mankind.
But if you do but claim to have it, and yet have it not, then it seems
to me, master clerk, that you may yourself find the gate barred when you
shall ask admittance."

"Small of faith! Small of faith!" cried the sompnour. "Ah, Sir Didymus
yet walks upon earth! And yet no words of doubt can bring anger to mine
heart, or a bitter word to my lip, for am I not a poor unworthy worker
in the cause of gentleness and peace? Of all these pardons which I bear
every one is stamped and signed by our holy father, the prop and centre
of Christendom."

"Which of them?" asked Sir Nigel.

"Ha, ha!" cried the pardoner, shaking a jewelled forefinger. "Thou
wouldst be deep in the secrets of mother Church? Know then that I have
both in my scrip. Those who hold with Urban shall have Urban's pardon,
while I have Clement's for the Clementist--or he who is in doubt may
have both, so that come what may he shall be secure. I pray you that you
will buy one, for war is bloody work, and the end is sudden with little
time for thought or shrift. Or you, sir, for you seem to me to be a man
who would do ill to trust to your own merits." This to the alderman of
Norwich, who had listened to him with a frowning brow and a sneering
lip.

"When I sell my cloth," quoth he, "he who buys may weigh and feel and
handle. These goods which you sell are not to be seen, nor is there
any proof that you hold them. Certes, if mortal man might control God's
mercy, it would be one of a lofty and God-like life, and not one who is
decked out with rings and chains and silks, like a pleasure-wench at a
kermesse.

"Thou wicked and shameless man!" cried the clerk. "Dost thou dare to
raise thy voice against the unworthy servant of mother Church?"

"Unworthy enough!" quoth David Micheldene. "I would have you to know,
clerk, that I am a free English burgher, and that I dare say my mind to
our father the Pope himself, let alone such a lacquey's lacquey as you!"

"Base-born and foul-mouthed knave!" cried the sompnour. "You prate of
holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise. Keep silence, lest
I call a curse upon you!"

"Silence yourself!" roared the other. "Foul bird! we found thee by the
gallows like a carrion-crow. A fine life thou hast of it with thy silks
and thy baubles, cozening the last few shillings from the pouches of
dying men. A fig for thy curse! Bide here, if you will take my rede, for
we will make England too hot for such as you, when Mast