we use," cried careless James; "let
us eat, and warm our toes, and therewith have somewhat less of thy
prating, old dotard. It can be shrewdly cold in this westerly country
of yours."

"Pay," cried the old man, holding up his clawed hands; "do you mean
_more_ pay--more besides the beautiful gold angel? Here--"

He ran out and presently returned with armful after armful of faggots,
while his guests laughed to find his mood so changed.

"Here," he cried, running to and fro like a fretful hen, "take it all,
and when that is done, this also, and this. Nay, I will stay up all
night to carry more from the forest of Machecoul."

"And you who were so afraid to open to three honest men, would you
venture to bring faggots by night from yon dark wood?"

"Nay," said the old man, cunningly, "I meant not from the forest, but
from my neighbours' woodpiles. Yet for lovely gold I would even
venture to go thither--that is, if I had my image of the Blessed
Mother about my neck and the moon shone very bright."

"Now haste thee with the barley brew," said Lord James, "for my
stomach is as deep as a well and as empty as the purse of a younger
son."

The strange cripple emitted another bird-like cachinnation, resembling
the sound which is made by the wooden cogwheels wherewithal boys
fright the crows from the cornfields when the August sun is yellowing
the land.

"Poor old Caesar Martin can show you something better than that," he
cried, as he hirpled out (for so Malise described it afterwards) and
presently returned dragging a great iron pot with a strength which
seemed incredible in so ramshackle a body.

"Ha! ha!" he said, "here is fragrant stew; smell it. Is it not good?
In ten minutes it will be so hot and toothsome that you will scarce
have patience to wait till it be decently cool in the platters. This
is not common Angevin stew, but Bas Breton--which is a far better
thing."

Malise rose, and, relieving the old man, with one finger swung the pot
to a crook that hung over the cheerful blaze of the birchwood.

The old cripple Caesar Martin now mounted on a stool and stirred the
mess with a long stick, at the end of which was a steel fork of two
prongs. And as he stirred he talked:

"God bless you, say I, brave gentlemen and good pilgrims. Surely it
was a wind noble and fortunate that blew you hither to taste my broth.
There be fine pigeons here, fat and young. There be leverets juicy and
tender as a maid untried. There--w