They had a flat space before them, on which they alternately
threw little square pieces of bone, and were so intent upon
their occupation that they never raised eye as he approached
them. He observed with astonishment, as he drew near, that the
archer's bow was on John's back, the archer's sword by John's
side, and the steel cap laid upon the tree-trunk between them.
"Mort de ma vie!" Aylward shouted, looking down at the dice.
"Never had I such cursed luck. A murrain on the bones! I have
not thrown a good main since I left Navarre. A one and a three!
En avant, camarade!"
"Four and three," cried Hordle John, counting on his great
fingers, "that makes seven. Ho, archer, I have thy cap! Now
have at thee for thy jerkin!"
"Mon Dieu!" he growled, "I am like to reach Christchurch in my
shirt." Then suddenly glancing up, "Hola, by the splendor of
heaven, here is our cher petit! Now, by my ten finger bones!
this is a rare sight to mine eyes." He sprang up and threw his
arms round Alleyne's neck, while John, no less pleased, but more
backward and Saxon in his habits, stood grinning and bobbing by
the wayside, with his newly won steel cap stuck wrong side
foremost upon his tangle of red hair.
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