e's gift as one pea to another, save that at the end
thereof was a little box shapen crosswise. Ralph emptied the bowl
hastily, got out of bed, and sat on the bed naked, save that on his
neck was Dame Katherine's gift. He reached out his hand and took the
beads from the monk and reddened therewith, as was his wont when he had
to begin a contest in words: but he said:

"I thank thee, father; yet God wot if these beads will lie sweetly
alongside the collar which I bear on my neck as now, which is the gift
of a dear friend."

The monk made up a solemn countenance and said: "Thou sayest sooth, my
son; it is most like that my chaplet, which hath been blessed time was
by the holy Richard, is no meet fellow for the gift of some light love
of thine: or even," quoth he, noting Ralph's flush deepen, and his brow
knit, "or even if it were the gift of a well-willer, yet belike it is a
worldly gift; therefore, since thy journey is with peril, thou wert
best do it off and let me keep it for thee till thou comest again."

Now as he spake he looked anxiously, nay, it may be said greedily, at
the young man. But Ralph said nought; for in his heart he was
determined not to chaffer away his gossip's gift for any shaveling's
token. Yet he knew not how to set his youthful words against the
father's wisdom; so he stood up, and got his shirt into his hand, and
as he did it over his head he fell to singing to himself a song of
eventide of the High House of Upmeads, the words whereof were somewhat
like to these:

Art thou man, art thou maid, through the long grass a-going?
For short shirt thou bearest, and no beard I see,
And the last wind ere moonrise about thee is blowing.
Would'st thou meet with thy maiden or look'st thou for me?

Bright shineth the moon now, I see thy gown longer;
And down by the hazels Joan meeteth her lad:
But hard is thy palm, lass, and scarcely were stronger
Wat's grip than thine hand-kiss that maketh me glad.

And now as the candles shine on us and over,
Full shapely thy feet are, but brown on the floor,
As the bare-footed mowers amidst of the clover
When the gowk's note is broken and mid-June is o'er.

O hard are mine hand-palms because on the ridges
I carried the reap-hook and smote for thy sake;
And in the hot noon-tide I beat off the midges
As thou slep'st 'neath the linden o'er-loathe to awake.

And brown are my feet now because the sun burneth