hen I had
finished that 'Dream of Piers the Plowman' from which I have recited to
you, the last verses were thus:

"'Now have I brought my little booke to an ende
God's blessing be on him who a drinke will me sende'--

"I pray you come in with me and share it."

"Nay," said Nigel, "we must on our way, for we have far to go. But
give me your name, my friend, for indeed we have passed a merry hour
listening to your words."

"Have a care!" the stranger answered, shaking his head. "You and your
class will not spend a merry hour when these words are turned into deeds
and Peter the Plowman grows weary of swinking in the fields and takes up
his bow and his staff in order to set this land in order."

"By Saint Paul! I expect that we shall bring Peter to reason and also
those who have put such evil thoughts into his head," said Nigel. "So
once more I ask your name, that I may know it if ever I chance to hear
that you have been hanged?"

The stranger laughed good-humoredly. "You can call me Thomas Lackland,"
said he. "I should be Thomas Lack-brain if I were indeed to give my true
name, since a good many robbers, some in black gowns and some in steel,
would be glad to help me upwards in the way you speak of. So good-day
to you, Squire, and to you also, archer, and may you find your way back
with whole bones from the wars!"

That night the comrades slept in Godstone Priory, and early next morning
they were well upon their road down the Pilgrim's Way. At Titsey it was
said that a band of villeins were out in Westerham Wood and had murdered
three men the day before; so that Nigel had high hopes of an encounter;
but the brigands showed no sign, though the travelers went out of their
way to ride their horses along the edges of the forest. Farther on they
found traces of their work, for the path ran along the hillside at the
base of a chalk quarry, and there in the cutting a man was lying dead.
From his twisted limbs and shattered frame it was easy to see that he
had been thrown over from above, while his pockets turned outward showed
the reason for his murder. The comrades rode past without too close
a survey, for dead men were no very uncommon objects on the King's
highway, and if sheriff or bailiff should chance upon you near the body
you might find yourself caught in the meshes of the law.

Near Sevenoaks their road turned out of the old Canterbury way and
pointed south toward the coast, leaving the chalk lands