Under this vigorous treatment Little John was constrained to lie quiet until the friar gave him leave to get up. At last he had this leave, and he and the friar went forth to join the rest of the band, who were right glad to see them, you may be sure. They sat around a big fire, for ‘twas a chilly evening, and they feasted and made merry, in great content. A cold rain set in, later, but the friar wended his way back, nathless, to his little hermitage. There he made himself a cheerful blaze, and changed his dripping robe, and had sat himself down, with a sigh of satisfaction, before a tankard of hot mulled wine and a pasty, when suddenly a voice was heard on the outside, demanding admission. His kennel of dogs set up furious uproar, on the instant, by way of proving the fact of a stranger’s presence. “Now by Saint Peter!” growled the friar, “who comes here at this unseemly hour? Does he take this for a hostelry? Move on, friend, else my mulled wine will get cold!” So saying he put the tankard to his lips, when a thundering rap sounded upon the door-panel, making it to quiver, and causing Tuck almost to drop his tankard; while an angry voice shouted, “Ho! Within there! Open, I say!” “Go your way in peace!” roared back the friar; “I can do nothing for you. ‘Tis but a few miles to Gamewell, if you know the road.” “But I do not know the road, and if I did I would not budge another foot. ‘Tis wet without and dry within. So open, without further parley!” “A murrain seize you for disturbing a holy man in his prayers!” muttered Tuck savagely. Nathless, he was fain to unbar the door in order to keep it from being battered down. Then lighting a torch at his fire and whistling for one of his dogs, he strode forth to see who his visitor might be. The figure of a tall knight clad in a black coat of mail, with plumed helmet, stood before him. By his side stood his horse, also caparisoned in rich armor. “Have you no supper, brother?” asked the Black Knight curtly. “I must beg of you a bed and a bit of roof, for this night, and fain would refresh my body ere I sleep.” “I have no room that even your steed would deign to accept, Sir Knight; and naught save a crust of bread and pitcher of water.” “I’ faith, I can smell better fare than that, brother, and must e’en force my company upon you, though I shall recompense it for gold in the name of the church. As for my horse, let him but be blanketed and put on the sheltered side of the house.” And without further parley the knight boldly strode past Tuck and his dog and entered the hermitage. Something about his masterful air pleased Tuck, in spite of his churlishness. “Sit you down, Sir Knight,” quoth he, “and I will fasten up up your steed, and find him somewhat in the shape of grain. Half, also, of my bed and board is yours, this night; but we shall see later who is the better man, and is to give the orders!”