"'T was the way o' the hunt, but marry, now 't is the way of a good dinner,--and that 's a short road to the Priory. I am of Prince Lionel's train."
"Ay," returned the other, as who should say, "No need to tell me that;" and he added presently, "The hunt is below in the King's Forest; how art thou strayed? Thou 'rt midway the top o' the Great Hill."
The child laughed, but, though his eyes were merry, yet were they shy, and the red mounted to his brow. He came a pace nearer.
"I made a little rondel to my lady; and it must be as my thought flew up, so clomb my feet likewise, and I was not aware."
He plaited his fingers in his belt and flushed a deeper red, half proud and half dismayed of his confession. "I trust thee for a secret man, shepherd," he added.
The eyes of the dreamer laughed, but his lips were circumspect. He sat up and nursed his knee with his two long arms.
"Ay, of a truth, a secret man, young master; but no shepherd," he answered.
The little lad eyed him, and questioned with a child's simplicity, "What art thou, then?"
The youth looked onward to the Great Hill. "I know not, yet," he said.
So for a little space he sat, forgetful of his questioner, until the child came close and sat beside him, laying one hand upon his arm and looking up to his face thoughtfully.
"Thou long brown man, it may be thou 'rt a poet," he said at last.
"It may well be," the dreamer acquiesced, and never turned his eyes from the green hill.
"In London, at the court of the king, there be poets," the child continued; "but thou art of quite other fashion. Who is thy lady-love?"
"Saint Truth," the brown boy answered gravely.
"Saint--Truth!" repeated the child; "and is she dead, then?"
"I marvel that thy lady chide thee not for thy mean apparel. In London is not a friar plays his wanton lute beneath a chamber window but he goeth better clad than thou."
"Hark you, young master, I follow not the friars!" the dreamer cried with a stern lip. "And for my lady, she careth for naught but that my coat be honestly come by. So far as I may discover, she hath not her abode in the king's palace."
"Forsooth, a strange lady!" said the child; and then, leaning his head against that other's shoulder, "Poet, tell me a tale."