James Douglas took a gold angel out of his belt and threw it to him. The cripple collapsed upon the top of the piece of money and groped vainly for it with eager, outspread fingers in the dust of the yard.
"I cannot find it, good gentleman," he piped, shrill as an east wind; "alas, what shall I do? Poor Cæsar cannot find it. It was not a piece of gold;—do tell me that it was not a piece of gold; to lose a piece of gold, that were ruin indeed."
Sholto picked up the lantern which had slipped from his trembling hand. The tallow was beginning to gutter out as it lay on its side, and a moment's search showed him the gold glittering on some farmyard rubbish. With a little shrill cry like a frightened bird the old man fell upon it, as it had been with claws.
"Bite upon it and see if the gold be good," said Sholto, smiling.
"Alas," cried the cripple, "I have but one tooth. But I know the coin. It is of the right mintage and greasiness. O lovely gold! Beautiful gentlemen, bide where you are and I will be back with you in a moment."
And the old man limped away with astonishing quickness to hide his acquisition, lest, mayhap, his guests should repent them and retract their liberality.