The grey cob plodded and splashed through the stream of slushy mud and half-thawed snow which represented the descending track from Ulwin's dwelling of the Moor to the highway between Ludford and Leominster. Upon him was Alftrude, closely muffled in a grey felt mantle, and beside him, holding the bridle, splashed and floundered a bare-legged boy, the bondman's son, with alder-clogs upon his feet. Alftrude rode in some discomfort, perched astride upon a man's saddle: her right arm supported a big wicker basket. The December sun shone out self-assertively: nevertheless the child slapped his free hand continually against his thigh, and often blew ruefully upon the fingers that clasped the reins. The widow, however, paid no heed to the moist chill of the morning air. Every now and again she glanced behind her. Once, in the shelter of the grove of hollies, she stopped for a moment to listen. There was no sound but the purring of a brook beneath its perforated covering of ice. She urged on her stolid steed.
As they reached the heath, they heard the scrunch of a horse's hooves upon the ground they had just traversed. Alftrude turned her head nonchalantly; then she smote the cob such a sudden blow with her whip that the boy stumbled, and stared up into his mistress's face, aghast. About twenty paces more, and the Norman came up with her, riding alone. He would have passed her with "Good day to you, lady!" but she called: "Friend, stay awhile!" and he reined in his horse and proceeded beside her.
"Master Richard," said she, "I would thank you meetly, if I could, for your great and neighbourly kindness, and beg forgiveness of you for that I have not myself done so until now. My mother's pin is the dearest of all my few possessions. Tell me, how came it into your hands?"
"If ye be content, madame, I am honoured," said Richard. "It was no matter. The maltman's dunderhead son passed it about the ale-house that night. They gave it up when I did call for it."
(This was not true. When Richard had seized the trinket from the thief, the ale-house company had fallen on him to a man, and had rolled ten-deep upon him about the floor, until their sense of fair-play had obliged them to draw off.)
Alftrude was smiling her slow, comfortable smile. Could she—the gleam in her eyes seemed one of admiration—could she have heard what had really befallen?
"I was like to weep when I saw it again," said she.
They had reached the steepest slope of the hill. Richard the Scrob dismounted.
"I will carry the basket," said he. "And I will lead your horse heredown. Let yon lad take mine. Whither make ye?" he continued, when the boy had fallen behind with his new charge. "Madame, I think ye should not fare abroad by such a slippery road and in such fickle weather."
"I must to Ludford," she answered. "What think ye of this? There are seven young children at home, and in the house no spices nor dried grapes to make them Yuletide broth or Yuletide cake, and the housewife will not send any for these! Yet our bairns must have their Christmas fare like other bairns! so I am for Hildred the ale-wife, who has such sweet stuffs to sell." But even as she enlarged upon her purpose, her cheeks blushed red.