After all, Kit’s store had to be well-nigh expended before the horses, waggon, and all, could find means to encounter the miseries of the transit to Dover. Then, glad as he was to be on his native soil, his spirits sank lower and lower as the waggon creaked on under the hot sun towards London. He had actually brought home only four marks to make over to his master; and although he could show a considerable score against the King and various nobles, these debts were not apt to be promptly discharged, and what was worse, two members of his party and one horse were missing. He little knew how narrow an escape he had had of losing a third!
CHAPTER XXII.
AN INVASION
“What shall be the maiden’s fate?
Who shall be the maiden’s mate?”
Scott.
No Giles Headley appeared to greet the travellers, though Kit Smallbones had halted at Canterbury, to pour out entreaties to St. Thomas, and the vow of a steel and gilt reliquary of his best workmanship to contain the old shoe, which a few years previously had so much disgusted Erasmus and his companion.
Poor old fellow, he was too much crest-fallen thoroughly to enjoy even the gladness of his little children; and his wife made no secret of her previous conviction that he was too dunderheaded not to run into some coil, when she was not there to look after him. The alderman was more merciful. Since there had been no invasion from Salisbury, he had regretted the not having gone himself to Ardres, and he knew pretty well that Kit’s power lay more in his arms than in his brain. He did not wonder at the small gain, nor at the having lost sight of the young man, and confidently expected the lost ones soon to appear.
As to Dennet, her eyes shone quietly, and she took upon herself to send down to let Mistress Randall know of her nephew’s return, and invite her to supper to hear the story of his doings. The girl did not look at all like a maiden uneasy about her lost lover, but much more like one enjoying for the moment the immunity from a kind of burthen; and, as she smiled, called for Stephen’s help in her little arrangements, and treated him in the friendly manner of old times, he could not but wonder at the panic that had overpowered him for a time like a fever of the mind.
There was plenty to speak of in the glories of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and the transactions with the knights and nobles; and Stephen held his peace as to his adventure, but Dennet’s eyes were sharper than Kit’s. She spied the remains of the bruise under his black curly hair; and while her father and Tib were unravelling the accounts from Kit’s brain and tally-sticks, she got the youth out into the gallery, and observed, “So thou hast a broken head. See here are grandmother’s lily-leaves in strong waters. Let me lay one on for thee. There, sit down on the step, then I can reach.”
“’Tis well nigh whole now, sweet mistress,” said Stephen, complying however, for it was too sweet to have those little fingers busy about him, for the offer to be declined.
“How gatst thou the blow?” asked Dennet. “Was it at single-stick? Come, thou mayst tell me. ’Twas in standing up for some one.”