this Little John cleared his throat, and, after a word or two about a certain hoarseness that troubled him, sang thus:—“Ah, pretty, pretty maid, whither dost thou go?
I prythee, prythee, wait for thy lover also,
And we’ll gather the rose
As it sweetly blows,
For the merry, merry winds are blo-o-o-wing.”
Now it seemed as though Little John’s songs were never to get sung, for he had got no farther than this when the door of the inn opened and out came the two brothers of Fountain Abbey, the landlord following them, and, as the saying is, washing his hands with humble soap. But when the brothers of Fountain Abbey saw who it was that sang, and how he was clad in the robes of a gray friar, they stopped suddenly, the fat little Brother drawing his heavy eyebrows together in a mighty frown, and the thin Brother twisting up his face as though he had sour beer in his mouth. Then, as Little John gathered his breath for a new verse, “How, now,” roared forth the fat Brother, his voice coming from him like loud thunder from a little cloud; “thou naughty fellow, is this a fit place for one in thy garb to tipple and sing profane songs?”
The brothers of Fountain Abbey check Little John in his singing.
“Nay,” quoth Little John, “sin’ I cannot tipple and sing, like your worship’s reverence, in such a goodly place as Fountain Abbey, I must e’en tipple and sing where I can.”
“Now, out upon thee,” cried the tall lean Brother in a harsh voice; “now, out upon thee, that thou shouldst so disgrace thy cloth by this talk and bearing.”
“Marry, come up!” quoth Little John. “Disgrace, sayest thou? Methinks it is more disgrace for one of our garb to wring hard-earned farthings out of the gripe of poor lean peasants. Is it not so, brother?”
At this the Tinker and the Pedler and the Beggar nudged one another, and all grinned, and the friars scowled blackly at Little John; but they could think of nothing further to say, so they turned to their horses. Then Little John arose of a sudden from the bench where he sat, and ran to where the brothers of Fountain Abbey were mounting. Quoth he, “Let me hold your horses’ bridles for you. Truly, your words have smitten my sinful heart, so that I will abide no longer in this den of evil, but will go forward with you. No vile temptation, I wot, will fall upon me in such holy company.”
Little John sayeth that he will go forward with the brothers.
“Nay, fellow,” said the lean Brother harshly, for he saw that Little John made sport of them, “we want none of thy company, so get thee gone.”
“Alas,” quoth Little John, “I am truly sorry that ye like me not nor my company, but as for leaving you it may not be, for my heart is so moved, that, willy-nilly, I must go with you for the sake of your holy company.”
Now at this talk all the good fellows on the bench grinned till their teeth glistened, and even the landlord could not forbear to smile. As for the friars, they looked at one another with a puzzled look, and knew not what to do in the matter. They were so proud that it made them feel sick with shame to think pf riding along the high-road with a strolling friar, in robes all too short for him, running beside them, but yet they could not make Little John stay against his will, for they knew he could crack the bones of both of them in a twinkling were he so minded. Then up spake the fat Brother more mildly than he had done before. “Nay, good brother,” said he, “we will ride fast, and thou wilt tire to death at the pace.”
“Truly, I am grateful to thee for the thought of me,” quoth Little John; “but have no fear, brother; my limbs are stout, and I could run like a hare from here to Gainsborough.”
At these words a sound of laughing came from the bench, whereat the lean Brother’s wrath boiled over, like water into the fire, with great fuss and noise. “Now, out upon thee, thou naughty fellow!” he cried. “Art thou not ashamed to bring disgrace so upon our cloth? Bide thee here, thou sot, with these porkers. Thou art no fit company for us.”
“La ye there now!” quoth Little John. “Thou hearest, landlord; thou art not fit company