"There," said the smith, "is the jest of the whole, for it belongeth
to me. Sir William Beauclerk bade me order the weapon through Master
Gildersworthy, of London town, and by the time it came hither, lo! he
had died, and so it fell to my hands. No one here payeth the price for
the trinket, and so I must e'en keep it myself, though I be but a poor
man."

"How much dost thou hold it for?" said Gascoyne.

"Seventeen shillings buyeth it," said the armorer, carelessly.

"Aye, aye," said Gascoyne, with a sigh; "so it is to be poor, and not be
able to have such things as one loveth and would fain possess. Seventeen
shillings is nigh as much by half again as all my yearly wage."

Then a sudden thought came to Myles, and as it came his cheeks glowed
as hot as fire "Master Gascoyne," said he, with gruff awkwardness,
"thou hast been a very good, true friend to me since I have come to this
place, and hast befriended me in all ways thou mightest do, and I, as
well I know, but a poor rustic clod. Now I have forty shillings by me
which I may spend as I list, and so I do beseech thee that thou wilt
take yon dagger of me as a love-gift, and have and hold it for thy very
own."

Gascoyne stared open-mouthed at Myles. "Dost mean it?" said he, at last.

"Aye," said Myles, "I do mean it. Master Smith, give him the blade."

At first the smith grinned, thinking it all a jest; but he soon saw that
Myles was serious enough, and when the seventeen shillings were produced