“The child had a craving to see the show,” replied the Brother, “so Hob the cobbler told me; and all went well till my Lord of Pembroke’s retainers forced all right and left to make way in the crowd. Hal was thrown down, and the child thrust away till they feared she had fallen over the bank. Hob and his wife were fain to get the poor man away, for his moans and fierce words were awful: and he was not a little hurt in the scuffle, so I e’en gave them leave to lay him in the cart that brought up your reverence’s vestments, and the gear we lent the Abbey for the show.” “Right, Brother Hilary,” said Sir Robert; “and now the poor knave will have his best healing.—He must have been a good soldier once,” he added to Richard; “but he is a mere fragment of a man, wasted in your Earl of Leicester’s wars.” “Where dwells he?” asked Richard, keenly interested in all his father’s old followers; “I would fain restore him his child.” “In a hut on Bednall Green,” answered the serving-brother; “but twice or thrice a week he comes to the Spital to have his hurts looked to.” “Ay! we tell him his little witch must soon be shut out! She turns the heads of all our brethren,” said Sir Robert, smiling. “Wild work she makes with our novices.” “Wilder with our Knights Commanders, maybe, Sir,” retorted, laughing, a fair open-faced youth in his novitiate. “I shall some day warn Hal how our brethren, the Templars, are said to play at ball with tender babes on their lances.” “No scandal about our brethren of the Temple, Rayland,” said Sir Robert, looking grave for a moment.—“Young Sir, it would be a favour if you would ride with us; we would gladly show you the way to Bednall Green.” “I should rejoice to go, Sir,” returned Richard, “but I am of Prince Edward’s household—Richard Fowen; and my horse is on the other side of the river.” “That is soon remedied,” said Sir Robert, who seemed to have taken a great fancy to Richard, either for the sake of his crossed shoulder, or of his kindness to the little plaything of the Spital. “Our young brother, Engelbert von Fuchstein, has leave to tarry this night with his brother in the train of the King of the Romans, and his horse is at your service, if you will do our poor Spital the favour to tarry there this night, and ride it back in the morn to meet him at Westminster.” Richard knew that this invitation might be safely accepted without danger of giving umbrage to the Prince, who was on the best terms with the Knights of the Hospital. He therefore dismissed Gourdon and the other man-at-arms with a message explaining the matter; and warmly thanking the old Grand Prior, laid one hand on the saddle of the great ponderous beast that was led up to him, and vaulted on its back without touching the stirrup. “Well done, my young master,” said Sir Robert, “it is easy to see you are of the Prince’s household.” “I cannot yet do as the Prince can,” said Richard,—“take this leap in full armour.”