"The ornament of a pike is its iron head," rejoined Colombaik; "but little Robin the Crumb-cracker, the apprentice of the blacksmith, is long in fetching us those ornaments. However, with him it will not be as with the little apprentice of our friend the baker. There is no fear of Robin's nibbling at his goods on the way." The lads laughed at the joke of Colombaik. But accidentally turning his eyes in the direction of Joan and Martine, he was struck by the increasing uneasiness of their looks. "Good mother," said he to Joan in a tender and beseeching voice, "pardon me if I have saddened you with jokes that may be out of season at this time."
"Oh, my child," answered Joan, "if I look sad, it is not on account of your jokes, but the result of thoughts suggested by the sight of men shaping weapons, and women preparing lint for the wounded."
"And when we consider," put in Martine, unable to keep back her tears, "that a father, a son, a husband may happen to be among the wounded! Confound the people who brought war upon the city! Confound this clergy of the devil and their train of churchmen!"
"Dear Martine, and you, good mother," Colombaik rejoined, seeking to calm the two women, "to prepare for war is not to wage it. It is prudent to be on one's guard, just in order to secure peace, honorable peace."
"Your father!... Here is your father!" Joan cried out abruptly, hearing a rap at the street door. She rose, together with Martine, while one of the apprentices ran to open the door. But the expectation of the two women was not verified. They heard a childish voice cry out gleefully: "It burns!... It burns!... Who wants buns.... It burns!" And Robin the Crumb-cracker, the blacksmith's apprentice, a lad about twelve years of age, wide awake, but all black with the smoke of the forge, stepped in, holding in his little leather apron about twenty pike-heads which he dropped on the floor. "Who wants fire-buns!... They are hot!... They just come from the furnace!..."
"Master Colombaik feared you had been nibbling the goods on the way," one of the young tanners observed with a laugh. "We hold you quite capable of doing so, little Robin!"
"You are right. I took my bite on the way!" laughingly answered the urchin. "But in order to chew my pretty piece of pointed iron, I need one of your fine ash branches. Let me have one."
"What the devil would you do with a pike?" asked Colombaik, smiling upon him. "You are barely twelve years old. That is no toy for urchins."
"I want to use it, if there be blows coming. My master, Paynen-Oste-Loup, will tap the backs of the great episcopals; so will I! I shall roll over the little noblemen in my best style. Those scamps have hurt my feelings quite often, pointing their finger at me and calling out: 'Look at the little villain with the black face! He looks like a blackamoor!'"
"Hold, my bold lad," said Colombaik to Robin; "here is a good oak handle for you. Give us the news. What is doing in the city?"