blessing of the saints, the jackanapes woke in my breast.
The creature was used to run questing with a little wooden bowl he carried for largesse, to beg of horsemen for his mistress. This trick of his he did now, hearing the horses’ tramp. He leaped the ditch, and I suppose he ran in front of the steeds, shaking his little bowl, as was his wont.
“Oh, father,” sounded the girl’s voice, “see the little jackanapes! Some travelling body has lost him. Let me jump down and catch him. Look, he has a little coat on, made like a herald’s tabard, and wears the colours of France. Here, hold my reins.”
“No, lass. Who can tell where, or who, his owner is? Take you my reins, and I will bring you the beast.”
I heard him heavily dismount.
“It will not let itself be caught by a lame man,” he said; and he scrambled up the ditch bank, while the jackanapes fled to me, and then ran forward again, back and forth.
“Nom Dieu, whom have we here?” cried the man, in French.
I turned, and made such a sound with my mouth as I might, while the jackanapes nestled to my breast.
“Why do ye not speak, man?” he said again; and I turned my eyes on him, looking as pitifully as might be out of my blood-bedabbled face.