Hilarius listened eagerly. Was this what the dancer had meant--the
"wide wide world, hunger and love"?

"Did'st thou ever hunger, good Martin?"

"Ay, lad," said the minstrel, surprised, "and 'tis good sauce for
the next meal"

"Did'st thou ever love?"

Martin broke into a great laugh.

"Ay, marry I have more times than I count years. But see, here
comes one who knows little enough of hunger or love." Round the
bend of the road came a man in hermit's dress carrying a staff and
a well-filled wallet. His carriage seemed suddenly to become less
upright, and he leaned heavily on his stick as he besought an alms
from the two travellers.

Hilarius felt for his purse, but Martin stayed him.

"Nay, lad, better have left thy money with the pick-purses than
help to fill the skin of this lazy rogue; 'tis not the first time
we have met. See here," and with a dexterous jerk he caught the
hermit's wallet.

This one was too quick for him; with uplifted staff and a mouthful
of oaths, sorely at variance with his habit, he snatched it back,
flung the bag across his shoulder, and made off at a round pace
down the road, while Martin roared after him to wait an alms laid