“Yea, I know,” she answered.
“That gay sprig—that squire”—began Jack Straw.
“Hold thy peace!” said Calote. “But for him, how had I come at the King?”
And Jack Straw shut his lips and gulped down his jealousy, but it left a bitter smart in his throat.
CHAPTER XIII
The Man O' Words
NE night, when Long Will was gone forth to copy a writ of law for a city merchant, Calote sat up to wait for him in the moonlight by their door that opened on the lane. Calote and her father had not spoke together of her pilgrimage since that night, now more than a year past, when Long Will was so wroth with Jack Straw. Nevertheless, each one knew that the other had not forgotten. But now the time was short; there must be unlocking of tongues.
Calote braided her hair in a tress, unbound it, braided it anew, the while she waited and pondered the words that she would speak. In the lane something grunted and thrust a wet snout against her bare foot; one of Dame Emma's pigs had strayed. It was a little pig; Calote took it up in her arms and bore it through the dark room and out on Cornhill. The tavern door was shut, but there was a noise of singing within, and Dame Emma came at the knock.
Hobbe Smith sat in the chimney trolling a loud song, and two or three more men sprawled on a bench by the wall, a-chaunting “Hey, lolly, lolly,” out of time and out of tune. One of these, that was most drunk, came running foolishly so soon as he saw Calote, and made as to snatch a kiss, but Dame Emma thrust piggie in his face; and when Calote turned about at her own door, breathless, she saw where Hobbe had the silly fellow on the floor and knelt upon his belly, and crammed the pig's snout into his mouth; and Dame Emma beat Hobbe over the noddle with a pint-pot, for that he choked her squealing pig. Calote bethought her, sorrowful, that there would be no Dame Emma and kindly Hobbe to take up her quarrel in other taverns. So she went back to the braiding of her hair until her father came in.