CHAPTER XXXVI
WAYFARING HOME

T Kensington watering-place, five miles from Lon-
don town, Nick held the pail for the horses of the
Oxford man. “Hello, my buck!” quoth he, and stared
at Nick; “where under the sun didst pop from all at
once?” and, looking up, spied Cicely upon the carrier’s
wain. “What, John!” he shouted, “thou saidst there
were no more!”

“No more there were n’t, sir,” said John, “but there be
now”; and out with the whole story.

“Well, I ha’ farmed for fifty year,” cried honest Roger
Clout, “yet never have I seen the mate to yonder little
maid, nor heard the like o’ such a tale! Wife, wife!” he
cried, in a voice as round and full of hearty cheer as one
who calls his own cattle home across his own fat fields.
“Come hither, Moll—here’s company for thee. For sure,
John, they ll ride wi Moll and I; ’t is godsend—angels
on a baggage-cart! Moll ha’ lost her only one, and the
little maid will warm the cockles o’ her heart, say nought
about mine own. La, now, she is na feared o’ me; God.

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