Fulk took him up.
“I have never been in your city of London, Master Friar.”
A bird twittered in the furze, and Merlin threw up his arms of a sudden, and cried in a loud voice: “Peace—peace! All honour to St. Francis, and let all men love one another.”
Fulk looked at him as at one gone mad. Merlin waxed explanatory.
“Sir, at times the spirit stirs in me so strongly that I have to leap and cry out. And assuredly it is a marvellous thing that such a bachelor as Fulk Ferrers should never have ridden thirty miles and crossed London Bridge! Yet you are not altogether the loser, for in a city lurks much wickedness.”
Fulk’s horse began to fidget, and his master was in sympathy with him.
“We forest folk keep our wits and our money about us, Father Merlin, nor have we much of the latter to lose. I wish you a good journey, plenty of alms, and many sinners.”
Merlin showed his teeth and grinned.
“Pax tecum, my son.”
And so they parted.