Wat Tyler listened with a frown, Jack Straw with a smile that was not near so pleasant as any frown. Kitte, in the doorway, stood open-mouthed. Only Long Will sat unmoved. He had heard this tale.
When it was ended they all looked upon one another. Will smiled, but Jack Straw laughed, a most unkindly laugh.
“An thou wert my wench, I 'd beat thee,” said Wat. “Thou shouldst not walk abroad but with a gag atween thy teeth.”
“Soft—soft!” Jack Straw interposed him. “Milk's spilt: let 's lap it up as best we may! Let 's consider to make the best on 't! Methinks I see a way”—
“Send the maid to her bed, Will, an thou 'lt not lay on the rod,” growled Wat Tyler. “Here 's enough o' long ears and blabbing tongues.”
“Thou cruel Wat!” cried Calote. “Thou art no true man! What care hast thou of the poor? Dost think to be king thine own self? A pretty king, thou”—
“Chut, chut!” Long Will rebuked her. “Get thee to thy mother!”
“Nay, let her bide!” said Jack Straw gently. “Let her bide! She hath brought us into this mishap, so may she help us forth.”
“Thou fool!” cried Wat. “Thou lovesick fool! Wilt come a-courtin', leave me at home!”
“I will,” Jack Straw made answer, with narrow eyes. “But to-night I 'm no lover, nor no fool neither; natheless, the maid shall bide. Never fear, Calote, we 'll mend thy mischief.”