“Ha, ha, good cheap?”
“Fifteen pound?”
He pushed them away, and “Let 's sit,” he said, “wh-where 's shade. Th-the sun 's hot as s-summer to-day.”
So they sat down under a half-naked tree, and when he had taken the pouch out of his tabard, he undid the mouth and let flow out the gold and silver stream.
They sat and stared.
After a little the beggar thrust a dirty hand into the pile and let the moneys slip between his fingers. Symme began to cry for joy, and the soldier to laugh.
“Fifteen pound!” blubbered Symme.
“We 'll give each his share, and then to Chester,” cried Nicholas, shoving the beggar's greedy hand aside. “Come, count!”
“W-what for a t-tale have ye to t-tell the maid of her horn?” asked the peddler, scanning them each in turn.
“Ho, ho!” laughed Nicholas, “'t is already told. Hearken, brother! 'T is a merry gest; thou art saved a sad hour;—and I 'll keep mine old love. I 'm a constant man.”