THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS



PROLOGUE

When April comes, and with her gentle showers has banished the dreary
month of March, when in every copse, and valley the young trees bud
and flowers show their heads, when birds make melody in the fresh
morning time, then men's hearts long for the wide air and joys of
the open roads. It is the time for pilgrims. Forth they ride through
wood and lane, by, stream and meadow, to seek the shrines of saints
and worship God in distant fanes. Many journey to Canterbury to do
honour to the tomb of the great St. Thomas and to enjoy the fields
and sunshine along the roads of Kent. As they go they make merry
their journey with songs, tales, and joking.

It chanced, as it was also my intention to ride thither, that I lay
one night at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, ready to start on my way
next morning. Towards nightfall a company of twenty-nine other
pilgrims arrived. They had met by chance and were people of all
sorts and kinds. The inn is large with roomy apartments and good
fare, so that all the guests were soon in friendly mood, and I
talked with them all.

There was a Knight and his son a Squire, not yet entered into the
full glory of knighthood, but yet experienced in war--for he had
fought in Flanders and in Picardy. He was about twenty years of age,
with fair curly hair so neatly dressed that you would have said it
had been waxed. He could make songs and poetry, draw, write and