“That will do. I know the tune, and will catch up the words of the chorus, and, with the lute to twang an accompaniment, we shall make a brave show. Sandy, you will pick up any money that the good Christians throw to us.”
“But sir, I see the watchman coming,” said Sandy, apprehensively; “for Heaven’s sake, let us hide in yon archway.”
“Nay; no skulking,” said Humphrey, “let us put a bold face on it, and say we have come to sing.”
So saying, he turned in at the gateway of Merton, cheerfully twanging his lute.
The porter encountered them with a face of astonishment.
“Now then, you fellows, what are you about? Don’t you know that His Majesty the King visits the Queen’s apartments?”
“Why, to be sure, master,” said Humphrey, assuming the dialect of a countryman. “And we have orders to sing in the quad. You’ll not be denying us poor folk our chance of earning a groat in these cruel hard times.”
“Well, well,” said the porter, good-humouredly, “Christmas is Christmas, and as you say, the times are hard. But see there’s no brawling or drinking or unseemly noise.”
“Master we be the most mannerley minstrels in the shire,” said Humphrey, touching his hat obsequiously as he passed on. “And that be true as the Gospel.”
“This will stand us in good stead when we get to the Bridge by-and-by,” he added, in a low voice. “Let us cross to yonder window above the archway, the lights are brightest there, and doubtless the Queen holds her Christmas festivities within.”