the miller's wife was quicker. Up she took a heavy stick that stood
in the corner and struck at Aleyn, but, as luck would have it, there
came a gust of wind down the chimney so strong that it nearly blew
the lamp out. In the flickering light, the blow intended for Aleyn
fell on the miller's bald pate. Down he went like a log, down beside
him went his wife, wringing her hands and crying out that she had
killed him. "No," said John, "he's too tough to die like that. Come,
I'll give you a hand and we will take him up to bed." Aleyn and the
daughter were not sorry to be left alone. "I like you very well" she
said. "Shall I tell you what father did with your meal?" "Do,"
answered Aleyn eagerly, "and some day, when I'm rich, I will come
back and marry you." "I shall be ready!" she answered. So the next
morning, when they rode away, John and Aleyn not only had all their
meal, despite the miller's knavery, but Aleyn had won a bride as
well, while the miller had had a well-deserved beating and lost his
daughter to a clerk!

* * * * *

While the Reeve was speaking, the Cook was chuckling to himself, and
at the end of the tale he laughed loud and long. He was as good a
cook as you would find within the walls of London. His pies, I have
heard, were works of art. "I'll tell you my tale now," he said, "a
rollicking story of an apprentice in our town." "Well, say on,
Roger!" answered the Host. "You're a fine lad, I'll be bound."

So the Cook began his tale; but I had only heard a few sentences when
we came upon a bad stretch of road where the water from the previous
week's rains lay in great puddles, and in many places the soft mud
gave under our horses' feet. We therefore had to ride slowly and in a