I walked along with the others musing as if I did not belong to them,till we came to Will Green's house.He was one of the wealthier of the yeomen,and his house was one of those I told you of,the lower story of which was built of stone.It had not been built long,and was very trim and neat.The fit of wonder had worn off me again by then I reached it,or perhaps I should give you a closer deion of it,for it was a handsome yeoman's dwelling of that day,which is as much as saying it was very beautiful.The house on the other side of it,the last house in the village,was old or even ancient;all built of stone,and except for a newer piece built on to it--a hall,it seemed--had round arches,some of them handsomely carved.I knew that this was the parson's house;but he was another sort of priest than John Ball,and what for fear,what for hatred,had gone back to his monastery with the two other chantrey priests who dwelt in that house;so that the men of the township,and more especially the women,were thinking gladly how John Ball should say mass in their new chancel on the morrow.
Will Green's daughter was waiting for him at the door and gave him a close and eager hug,and had a kiss to spare for each of us withal:a strong girl she was,as I have said,and sweet and wholesome also.She made merry with her father;yet it was easy to see that her heart was in her mouth all along.There was a younger girl some twelve summers old,and a lad of ten,who were easily to be known for his children;an old woman also,who had her livelihood there,and helped the household;and moreover three long young men,who came into the house after we had sat down,to whom Will nodded kindly.They were brisk lads and smart,but had been afield after the beasts that evening,and had not seen the fray.
The room we came into was indeed the house,for there was nothing but it on the ground floor,but a stair in the corner went up to the chamber or loft above.It was much like the room at the Rose,but bigger;the cupboard better wrought,and with more vessels on it,and handsomer.Also the walls,instead of being panelled,were hung with a coarse loosely-woven stuff of green worsted with birds and trees woven into it.There were flowers in plenty stuck about the room,mostly of the yellow blossoming flag or flower-de-luce,of which I had seen plenty in all the ditches,but in the window near the door was a pot full of those same white poppies I had seen when I first woke up;and the table was all set forth with meat and drink,a big salt-cellar of pewter in the middle,covered with a white cloth.
We sat down,the priest blessed the meat in the name of the Trinity,and we crossed ourselves and fell to.The victual was plentiful of broth and flesh-meat,and bread and cherries,so we ate and drank,and talked lightly together when we were full.
Yet was not the feast so gay as might have been.Will Green had me to sit next to him,and on the other side sat John Ball;but the priest had grown somewhat distraught,and sat as one thinking of somewhat that was like to escape his thought.Will Green looked at his daughter from time to time,and whiles his eyes glanced round the fair chamber as one who loved it,and his kind face grew sad,yet never sullen.When the herdsmen came into the hall they fell straightway to asking questions concerning those of the Fellowship who had been slain in the fray,and of their wives and children;so that for a while thereafter no man cared to jest,for they were a neighbourly and kind folk,and were sorry both for the dead,and also for the living that should suffer from that day's work.
So then we sat silent awhile.The unseen moon was bright over the roof of the house,so that outside all was gleaming bright save the black shadows,though the moon came not into the room,and the white wall of the tower was the whitest and the brightest thing we could see.
