name for a stout man-at-
arms. It was of some comfort to me to hear a Scots tongue; but, for the
rest, I travelled on with a heavier heart, deeming that Orleans must
indeed fall ere I could seek my brother in that town.

CHAPTER III--WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE OF CHINON TOWN

My old nurse, when I was a child, used to tell me a long story of a
prince who, wandering through the world, made friends with many strange
companions. One she called Lynx-eye, that could see through a mountain;
one was Swift-foot, that could outrun the wind; one was Fine-ear, that
could hear the grass growing; and there was Greedy-gut, that could
swallow a river. All these were very serviceable to this gracious
prince, of I know not what country, in his adventures; and they were
often brought into my mind by the companions whom we picked up on the
grass-grown roads.

These wanderers were as strange as the friends of the prince, and were as
variously, but scarce as honourably, gifted. There was the one-armed
soldier, who showed his stump very piteously when it was a question of
begging from a burgess, but was as well furnished with limbs as other men
when no burgess was in sight. There was a wretched woman violer, with
her jackanapes, and with her husband, a hang-dog ruffian, she bearing the
mark of his fist on her eye, and commonly trailing far behind him with
her brat on her back. There was a blind man, with his staff, who might
well enough answer to Keen-eye, that is, when no strangers were in sight.
There was a layman, wearing cope and stole and selling indulgences, but
our captain, Brother Thomas, soon banished him from our company, for that
he divided the trade. Others there were, each one of them a Greedy-gut,
a crew of broken men, who marched with us on the roads; but we never
entered a town or a house with these discreditable attendants.

Now, it may seem strange, but the nearer we drew to Chinon and the Court,
the poorer grew the country, for the Court and the men-at-arms had
stripped it bare, like a flight of locusts. For this reason the Dauphin
could seldom abide long at one place, for he was so much better known
than trusted that the very cordwainer would not let him march off in a
new pair of boots without seeing his money, and, as the song said, he
even greased his old clouted shoon, and made them last as long as he
might. For head-gear he was as ill provided, seeing that he had pawned
the fleurons of his crown. There w