“Barter my pipe!” they could hear him mutter as he passed down the road. It was as though he had been asked to barter his religion. He poured out a string of curses and then returned to his villainous melody. Feeling almost desperate, they dragged themselves along the street until they came to a door with a bush hanging over it which showed it was the village ale-house. Here on a bench outside the door they flung themselves down. The seat was hard and narrow, yet infinitely delicious to their weariness. Here they sat until the landlord came to them. They marked his appearance with great trepidation as to what manner of a man he was. Like that of the baker, his aspect was large and stubborn but not genial. “I give you good morrow, Master Innkeeper,” said Gervase in his frank and pleasant fashion. “Good morrow to you, young man,” said the innkeeper cautiously. “Do you care to buy a dagger with a hilt wrought curiously in silver?” “That I do not,” said the innkeeper; “I would not care to buy anything except a halter for my wife.” “What will it profit your wife,” asked Gervase, “if you provide her with a halter? You are not going to hang her, I hope.” “Hang her! God bless me, no! It is simply that to-morrow I am going to lead her in her shift with a halter round her neck as far as Derby market-place and sell her to the highest bidder. Happen, young man, you don’t want a wife yourself?” “What is the price you ask for her?” “A gold angel will buy her, and she’s worth double the money.” “But why do you part with her? Has she a fault in her temper, or is it that she is not as virtuously given as she might be?” “No, her temper is excellent; and as for her virtue, the vicar of the parish will answer for that.” “Then in that case,” said Gervase, “a gold angel seems little enough to pay for her.” “Yes, she’s a great bargain,” said the innkeeper; “you can make your mind easy, young man, on that score.” “One might take her for a month on trial, I suppose?” said Gervase. “No,” said the landlord decisively; “if you decide to have her you must pay your gold angel and take her off my hands at once. But as I say, you will have a bargain. Her virtue and her temper are excellent, and if you remind her what a rope’s end feels like at every new moon I’ll warrant that you’ll have no trouble with her at all.” “Well, I hope she can cook a meal,” said Gervase. “It is an excellent thing in a woman if she is able to cook a meal.” “I’ll answer for her cooking, young man. You couldn’t find a better hand at that sort of thing if you tried all over the county o’ Derby.” “Skilled in making bread?” “Bless my soul, yes!” “And in making cheese, I hope?” “Ask Master Radlett the bailiff what he thinks of her cream cheeses.” “Can she brew ale?” “Aye, and cider too and also perry.” “Well, she’s a paragon, I’m bound to admit.”