The man in armour pulled up his horse when he reached the road a little way ahead and waited for them. Both children found him rather a disappointment when they came near for he did not seem quite up to the standard of knights in books. It is true that he had shining armour and the lance as long as a barge pole and so forth, but it seemed that his mail suit had not been made to measure. The breastplate was tied on to the back part with what looked like bootlaces, and they did not join well; bits of cloth showed at the sides. The armour on his legs was on the large size and rattled whenever he moved. His helmet also was much too big and it wobbled. The plume, though not a bad plume, should have been smaller to give a good effect. The horse was big and white and hairy, and had a thing like a spiked saucepan lid on its brow.
As they came near he raised the visor of his helmet and stared haughtily at them. From what they could see of his face he had peepy eyes, a long nose and rather puddingy cheeks.
“Who are ye?” he asked in an important way, “and wherefore come ye----” here his voice was cut off suddenly, for the visor had slipped down like a trap and he had to struggle with it.
He got it up at last: “As I was saying, wherefore come ye thus unattended on the King’s ways, two children and a dwarf?”
“Who are you calling a dwarf?” said Gorbo disagreeably. “Dwarf yourself!”
The knight gave him a long contemptuous stare in reply, a stare that might have lasted a long time if the visor had not come down again and put an end to it.
“Temper!” said the knight sharply when he had got his visor open. “But we will let it pass. Tell me, have you any wrongs to redress? Sir Percival am I, sworn to succour damsels, to slay giants, wasters, caitiffs and perishers, to rescue----”
“As I was saying,” he went on lifting his visor again and propping it up with one hand, “I am sworn to rescue the oppressed, to right wrongs, and to—well, to generally make things happy all round.”
“That’s very nice of you,” said Gorbo. “Then perhaps you’ll kindly tell us the way to the witch----”
“Which witch?” interrupted Sir Percival.
“Mother Meldrum. If you’ll kindly----”
“Ay, she is known as a parlous witch. She lives in the dark woods where fly the large black bats, all alone with her large black cats, and she gathers herbs o’ moonlight nights and brews foul potions to harm honest folk. Which means that I am not going there with you.”
“Who asked you to?” said Gorbo. “I only want to know the way there.”
“Then in that case you had better travel with me, for I am going within a mile or so of the dark woods. And if anybody should try to oppress you on the way, why, I shall be there to defend you.”
“That will be jolly,” said Gorbo. “Many thanks. But what about these little ones? Can’t you give them a lift—one in front and one behind?”
“H’m!” The knight thought over this for a time. “I’d like to oblige, of course—especially as I am sworn to do good deeds—but wouldn’t that make me look rather ridiculous?”
“Not a bit,” said Gorbo. “As a matter of fact you’d look rather sweet. Come Sylvia, I’ll lift you up.”
Before Sir Percival could make any further objection he found that Sylvia had been hoisted up and placed in front of him. The saddle was a roomy one and well padded, so it made quite a comfortable seat for her.
“Catch hold of his belt,” said Gorbo. “Then you’ll be quite safe. Now then, Joe.”
Joe, as a circus-trained boy should, took a run and a flying leap on to the horse’s crupper, where he sat at his ease.
“I say,” said Sir Percival peevishly, “aren’t you rather taking liberties with me?”
“I beg your pardon?” replied Gorbo, who was busy with Sylvia, making a comfortable pair of stirrups for her out of some odd bits of straps on the saddle.
“I said, ‘Aren’t you rather taking liberties with me?’”
“No, not a bit. Are you quite comfortable, Sylvia?”
“Yes, it’s lovely,” replied Sylvia.
“And you, Joe?”
“I’m fine. This is a real adventure!”
“I hope this is not incommoding you at all,” said Gorbo politely, struck with a sudden idea.
“Oh, no,” replied Sir Percival with bitter irony. He couldn’t hold his lance properly and he had to reach right round Sylvia to handle the reins. “Who would be incommoded by a little thing like this?” Then his visor fell down again and he roared angrily, though in a muffled way. But Sylvia’s handy little fingers soon propped it open again, and she asked Gorbo to find a little bit of stick and sharpen it with his knife. Then she deftly wedged the stick between the visor and the helmet.
“There,” she said, patting his steel-cased cheek, “now it will keep up nicely. But what you really need is some large hooks and eyes.” She had seen, with the unerring instinct of childhood, that not only was Sir Percival’s heart pure but that his head was rather soft.
His perhaps excusable irritation was soothed by this attention, and he smiled at her.
“If any enemies come,” she explained, “all you have to do is to pull out this bit of stick and there you are, ready for battle.”
Sir Percival was aroused at the mention of battle. “If any caitiffs should oppress you, little golden-haired maid,” he said proudly, “I will show you how great a man with his hands is Sir Percival. Evil-doers shake at the mention of my name.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Sylvia, giggling. The child was actually trying on with this belted knight the same ways that had tempted Joe to such flagrant acts of folly and disobedience, and to which their present position might be directly traced. Minx.
“I suppose you can’t find room for this little dog?” said Gorbo, holding up Tiger.
“No,” replied Sir Percival with stern decision. “I draw the line at little dogs.” He then shook the reins and the big white horse started off at a quick comfortable walk.