A Dream of John Ball; and, A King's Lesson

f those I told you of, the lower story of which was built of stone. It had not been built long, and was very trim and neat. The fit of wonder had worn off me again by then

f them handsomely carved. I knew that this was the parson's house; but he was another sort of priest than John Ball, and what for fear, what for hatred, had gone back to his monastery with the two

yet it was easy to see that her heart was in her mouth all along. There was a younger girl some twelve summers old, and a lad of ten, who were easily to be known for his children; an old woman also, who had her livelihood there, and hel

d handsomer. Also the walls, instead of being panelled, were hung with a coarse loosely-woven stuff of green worsted with birds and trees woven into it. There were flowers in plenty stuck about the room, mostly of the yellow blossoming flag or flower-de-luce, of which

ourselves and fell to. The victual was plentiful of broth and flesh-meat, and brea

t his daughter from time to time, and whiles his eyes glanced round the fair chamber as one who loved it, and his kind face grew sad, yet never sullen. When the herdsmen came into the hall they fell straightway to asking questions concerning those of the Fellows

t outside all was gleaming bright save the black shadows, though the moon came not into the

nship; and whiles we heard the gibber of an owl from the trees westward of the church, and the sharp cry of a blackbird made fearful by the prowling stoat

easure at the strange and beautiful sights, mingled with the sights and sound

anging over his chair, her hand amidst his thick black curls, and she w

ey would deem that they had slain us after all, and that we were but the ghosts of the men who fought them. Yet, forsooth, fair it is at

h now, ye shall laugh the more on the morrow of to-mo

o it was seen in France when we fought there; and

th, it was for nothing ye fought; and t

fe we fought,"

go home and find the lawyers at their fell gam

re, now, I call a health to the wrights of Kent who be turning our plough-sh

ight polished wood curiously speckled, with a band of silver round it, on which was cut the legend, "In the name of the Tr

d every man said something over it, as "The road to London Bridge!" "Hob

n the church yonder; and whoso of you will be shriven let him come to me thither in the morn, nor spare for as little after sunrise as it may be. And this our f

head of the table, and took his hand.

lad; for betimes on the morrow must w

t me with a half-smile, and my heart beat anxiously and fearfully: b

so soon. John Ball did not press me to move forward, but held up his hand as if to bid me hearken. The folk and guests there had already shaken themselves down since our departure, and were gotten to be reasonably merry it seemed; for

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