She threw back her head with a gaiety which bespoke the bubbling laughter in her heart, and said:
“Booh! to thy solemn voice. Oh, thou great bear, dost thou love me with tears in thine eyes?”
She took his hand and drew him inside the house, where, laying aside his hat and gloves and sword, they passed into the great library.
“Come, now, tell me all the places thou hast visited,” she said, perching herself on his arm-chair.
He told her, and she counted them off one by one upon her fingers.
“That is ninety miles of travel thou hast had. What is the most pleasing thing thou hast seen?”
“It was in Stickford by the fen,” he answered, after a perplexed pause. “There was an old man upon the roadside with his head bowed in his hands. Some lads were making sport of him, for he seemed so woe-begone and old. Two cavaliers of the King came by. One of them stopped and drove the lads away, then going to the old man, he said: ‘Friend, what is thy trouble?’ The old man raised his melancholy face and answered: ‘Aw’m afeared, sir.’ ‘What fear you?’ inquired the young gentleman. ‘I fear ma wife, sir,’ replied the old man. At that the other cavalier sat back in his saddle and guffawed merrily. ‘Well, Dick,’ said he to his friend, ‘that is the worst fear in this world. Ah, Dick, thou hast ne’er been married!’ ‘Why do you fear your wife?’ asked Dick. ‘Aw’ve been robbed of ma horse and saddle and twelve skeins o’ wool. Aw’m lost, aw’m ruined and shall raise ma head nevermore. To ma wife aw shall ne’er return.’ ‘Tut tut, man,’ said Dick, ‘get back to your wife. You are master of your own house; you rule the roost. What is a wife? A wife’s a woman. You are a man. You are bigger and stronger, your bones are harder. Get home and wear a furious face and batter in the door and say: “What, ho, thou huzzy!” Why, man, fear you the wife of your bosom?’ The old man raised his head and said: ‘Tha doost not know ma wife or tha wouldst not speak like that.’ At that Dick laughed and said: ‘Fellow, I do pity thee;’ and taking the old man by the shoulders, he lifted him on his own horse and took him to the village fair. There he bought him twelve skeins of wool and sent him on his way rejoicing, with a horse worth five times his own.”
With her chin in her hands the girl had listened intently to the story. When it was finished she said: “What didst thou say was the gentleman’s name?”
“His friend called him Dick. He is a poor knight, one Sir Richard Mowbray, of Leicester, called at Court and elsewhere Happy Dick Mowbray, for they do say a happier and braver heart never wore the King’s uniform.”
“Indeed I should like to know that Sir Richard Mowbray. And, tell me now, who is the greatest person thou hast seen in thy absence?”