“But, Jack, the sins of the flesh have nought to do with cooking and washing.”
“Does thou think I dunna know better nor a woman? Thee be off, or I’ll let fly th’ broom at thee.”
“Jack, thou art a very uncivil companion,” said I; but I gathered up my gown for to go.
“I never were civil to a woman yet,” saith he, “and I hope I never shall be. That’s a sin I’ll none have to answer for.”
“In very deed it is, Jack,” said I, “and I will bear witness for thee to that end if need be. Farewell.”
So away turned I from the grim old man, but had not run many steps down ere I was aware of an hand, very different from Jack’s, held forth to me, and a voice saluting me in exceeding diverse language.
“Fairest Mistress Milisent, well met this cloudy morrow! I see the flowers be out, though the sun shine not. Give me leave, I pray you, to aid your graceful steps down this rough hill-side.”
So down the hill with me came Sir Edwin, and mighty pleasant discourse had we—all the fairer for coming after Jack. And much he told me of his estate in Cornwall, where he hath a fair castle, built of old time, and mines like to ours, saving they be tin, not lead. And these Cornish mines, as he told me, were worked of old time by the Jews: but when I did demand of him how Jews should come to work them, that (quoth he) could he not say. And at times, in these mines, deep down in the old workings, do they hear the ghosts of them that worked them a thousand years ago, a-knocking with the pickaxe; and when they do break into the ancient workings, they come on the olden pickaxes of stags’ horn, used of these old Jews and Romans, that did labour in these mines of old time.
“Good lack!” cried I: “and be these the very pickaxes used of these ghosts? Verily, I would be feared for to touch them.”
“Nay, the tools themselves be no ghosts,” saith he, laughing: “and I do ensure you, fair my mistress, I have seen and handled divers thereof.”