The Pedlar packed his bale again, loaded his horse, and departed. The dull clang of his bell sounded in the Friar’s ears long after he was lost to sight in the windings of the road. Friar Gregory walked on another mile, when he came to a thick wood. He entered it, fighting his way through the undergrowth of hawthorn and blackberry, until he came to a place where a clear stream murmured coolly over the round stones. He drank heartily of the limpid waters, and, presently divesting himself of the brown habit of his order, clad himself in the clothes he had bought. He hid his habit in a hollow by the stream and covered it over with bracken and stones. Then regaining the highroad he walked on. When he had journeyed for a couple of hours more, he saw on his left hand, a little removed from the road and half hidden in a thick grove of oaks, a little village, lying under the shadow of quiet, green hills. Now the grey church tower caught his eye and now thatched roofs, scattered here and there among the trees. So he turned from the highway and went through a lane to the village. As he approached he heard the sound of merry making, and the doorways of the cottages he passed were decorated with flowers, and green branches had been placed upright along the way. Then the Friar remembered it was the Feast of Corpus Christi, and he instinctively crossed himself. He came to an inn, and entering, he called for meat and drink. The alewife brought him fresh fish, peas and ryebread, and a great tankard of beer, and he ate till he was filled. ‘By our Lady,’ said the alewife, ‘’tis not thou that lackest appetite.’ ‘I have travelled far,’ he answered, and she brought him some more ale. Before the inn lay a wide green, and beyond the green lay the churchyard, and beyond the churchyard lay a little Priory. The alehouse was full of wenches and fellows in their bright holiday clothes. Some played at dice and others at quoits; some told merry tales and others listened to them. A minstrel sang a lay to a group of village folk, who lay stretched out at ease on the green. ‘A good day, Master Traveller,’ cried Long Hugh. ‘Thou hast travelled far from the dust on thy shoes and hose. But a long drink caps a long journey best.’ ‘Ay, and therefore do I drink,’ returned the Friar, ‘and therefore do thou drink with me.’ ‘God’s blessing on thee,’ said Long Hugh. ‘I would drink with any man in Christendom, and so would my wench here.’ Alice, the Miller’s daughter, laughed. ‘Before God I am dry,’ she said. So they all three drank together, and the Friar grew merry in heart. ‘Drink, drink, good fellows all,’ he cried, and they all drank, Long Hugh, Brown Alice, Watkin the Ploughman, Purnel of the Hollow-way, Thomas the Cobbler, Clarice of Cock Lane, William the Hackneyman, Rose the Hedger, Pierce the Clerk, Nicholas the Waggoner, Kate Coil, and Clement the Cuckold.