To his astonishment she sat down again on the faggot, as though she had a right there now that she had bought the loaf. Fulcon opened his shrewd but rather sleepy eyes wider, and stared. The words “get up” were again on the tip of his tongue. But he smothered them, picked up the other faggot, and giving a warning whistle to the dog Ban who was lying in the shop, went away up the narrow passage. When Fulcon returned, he stared still harder, for the dog Ban was sitting with his muzzle resting on the woman’s knee, and looking up steadily into her face. She was breaking the bread slowly, and giving the dog a crust from time to time. Fulcon might have reasoned with her over such extravagance, had he not been the creature of a strong affection with regard to the big brown dog, one of the two living things in the world to whom he grudged nothing. The baker stood by, scratching his beard, something very much like a smile glimmering in his eyes. Then he gave a half audible chuckle as though the scene seemed peculiarly quaint. The woman turned her head, but Fulcon’s face was as blank as a piece of brown sandstone. He looked indeed as though he had never uttered a sound in his life. Dog Ban lifted his head and stared at his master as though it was unusual for Fulcon to chuckle. The woman asked a question. “How far is it to Guildford?” Fulcon jerked his head like a wooden doll worked by string. “Guildford? It may be eighteen miles,” and he reconsidered the number carefully as though he were handing out loaves. The woman laid a hand on the dog’s head. “I am tired,” she said suddenly. “I want a lodging.” “A lodging.” Fulcon always echoed a neighbour’s sentences, a trick that suggested caution, and a desire to gain time for reflection. “There are hostels in the town,” he said. “No.” “There are hostels in the town.” “No,” and yet again she repeated the blunt monosyllable “no.” Fulcon echoed the “no,” and stared hard at the opposite wall. Ban opened his mouth suddenly, and laughed as a dog can laugh on occasions. It was as though the matter was so absurdly simple that he was tickled by the way these humans bungled it. Fulcon caught the dog’s eye. Ban’s laughter had been silent, his master’s came with a human gurgle. “You want a lodging?” and he approached the question as something wholly new and astonishing, a matter that had never been previously mentioned. “I can pay.” “You can pay.” The woman put back her hood, and gave Fulcon a full view of her face. Perhaps he felt what Ban had felt, for there was something in the woman’s eyes that made both these surly dogs quite debonair. “I should give you no trouble,” she said simply. “I have had trouble enough to teach me to be contented.” Fulcon nodded. “Trouble,” he agreed. “There are many things that bring trouble, more especially such a thing as a King.” “My trouble began with the King,” she said.