“I am no lord,” I answered with a twinkle in my eye. “Nor am I hungry. I have a long ride ahead of me and must be on my way.” With that I made to be off. But the scrivener seemed to have no hearing. He clapped his cap upon his head and with a skip was out in the middle of the road. “If you are not a noble,” he said with his grin spreading from ear to ear, “you ought to be. But I am sure of one thing——” He let the last words trail in the air as though he would puzzle me. “What’s that?” I asked. “Your horse is!” he cried. And then he bent over and laughed as though he had made the smartest remark in the world. I was feeling uneasy. The thought came to me that I was wasting my time with a madman and the sooner I could get off from him the better. “Well,” I replied dryly, “maybe he is. But don’t let me interrupt your meal.” I looked down the road to let him know that I was anxious to be off. The hint was wasted, for he stepped in close to the roan and started to stroke him on the neck, muttering and mumbling to himself words of the highest praise. He twisted his head to the one side like a bird on a perch and winked at me knowingly. “Do you know what I’d give for this horse?” he demanded. “He’s not for sale,” I said with some abruptness. But he went on as though I had not spoken. “I’d give everything I have,” he burst out. “I’d give my parchment, my inkhorn and my quills. And I’d be willing to forget all I know of the art of writing, if I could call him my own!” I almost laughed in his face. “You’re generous, master scrivener,” said I, and once more gathered in the reins. But he was not to be so easily shaken off. He made a pretense of great affection for the animal. He laid his cheek against its head. He took to stroking its mane. Then he looked up into my face with a cunning leer. “Do you know,” he began slyly, “I don’t believe the horse is yours at all.” “What!” said I. “Do you take me for a thief?” “Ah!” he exclaimed, raising his brows. “I’ve hit a soft spot, now, haven’t I? Why, it’s true then that you gentlemen of the road are as touchy as a flock of crows.” I was almost overcome. That I would be taken for a highwayman was far from what I had ever dreamed. “Look here!” I called. “Take your hand from that horse. I’ll give you till I count ‘three.’ If you’re not out of the way then, I’ll ride you down.” The scrivener paid me no more attention than he would a fly. Without taking his eyes from me, he reached into his belt and drew forth a dagger. As he held it in the air, I saw that it was of unusual value and workmanship. The blade was as thin as a blade of grass and rang to his touch like the finest steel. Besides, the haft shone with a brightness that could hardly be believed, for it was not only of the clearest silver but was set with a scattering of brilliant stones. “Let’s start the bargaining over again, my lord,” he said. “Will you exchange your horse for this?”