The good divine was civil, and when my comrade had made him a deep Latin reverence and told lies in great abundance to him, as how the soldiers had plundered him on his road and robbed him of all his journey-money, he offered him a piece of bread and butter and a draught of beer. But I made as though I belonged not to him, and said I would eat a snack in the inn and then call for him, that we might ere the day was spent come somewhat further on our way together. And to the inn I went, yet more to espy what I could fetch away that night than to appease mine hunger, and had also the luck on the way to find a peasant plastering up of his oven, in which he had great loaves of rye-bread, that should sit there and bake for four-and-twenty hours. With the innkeeper I did little business: for now I knew where bread was to be had: yet bought a few loaves of white bread for our captain, and when I came to the parsonage to warn my comrade to go, he had already had his fill, and had told the priest I was a painter and was minded to journey to Holland, there to perfect my art. So the good man bade me welcome and begged me to go into the church with him, for he would shew me some pieces there that needed repair. And not to spoil the play, I must follow. So he took me through the kitchen, and as he opened the lock in the strong oaken door that led to the churchyard, O mirum! there I saw that the black heaven above was dark with lutes, flutes, and fiddles, meaning the hams, smoked sausages, and sides of bacon that hung in the chimney; at which I looked with content, for it seemed as if they smiled at me, and I wished, but in vain, to have them for my comrades in the wood: yet they were so obstinate as to hang where they were. Then pondered I upon the means how I could couple them with the said oven full of bread, yet could not easily devise such, for, as aforesaid, the parson's yard was walled round and all windows sufficiently guarded with iron bars. Furthermore there lay two monstrous great dogs in the courtyard which, as I feared, would of a surety not sleep by night if any would steal that whereon 'twas the reward of their faithful guardianship to feed by day. So now when we came into the church and talked of the pictures, and the priest would hire me to mend this and that, and I sought for excuses and pleaded my journey, says the sacristan or bellringer, "Fellow," says he, "I take thee rather for a runaway soldier than a painter." To such rough talk I was no longer used, yet must put up with it: still I shook my head a little and answered him, "Fellow, give me but a brush and colours, and in a wink I will have thee painted for the fool thou art." Whereat the priest laughed, yet said to us both, 'twas not fitting to wrangle in so holy a place: with that I perceived he believed us both, both me and my student; so he gave us yet another draught and let us go. But my heart I left behind among the smoked sausages.