"But I will describe my baggage and its contents," I pleaded.
"Doubtless, doubtless. Perhaps you have an inventory in your pocket," he replied, with contempt for the tricks of beggars in his tone.
His own words seemed to set him thinking, for he drew out a paper from his pocket, and read it, looking up at me two or three times in the course of reading.
"I have here your description, point by point," said he, when he had finished the perusal, "and your name is given as Jim Ulceby, for whose apprehension a reward is offered. The description tallies precisely, so far as I can see. It makes mention of certain marks on the breast, which may or may not be on yours."
I recounted briefly what had been done to me, ending by a claim that he should aid me as befitted his sacred office. In this I made a great mistake, for the parson waxed hot, declaring my story utterly incredible, and bade me begone. I felt quite sure he would have detained me, if he had had force at command. So I made my way to Daft Jack's cottage by every turn and cross-cut I knew, in hope to elude observation. It stood near one end of a small orchard, thickly planted, a narrow path leading from the orchard gate to the cottage door. I rapped on the door with my knuckles, and heard Jack's high voice tremble as he called "Come in." The room, lighted only by a small window, which a tree overshadowed, was dim to eyes fresh from the sunshine, but I saw Jack seated on a stool, shoulders bent, hands on knees, face directed toward the door.
"Who are you? Speak," he cried, in a tone of fear.
"An old acquaintance, Jack; not dead, as you may have believed, but sorely in need of friendly help."
Jack sprang out of his posture of fright, and seized my hands.
"I knew it was your step," he almost shrieked. "Oh yes; and it is your voice. You're warm and wick. Oh, Mester Frank, where have you been? And what's come to your face?" The poor fellow trembled, and fell to blubbering, squeezing my hands and gazing up at me.
"I will tell you all about myself shortly, Jack, but I am as hungry as a moudiwarp; how dirty I am, there's no telling. Can you find me soap and water and a scrubbing-brush? And I want some other clothing than these foul rags. Whether my money will go so far, though, is doubtful."