He gave the cup to the steward and was told to come back for his money after tierce, that is, after the service at the third hour of the day, about half way between sunrise and noon. There were no clocks, and Guy would know when it was time to go back by the sound of the church bells. The hall was full of people coming and going on various errands. One was a tired-looking man in a coarse robe, and broad hat, rope girdle, and sandals, who, when he was told that the Bishop was at Westminster on business with the King, looked so disappointed that Guy felt sorry for him. The boy slipped into the garden for a talk with his old friend the gardener, who gave him a head of new lettuce and some young mustard, both of which were uncommon luxuries in a London household of that day, and some roots for the tiny walled garden which he and Aunt Joan were doing their best to keep up. As he came out of the gate, having got his money, he saw the man he had noticed before sitting by the roadside trying to fasten his sandal. The string was worn out. A boy's pocket usually has string in it. Guy found a piece of leather thong in his pouch and rather shyly held it out. The man looked up with an odd smile. "I thank you," he said in curious formal English with a lisp in it. "There is courtesy, then, among Londoners? I began to think none here cared for anything but money, and yet the finest things in the world are not for sale." Guy did not know what to answer, but the idea interested him. "The sky above our heads," the wayfarer went on, looking with narrowed eyes at the pink may spilling over the gray wall of the Bishop's garden,--"flowers, birds, music, these are for all. When you go on pilgrimage you find out how pleasant is the world when you need not think of gain." The stranger was a pilgrim, then. That accounted for the clothes, but old Gamelyn had been on pilgrimage to the new shrine at Canterbury, and it had not helped his rheumatism much, and certainly had given him no such ideas as these. Guy looked up at the weary face with the brilliant eyes and smile,--they were walking together now,--and wondered. "And what do you in London?" the pilgrim asked. "My uncle is a goldsmith in Chepe," said the boy. "And are you going to be a goldsmith in Chepe too?" "I suppose so." "Then you like not the plan?" Guy hesitated. He never had talked of his feeling about the business, but he felt that this man would see what he meant. "I should like it better than anything," he said, "if we made things like those the Bishop has. Uncle Gamelyn says that there is no profit in them, because they take the finest metal and the time of the best workmen, and the pay is no more, and folk do not want them."