WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WORE SKATES
deerskin thong, and really, as Tib blew on his benumbed fingers and tried to unfasten it, I began to hanker for the open, and appreciate why the brooding silence struck the average local scalawag as being sinister and unwholesome. Once inside, with a blaze chuckling in the big fireplace and coffee simmering on the hearth, the eerie feeling vamoosed, and as soon as Tib had carefully divided the bread, cheese, and meat, I was ready to eat a lion. And such appetites! I'm ashamed to confess that when Tib sorrowfully laid the odd chunk of bread on my birch-bark plate I gobbled it like an unthankful but thoroughly hungry hound, and pretended not to notice his partiality.
"Well, after feeding ourselves and the ruddy flames, we began to look about. At first we saw only bales of hides and furs and a few boxes of tinned goods. Then we noticed a shelf of books, once fingered by Dawley, but we didn't touch these. Next a few curious weapons, formerly housed in some moated keep in old England, whetted our interest a bit. Then we discovered the armor, three outfits in all; only, when we first saw them, we thought Dawley, accompanied by some of his mailed forebears, had stepped in to get warm. My heart jumped into my mouth, and Tib prepared to hurl his skates. You see, the junk was set up on cross-sticks and looked quite business-like. A fat set held
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