‘So saying she went into her hovel and presently returned with a cup of sheep’s milk and a thin cake of rye-bread. (Verily, as saith the Evangelist, few but the poor shall inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.) The minstrel smiled sadly at her and took the cup and the cake, saying “Merci.” Folk watched him curiously while he ate, for he seemed fragile as a young girl and unhappy as a bird that has lost her mate. When he had finished he took his fiddle and bow and began to play. Certainly he was a skilful musician, and he played many strange songs in which they had great delight, but after a while they bid him stay. ‘“Thou art a right cunning minstrel,” they said, “and right woe are we that we have naught wherewith to repay thee for thy sweet music; ’twould be shame to keep thee here playing for nothing, when thou mightest earn rich gifts for thyself up at the castle. The Lord has a feast toward, and though he is full stark and cruel to such poor labouring folk as we, he loves music and mirth, and belike would pay thee dearly for thy skill. ‘“My good Lord loved to hear me play once,” said the minstrel, “but he is dead, and sleepeth with the saints in Christ.” ‘“Come, little knave,” said the woman. “Get thee to the great castle thou seest yonder. There at least thou shalt get broken victuals to fill thy poor, empty maw.” ‘They went with him, leading him to the end of the village and showing him the track thence up to the castle. They wished him Godspeed and a good journey. ‘The minstrel slowly descended the hillside, crossed the broad meadows and came to the still water and thence climbed upward through the great wood. Bright beams pierced the thick leafage overhead and shot the cool rich shadows with patches of brilliant emerald. The moss yielded like a carpet to his feet. On either side of the narrow track waved the lush bracken, high to his waist. The undergrowth in the odorous glades was besnowed with flowering bramble and starred with golden honeysuckle. Bright toadstools lit gorgeously the secret glooms. Now and then a squirrel rustled lightly among the branches, and ever and anon a coney started from beneath his feet, but in all that green wilderness sounded no voice of a bird. ‘After a toilsome climb he came to the castle and stood doubtfully at the Drawbridge. The warden spied him from his place under the portcullis and, noting the fiddle he carried, called to him lustily to enter, for the Lord was at meat and dearly loved to hear minstrels. So the minstrel crossed the bridge, and the warden, gripping him by the arm, delivered him over with a leer and a wink to a sewer. The sewer grinning spitefully, linked arms with him and so brought him, willy-nilly, to the great hall.