Or springen cockle in our clené come."--Chaucer.
As soon as the last echo of the retreating footsteps had died away, Bertram raised himself up from his couch; and playing the part of one just in the act of awaking, he yawned and asked for something to eat and drink. The old woman grumbled, and fetched him the remains of a jug of whiskey with some biscuit and fish--never troubling herself to inquire about the palateableness of these viands. Bertram ate and drank with as little scrupulousness as belonged to his situation; and then, finding his spirits somewhat restored, he began to question his hostess afresh:--
"Good mother, I know not whether I was dreaming or half awake; but it seemed to me that there were fishermen or some such people in the house; and that the refreshment I have just taken came from their table."
"Aye," said the old woman drily, "they can find time to dream that do little with their hands."
"But what would you have me do, my good hostess? Have you any work for me?"
The old woman shook her head.
"Well then, give me the means of going where I have something to do."
"And where is that?"
"The coast of Wales, for which I was bound when I met with my misfortune."
"The coast of Wales? Never trouble it: they've rogues enough already." Then, fixing her eyes steadily on Bertram, she looked thoughtfully; and shook her head: "Were you ever in Wales before?"