"What now?" asked his father.
"It is Father John, from Holford, as sure as you live, father!" exclaimed Jack. "What miracle or earthquake can have brought him so far from home?"
"We shall soon hear," replied his father.
"Yes, if the poor man have any breath left to speak," said Jack, as he threw himself hastily from his own beast. "I should think that doubtful."
"Well, we must give him all the welcome and refreshment in our power," said the master baker, dismounting more leisurely. "Your reverence is heartily welcome to my poor dwelling," he added, addressing the poor old priest, who had dropped exhausted on the first seat. "I would we had been at home to receive you in more fitting form. I pray you to walk into the parlor."
The old man rose with some difficulty, and, accepting the support of Master Lucas's arm, he made out to walk into the sitting-room. Jack ran before to bring forward the easiest seat and place a footstool before it, and then to bring a cup of ale, which Father John drank without a word.
Then turning a lack-lustre and piteous eye upon his cupbearer, he ejaculated—
"Alack, my dear son!"
"I trust nothing unpleasant has chanced to bring you so far from home, father," said Jack, fearing he knew not what. "It must have been a toilsome journey for your reverence."
"Alack, you may well say so. I did not believe I should ever ride so far again—and it is all for your sake. I would I were safe home again, that is all. These vile footpads would as soon rob a priest as a layman, I believe, and I am shaken to a very jelly."