He would only part with one of his loaves, even a stale one, on the express condition that it was paid for in current coin of the realm. Would he accept a dagger with a hilt wrought curiously in silver in exchange for twenty pieces of that precious metal? No, he would not. Would he for ten? No, he would not. He had no use for a dagger, silver-hilted or otherwise. The only thing he had a use for was an honest true penny when it came to a matter of a quartern loaf. All Gervase’s persuasiveness could do nothing with this sturdy Saxon. One of his quartern loaves was worth a penny, as had been those of his father before him; a penny was its price in the open market, and he would defy the devil himself to get one for less. In such circumstances there was nothing for Anne and Gervase to do but to return bitterly hungry to the village street. They feared to show themselves in it, but alas; the spur of hunger is a most instant thing. Sad indeed and footsore already with their wandering, they walked through the village. Both were tired and thirsty and also faint for lack of food. They kept close under the houses, expecting at any moment to be sprung upon by the men in the scarlet livery. In the middle of the road, coming slowly towards them, was a ragged nut-brown vagabond playing a flageolet for pence. He was very far from being a skilful performer. Indeed his tunes upon his cracked instrument were as ragged as himself. But apparently they did not lack the approval of the public. For while Gervase and Anne stood looking wistfully at this draggle-tail, a well-dressed man riding a good horse tossed the fellow a coin as he passed. Adversity is a great thing for the mind. Gervase at once took the idea that he himself could perform quite as villainously if only he could come by an instrument. If only he might barter the silver-hilted dagger for a flageolet, even of the most lamentable kind, it might be possible in the present condition of the public taste to keep body and soul together. He gave the idea to Anne, who approved it heartily, always assuming that he had some little skill upon the instrument. “Why, yes,” said Gervase. “I learned to play on the flageolet when I was at Paris. ’Tis the only thing I learned there; at least it is the only thing I learned there that is likely to serve us now.” But how were they to come by such a thing? That was a problem indeed. Under the spur of their necessity they went after the ragged fellow and were fain to interrupt him in the midst of his discoursing of the infamous melody of “Jumping Joan.” He did not thank them for their interruption. “Barter my pipe for a silver-hilted dagger, quotha? I would not barter my pipe for all the pearls in the head o’ the Virgin Queen. Stand out o’ my light and let me proceed.” He was a rude fellow and a fierce one, and he was like to stride over them in his haste to get clear of the suggestion.