"
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.
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