They went in a circle ofttimes, and twice at nightfall they came back to the same farm-house. Then the peddler bruised his foot, and they stayed three nights under the open sky, in the heather. The silence of the moors wrapped them round, and also the peddler's stammer was a burden to his speech. The third evening a shepherd came upon them, and gave them beans to eat.
It was June the day they came out upon a great red foreland above the sea. The chief colour of the water was a flashing blue, but at the edges it changed to clear green, fringed white with foam; there were cloud shadows of purple lying on that blue, and here and there a wondrous rosy patch, as it might be apple blossoms were melted there.
They followed along the cliffs after this, a dizzy way, and once Calote was fain to lie down and cling to the short grass and cry.
“G-get up,” quoth the peddler; “f-for sh-sh-shame to cry. I-I-I— G-give me th-th-thy hand!”
And so twixt coaxing and comforting he got her to her feet again, and they went on, he walking on the side of the sea as much as he might. Ever and anon they came upon a handful of fishermen's cottages in a wooded coombe, and at one of these hamlets they heard that Calote's friend Peter dwelt some three miles farther on, inland about a mile. So when they were come to Peter's cot, which was wreathed all about with a riot of honeysuckle and wild rose, the peddler gave Calote good-day, and she leapt the dry ditch and went into the yard through the gate; and there was Peter a-sitting on the doorstone, mending a hoe.
“O mistress!” he cried, and she laughed and shook him by the shoulders and kissed him. And Peter's son, that was now a parson, came out of the house with a book in his hand.
When the peddler saw this parson in the doorway, and how young he was, he half turned as he would go back; but then he thought better of it, and went on till he came to the church of the parish. In the churchyard he sat down to rest under an old yew tree, and here the parson found him after vespers, and took him in to lodge in his own house.
Meanwhile, in Peter's cot, Calote went to bed supperless.
“We ate our bread at noon,” said Peter. “The morrow morn I 'll make shift to sell our black cock to the steward of the manor-house. 'T is an ancient bird, but I have heard tell the cook is wonderly skilful to disguise tough meat.”
“Nay, not for my sake shalt thou sell it!” cried Calote.