“Thou hast eat st-stolen meat this fortnight,” the peddler declared; “yet didst thou m-make no ou-ou-outcry.”
She lifted up her head and stared on him: “But this is not the same,” she said. “That meat we did eat ought, by right, to be the meat of every man, not lords' only.”
“So said Haukyn o' the horn. ''T is King's, quotha; 'King will sell 't for his people if they will ha-have it.'”
She was silent a little space; then she said: “But they took it away by stealth. Ah, woe,—they did not ask me!—They stole it!—And I brought them a message of love.”
“Th-they had no money in their purse. They saw other men go by to the Fair.”
“'T was not as if 't were mine own,” she protested; “but a token, that I might be known to speak for the King. Ah, bitter—cruel!”
“Th-they said, 'The King can give her another,—he ha-hath a plenty.'”
“Natheless, they are thieves,—roberds,—liars! What hope? What hope?”
“Who made them so?” quoth the peddler.—“The same that m-made them outlaws, and m-murderers;—I begin to s-see 't is the lords of England! Th-these do I blame! Wi-wilt thou forsake thy brothers for th-that they 're sinful? We be all sinful m-men. Come!—th-the message!”
She got up from the roadside stone and dried her eyes, and walked with him, but in a dreary silence. For many a mile they went on in this fashion. At even they came to a farm-house, and Calote went in and sang for her supper. The farmer's wife was alone, and she gave Calote a bed gladly, but she drove out the peddler,—who was peddler no longer,—for that she was afeared of his strange looks.