“I am to deliver him a letter from my master. Can you take me to him?”
“No,” said my companion, “for I shall never enter Oxford again.”
“Is your term done, then?” I asked.
“For me it is,” said he. “I have been here two months, and will have no more of it.”
“But are you free to leave?” I asked—for my curiosity was roused.
“Free!” said he: “I am here, that is enough. If my tutor come after me, there will be two men who will never see Oxford again.”
I pitied his tutor, whoever he was, when he said that.
“But where are you going then?” I asked.
“To-night I shall lie here. The man of the place is my friend, and will shelter me, though I have nothing to pay him. To-morrow I shall take the road.”
Here our supper came in: a fine big trout from the river, and a dish which mine host called mutton, but which I smelt to be venison.