"Ay," said Lindesay, "and Jacques Bonhomme, (that is our name for the peasant, young man, – you will learn our way of talk in time,) – honest Jacques, I say, cares little what wind either brings them or the locusts, so he but knows any gale that would carry them away again."
"Do they do so much evil?" asked the young man.
"Evil? – why, boy, they are heathens, or Jews, or Mahommedans at the least, and neither worship Our Lady nor the Saints" – (crossing himself) – "and steal what they can lay hands on, and sing, and tell fortunes," added Cunningham.
"And they say there are some goodly wenches amongst these women," said Guthrie; "but Cunningham knows that best."
"How, brother!" said Cunningham; "I trust ye mean me no reproach?"
"I am sure I said ye none," answered Guthrie.
"I will be judged by the company," said Cunningham. – "Ye said as much as that I, a Scottish gentleman, and living within pale of holy church, had a fair friend among these off-scourings of Heathenesse."
"Nay, nay," said Balafré, "he did but jest – We will have no quarrels among comrades."
"We must have no such jesting then," said Cunningham, murmuring as if he had been speaking to his own beard.
"Be there such vagabonds in other lands than France?" said Lindesay.