| Display title | A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court/Source/Chapter XIII |
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| Page creator | GethN7 (talk | contribs) |
| Date of page creation | 06:38, 4 January 2015 |
| Latest editor | Robkelk (talk | contribs) |
| Date of latest edit | 11:45, 21 May 2024 |
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Article description: (description)
This attribute controls the content of the description and og:description elements. | Yes, it is strange how little a while at a time a person can be contented. Only a little while back, when I was riding and suffering, what a heaven this peace, this rest, this sweet serenity in this secluded shady nook by this purling stream would have seemed, where I could keep perfectly comfortable all the time by pouring a dipper of water into my armor now and then; yet already I was getting dissatisfied; partly because I could not light my pipe—for, although I had long ago started a match factory, I had forgotten to bring matches with me—and partly because we had nothing to eat. Here was another illustration of the childlike improvidence of this age and people. A man in armor always trusted to chance for his food on a journey, and would have been scandalized at the idea of hanging a basket of sandwiches on his spear. There was probably not a knight of all the Round Table combination who would not rather have died than been caught carrying such a thing as that on his flagstaff. And yet there could not be anything more sensible. It had been my intention to smuggle a couple of sandwiches into my helmet, but I was interrupted in the act, and had to make an excuse and lay them aside, and a dog got them. |