"Everything in the world, brother. I have gifts for the rich, presents for the poor."
"Have you anything fit for a cook?" asked Roger.
"I have a basting spoon and a spit."
"I will give you meat and bread—much as you can carry—if you have such a spoon as my kitchen lacks," whispered Roger.
Little John dived his hand into a sack, and brought out a silver ladle, which he had stolen from a shop that day. Roger took it eagerly, and his fingers were icy cold.
"Put your sacks down by the door, dear gossip," said Roger, after a moment's pause. "Here they will be out of the rain. I must go within to examine this ladle."
"Have you not a tankard of ale to give me?" begged Little John, "I am worn with the day."
"Enter, friend," Roger said then. "Tread lightly, for fear we disturb my folk." He took Little John into the dark passage. "I'll bring your sacks in for you, whilst you are here," continued Roger, very obligingly; and before the other could say him yea or nay, he had pulled the sacks into the house and had closed the door tightly.
It was very dark, and Little John thought it only prudent to keep his fingers on his knife. He heard the cook rustling about near to him, and presently came a faint sound as if one of the sacks had bulged forward and shifted its contents. "Hasten with the ale, good friend," whispered Little John, hoarsely. "I feel mighty drowsy in this close place; soon I shall be asleep."
Roger's voice answered him then softly from the end of the narrow hall, and almost at once the cook appeared with a lantern. He came creakingly over the boards, and handed Little John a mug of beer. "Your ladle is of the right sort, dear gossip," he announced, "and I will give you a penny for it."