After a bit the soldier snored; the beggar twitched awake and in a trice was off again, this time sound; the villein turned his back to the fire and drew up his legs, and presently the peddler heard him grinding his teeth, and knew that he too was asleep.
Throughout the next day the peddler was never far from Calote; thrice the villein had the horn out of her bag and fondled it, and the beggar came and looked over his shoulder. The soldier's wench hung the chain about her own neck one while, and saith she to her love:—
“Deck me in this wise!”
“By Our Lady o' Walsingham, that will I,” he swore, “when Calote and us common folk have put down the noblesse, and all men share alike.”
Again that night those three talked of the Fair after others slept, and the peddler sat beside them listening. On a sudden Symme Tipuppe turned to him and said:—
“If the horn were to sell, what would it fetch?”
“A g-goodly sum,” the peddler answered cautiously.
“Yea, but what 's that, a pound?”
“A pound, sayst thou?” the soldier scoffed. “If 't bring not five times a pound, rend out my guts.”
“H-haply 't might,” said the peddler.