It seemed as though Saint Dunstan was like to answer his prayer, for along the road came plodding a certain cobbler, one Quince, of Derby, who had been to take a pair of shoes to a farmer nigh Kirk Langly, and was now coming back home again, with a fair boiled capon in his pouch and a stout pottle of beer by his side, which same the farmer had given him for joy of such a stout pair of shoon. Good Quince was an honest fellow, but his wits were somewhat of the heavy sort, like unbaked dough, so that the only thing that was in his mind was, “Three shillings sixpence ha’penny for thy shoon, good Quince—three shillings sixpence ha’penny for thy shoon,” and this traveled round and round inside of his head, without another thought getting into his noddle, as a pea rolls round and round inside an empty quart pot.
“Halloa, good friend,” quoth Robin, from beneath the hedge, when the other had gotten nigh enough, “whither away so merrily this bright day?”
Hearing himself so called upon, the Cobbler stopped, and, seeing a well- clad stranger in blue, he spoke to him in seemly wise. “Give ye good den, fair sir, and I would say that I come from Kirk Langly, where I ha’ sold my shoon and got three shillings sixpence ha’penny for them in as sweet money as ever thou sawest, and honestly earned too, I would ha’ thee know. But an I may be so bold, thou pretty fellow, what dost thou there beneath the hedge?”
“Marry,” quoth merry Robin, “I sit beneath the hedge here to drop salt on the tails of golden birds; but in sooth thou art the first chick of any worth I ha’ seen this blessed day.”