The serving-man was forced to admit that he had seldom drunk such good liquor, and gradually getting over the ill humour which had been sharpened by a lurking suspicion that the heels of the mule had been turned towards him by human agency rather than the brute's own obstinacy, enjoyed his supper, and laughed and talked with the friar till the wine seemed to mount somewhat into the brain of both.
In the meanwhile, the light-o'-love, Kate Greenly, sat by for some three quarters of an hour, melancholy in the midst of mirth. The thoughts of home had been called up in her heart by the monk's words--the thoughts of home and happy innocence! and she now found that in giving up every treasure with which Heaven had gifted her lot, for one trinket that, she could not always wear upon her hand, she had made a mighty sacrifice for an uncertain reward. The only object that could console her was away; and after enduring for the space of time we have mentioned the pangs of others' mirth, she rose, and said she would seek her chamber, as they had to proceed early.
The two serving-men sat idly at the table, leaving her to find her way alone, for they reverenced but little their master's leman; but the jovial fat friar started up from his seat with an activity which he seemed little capable of, saying, "Stay, stay, pretty one--I will call my host or hostess to you. They are worthy, kind people, as ever lived," and he walked side by side with her towards the door.
Had the eyes of her two companions been upon her, they would have seen her start as she was quitting the room with the friar; but their looks were directed to the tankard which was passing between them, and in a moment after, the rich full voice of the grey gown was heard calling for the host and hostess. In another instant he rolled back into the room, and resuming his place at the table, did as much justice as any one to the good wine of the Maypole.
"Here's to thy lord, whosoever he may be!" cried the friar, addressing the serving-man whom his mule had kicked. "God prosper his good deeds, and frustrate his bad ones, if he commits any!"
"I'll not drink that," replied the worthy who had carried Kate Greenly behind him. "I say, God prosper my master, and all his works--good, bad, and indifferent. I have no business to take exceptions."
"Tut, man, drink the toast, and sing us a song!" cried he of the grey gown.
"Sing first, thyself, fat friar," answered the serving-man.
The friar rejoined, "That I will!" and after taking another deep draught, he poured forth, in full mellow strains, the well-known old song,
"In a tavern let me die,
And a bottle near me lye,
That the angelic choir may cry,
God's blessing on the toper!" etc.