win back to good King Ned. A brave holiday I have had, from
Candlemas to Midsummer; free to sing or to be silent, to smile or
frown; wide England instead of palace walls; a crust of bread and a
jug of cider instead of a king's banquet. Now but another few
leagues and the cage again. Money in my pocket, true; but a song
here and a song there, such as suit the fancy of the Court gentles,
not of Martin the Minstrel. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho! 'tis a poor bird
sings at the word of a king, and a poor enough song too, if Edward
did but know it.

"Who comes here? Faith, the lad goes a steady pace and carries a
light heart from his song; and no ill voice either."

It was Hilarius, and he sang the Alma Redemptoris as he sped along
the green grass which bordered the highway.

When Martin hailed him he turned aside gladly, and his face lit up
at the sight of the vielle.

"Whence dost thou come, lad?" said Martin, eyeing him with
interest.

"Many days' journey from the Monastery of Prior Stephen," answered
Hilarius.

"But thou art no monk!"

"Nay, a novice scarcely; but the Prior hath bidden me go forth to
see the world. It is wondrous fair," he added sincerely.