roud man he will be, I warrant you."

I was sorry now I had bragged, for nothing but contempt came from it, as
indeed, had I been a little wiser, I might have known. So I said no
more about the matter, and let my comrade talk, which he did to his
heart's content, telling me of the battles he had fought in, and the
spoils he had taken, and the triumphs he had seen.

Thus talking, we beguiled the time till we came to where we had to part
company; for the troop went by way of Abingdon, whereas I, following
Master Udal's directions, continued on the east bank of the river to
Oxford. He bade me think over what he had said about joining the wars,
and told me where he might be found during the next week or two.

"Ask for Tom Price," said he; "they all know me. And on the day you're
Lord Mayor of London, which I take it is not far hence, find me a humble
seat below the salt at your lordship's table; and so farewell."

I felt it lonely enough after my company had left; besides which, I
clean lost my way, and was forced at last to seek the river and guide
myself by that. Heavy work it was; for the river's bank was swampy and
often impassable with bushes and woods, so that I had to go miles out of
my way to circumvent them, leading my horse by the hand. At last, when
I hardly knew where I was, night fell; and worn-out with weariness and
hunger, I made for the first house I could see--which chanced to be an
inn--and resolved to go no farther that night.

Had I gone on, I am certain of one thing, which is, that this veritable
history would never have been written. For I should not then have met
the wild person who, just as I stood unharnessing my nag at the door,
dashed past me and flung himself into the house.

CHAPTER FOUR.

HOW I MET A RUNAWAY SCHOLAR.

As I entered the poor kitchen of the inn--for it was a sorry shed
altogether--there rose to meet me a figure which, if I live to
Methuselah's age, I shall not easily forget. He was tall and had the
limbs of a giant. His hair was tawny and inclined to red, and hung in
disorderly waves on his shoulders. His raiment--for he had flung his
scholar's cap and robe to a corner of the room--was poor and ragged, and
seemed scarcely to hang together on his brawny back. His arms were long
and nervous, and the hands at the end of them twitched uneasily even
while the rest of his body was motionless. His carriage was erect and
martial, and you knew not whether to admire m