The little fellow came slowly up to where the three rested in the shade.
"Mowbray beat me with a strap," said he, rubbing his sleeve across his
eyes, and catching his breath at the recollection.

"Beat thee, didst say?" said Myles, drawing his brows together. "Why did
he beat thee?"

"Because," said Robin, "I tarried overlong in fetching a pot of beer
from the buttery for him and Wyatt." Then, with a boy's sudden and easy
quickness in forgetting past troubles, "Tell me, Falworth," said he,
"when wilt thou give me that knife thou promised me--the one thou break
the blade of yesterday?"

"I know not," said Myles, bluntly, vexed that the boy did not take
the disgrace of his beating more to heart. "Some time soon, mayhap. Me
thinks thou shouldst think more of thy beating than of a broken knife.
Now get thee gone to thy business."

The youngster lingered for a moment or two watching Myles at his work.
"What is that on the leather scrap, Falworth?" said he, curiously.

"Lard and ashes," said Myles, testily. "Get thee gone, I say, or I
will crack thy head for thee;" and he picked up a block of wood, with a
threatening gesture.

The youngster made a hideous grimace, and then scurried away, ducking
his head, lest in spite of Myles's well-known good-nature the block
should come whizzing after him.