One Snowy Night Page 4

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  THE FAIR OF SAINT FRIDESWIDE.

  "That's what I always say--if you wish a thing to be well done, You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others."

  Longfellow.

  The month of May was the liveliest and gayest of the year at Oxford, fornot only were the May Day games common to the whole country, but anotherspecial attraction lay in Saint Frideswide's Fair, held on GloucesterGreen early in that month. Oxford was a privileged town, in respect ofthe provision trade, the royal purveyors being forbidden to come withintwenty miles of that city. In those good old times, the King was firstserved, then the nobility, lay and clerical, then the gentry, and thepoor had to be content with what was left. It was not unusual, when areport of anything particularly nice reached the monarch--such as animport of wine, a haul of fish, or any other dainty,--for the Sheriff ofthat place to receive a mandate, bidding him seize for the royal use aportion or the whole thereof. Prices, too, were often regulated byproclamation, so that tradesmen not unfrequently found it hard to live.If a few of our discontented and idle agitators (I do not mean those whowould work and cannot) could spend a month or two in the olden time,their next speeches on Tower Hill might be somewhat differentlyflavoured.

  Saint Frideswide's Fair was a sight to see. For several days before itwas held, a multitude of carpenters were employed in putting up woodenbooths and stalls, and Gloucester Green became a very lively place.Fairs in the present day, when they are held at all, are very differentexhibitions from what they were seven hundred years ago. The stallsthen were practically shops, fully stocked with goods of solid value.There was a butcher's row, a baker's row, a silversmith's row, and amercer's row--ironmongers, saddlers, shoemakers, vintners, coopers,pelters (furriers), potters, hosiers, fishmongers, and cooks(confectioners)--all had their several streets of stalls. The Green--larger than now--became a town within a town. As the fair was held bylicence of Saint Frideswide, and was under her especial protection, theCanons of that church exacted certain dues both from the Crown and thestall-holders, which were duly paid. From the Crown they received 25shillings per annum. It was deemed a point of honour to keep the bestof everything for the fair; and those buyers who wished to obtain goodvalue for their money put off their purchases when it grew near fairtime. When the third of May came, they all turned out in holidaycostume to lay in necessaries, so far as possible, for the year--meatexcepted, which could be purchased again at the cattle fair in thefollowing September.

  There was one serious inconvenience in shopping at that time, of whichwe know nothing at the present day. With the exception of the penny andstill smaller coins (all silver) there was no money. The pound, thoughit appears on paper, was not a coin, but simply a pound weight of pence;the mark was two-thirds, and the noble (if used so early) one-third ofthat amount. When a woman went out to buy articles of any value, sherequired to carry with her an enormous weight of small silver cash.Purses were not therefore the toys we use, but large bags of heavyleather, attached to the girdle on the left side; and the aim of apickpocket was to cut the leather bag away from its metal fastening--hence the term _cut-purse_.

  Every woman in Kepeharme Lane--and it might be added, in Oxford--appeared in the street with a basket on her arm as soon as daylight hadwell dawned. The men went at their own time and convenience. For manyof them a visit to the fair was merely amusement; but the ladies were onbusiness. Even Derette followed her mother, armed with a smaller basketthan the rest. Little Rudolph was left with Countess, who preferred himto the fair; and such is the power of habit that our friends had nowbecome quite accustomed to this, and would give a nod and a smile toCountess when they met, just as they did to any other neighbour. Thisdoes not mean that they entertained an atom less of prejudice againstJews in general; they had merely got over their prejudice in the case ofthat one Jewish girl in particular.

  Isel's business was heavy enough. She wanted a pig, half an ox, twentyells of dark blue cloth, a cloak for herself and capes for herdaughters, thirty pairs of slippers--a very moderate allowance for threewomen, for slippers were laid in by the dozen pairs in common--fiftycheeses (an equally moderate reckoning) [Note 1], a load of flour,another of oatmeal, two quarters of cabbage for salting, six bushels ofbeans, five hundred herrings, a barrel of ale, two woollen rugs forbedclothes, a wooden coffer, and a hundred nails. She had alreadybought and salted two sheep from Martin, so mutton was not needed.

  "Now, Agnes, what do you want?" she asked.

  Agnes, who was following with another basket, replied that she wantedsome stuff for a dress, some flannel for Rudolph, and a few pairs ofshoes. Shoes must have worn only a very short time, considering theenormous quantity of them usually bought at once.

  "And you, Ermine?"

  "Nothing but a hood, Mother Isel."

  "You're easily satisfied. Well, I'll go first after my pig."

  They turned into the Butcher's Row, where in a minute they couldscarcely hear each other speak. The whole air seemed vocal with grunts,lowing, and bleating, and, the poulterers' booths lying close behind,crowing and cackling also.

  "How much for a good bacon pig?" screamed Isel to a fat butcher, who waspolishing a knife upon a wooden block.

  "Hertford kids? I have none."

  "Bacon pig!" screamed Isel a little louder.

  "Oh! Well, look you, there's a nice one--twenty pence; there's a rarefine one--twenty-two; there's a--"

  "Bless thee, man! dost thou think I'm made of money?"

  "Shouldn't wonder if you'd a pot laid by somewhere," said the butcherwith a knowing wink. He was an old acquaintance.

  "Well, I haven't, then: and what's more, I've plenty to do with the fewmarks I have. Come now, I'll give you sixteen pence for that biggestfellow."

  The butcher intimated, half in a shout and half by pantomime, that hecould not think of such a thing.

  "Well, eighteen, then."

  The butcher shook his head.

  "Nineteen! Now, that's as high as I'll go."

  "Not that one," shouted the butcher; "I'll take nineteen for the other."

  Isel had to execute a gymnastic feat before she could answer, to saveherself from the horns of an inquisitive cow which was being driven upthe row; while a fat pig on the other side was driving Flemild nearlyout of the row altogether.

  "Well! I'll agree to that," said Isel, when she had settled with thecow.

  A similar process having been gone through for the half ox, for whichIsel had to pay seventeen pence [Salted cow was much cheaper, being only2 shillings each.]--a shameful price, as she assured her companions--theladies next made their way to Drapers' Row. The draper, then and forsome centuries later, was the manufacturer of cloth, not the retaildealer only: but he sold retail as well as wholesale. Isel found somecloth to her mind, but the price was not to her mind at all, beingeighteen pence per ell.

  "Gramercy, man! wouldst thou ruin me?" she demanded.

  A second battle followed with the draper, from which Isel this timeemerged victorious, having paid only 1 shilling 5 pence per ell. Theythen went to the clothier's, where she secured a cloak for a mark (13shillings 4 pence) and capes for the girls at 6 shillings 8 pence each.At the shoemaker's she laid in her slippers for 6 pence per pair, withthree pairs of boots at a shilling. The cheeses were dear, being ahalfpenny each; the load of flour cost 14 pence, and of meal 2shillings; the beans were 1 shilling 8 pence, the cabbage 1 shilling 2pence, the herrings 2 shillings. The coffer came to 5 shillings, thenails to 2 shillings 4 pence. [Note 2.] Isel looked ruefully at herpurse.

  "We must brew at home," she said, easily dismissing that item; "but howshall I do for the rugs?"

  Rugs were costly articles. There was no woollen manufacture in England,nor was there to be such for another hundred years. A thick,serviceable coverlet, such as Isel desired, was not to be bought muchunder two pounds.

  "We must do without them," she said, with a shake of her head. "Girls,you'll have to s
pread your cloaks on the bed. We must eat, but weneedn't lie warm if we can't afford it."

  "Isel, have you de one pound? Look, here is one," said Agnes timidly,holding out her hand.

  "But you want that, my dear."

  "No, I can do widout. I will de gown up-mend dat I have now. Take youde money; I have left for de shoes and flannel."

  She did not add that the flannel would have to be cut down, as well asthe new dress resigned.

  "And I can do very well without a hood," added Ermine quickly. "We musthelp Mother Isel all we can."

  "My dears, I don't half like taking it."

  "We have taken more from you," said Ermine.

  Thus urged, Isel somewhat reluctantly took the money, and bought onerug, for which she beat down the clothier to two marks and a half, anddeparted triumphant, this being her best bargain for the day. It wasthen in England, as it yet is in Eastern lands, an understood thing thatall tradesmen asked extortionate prices, and must be offered less as amatter of course: a fact which helps to the comprehension of theWaldensian objection to trade as involving falsehood.

  Isel returned to Agnes the change which remained out of her pound, whichenabled her to get all the flannel she needed. Their baskets being nowwell filled, Isel and her party turned homewards, sauntering slowlythrough the fair, partly because the crowd prevented straightforwardwalking, but partly also because they wished to see as much as theycould. Haimet was to bring a hand-cart for the meat and other heavypurchases at a later hour.

  Derette, who for safety's sake was foremost of the girls, directlyfollowing her mother and Agnes, trudged along with her basket full ofslippers, and her head full of profound meditation. Had Isel known thenature of those meditations, she certainly would never have lingered atthe silversmiths' stalls in a comfortable frame of mind, pointing out toher companions various pretty things which took her fancy. But she hadnot the remotest idea of her youngest daughter's private thoughts, andshe turned away from Gloucester Green at last, quite ignorant of thefashion wherein her feelings of all sorts were about to be outraged.

  Derette was determined to obtain a dress for Agnes. She had silentlywatched the kindly manner in which the good-natured German gave up thething she really needed: for poor Agnes had but the one dress she wore,and Derette well knew that no amount of mending would carry it throughanother winter. But how was a penniless child to procure another forher? If Derette had not been a young person of original ideas and veryindependent spirit, the audacious notion which she was now entertainingwould never have visited her mind.

  This was no less than a visit to the Castle, to beg one of the cast-offgowns of the women of the household. Dresses wore long in the MiddleAges, and ladies of rank were accustomed to make presents of half-wornones to each other. Derette was not quite so presumptuous as to thinkof addressing the Countess--that, even in her eyes, seemed apreposterous impossibility; but surely one of her waiting-women might bereached. How was she to accomplish her purpose?

  That she must slip away unseen was the first step to be taken. Hermother would never dream of allowing such an errand, as Derette wellknew; but she comforted herself, as others have done beside her, withthe reflection that the excellence of her motive quite compensated forthe unsatisfactory details of her conduct. Wedged as she was in themidst of the family group, and encumbered with her basket, she could nothope to get away before they reached home; but she thought she saw herchance directly afterwards, when the baskets should have been dischargedof their contents, and every body was busy inspecting, talking about,and putting away, the various purchases that had been made.

  Young girls were never permitted to go out alone at that time. It wasconsidered less dangerous in town than country, and a mere run into aneighbouring house might possibly have been allowed; but usually, whennot accompanied by some responsible person, they were sent in groups ofthree or four at once. Derette's journey must be taken alone, and itinvolved a few yards of Milk Street, as far as Saint Ebbe's, then a runto Castle Street and up to the Castle. That was the best way, for itwas both the shortest and comparatively the quietest. But Derettedetermined not to go in at the entrance gate, where she would meetOsbert and probably Anania, but to make for the Osney Gate to the left,where she hoped to fall into the kindlier hands of her cousin Stephen.The danger underlying this item was that Stephen might have gone to thefair, in which case she would have to encounter either the rough jokingof Orme, or the rough crustiness of Wandregisil, his fellow-watchmen.That must be risked. The opportunity had to be bought, and Derette madeup her mind to pay the necessary price.

  The Walnut Tree was reached, the baskets laid down, and while Agnes wasdivesting herself of her cloak, and Isel reiterating her frequentassertion that she was "that tired," Derette snatched her chance, andevery body's back being turned for the moment, slipped out of the door,and sped up Kepeharme Lane with the speed of a fawn. Her heart beatwildly, and until she reached Milk Street, she expected every instant tobe followed and taken back. If she could only get her work done, shetold herself, the scolding and probable whipping to follow would beeasily borne.

  Owing to its peculiar municipal laws, throughout the Middle Ages, Oxfordhad the proud distinction of being the cleanest city in England. Thatis to say, it was not quite so appallingly smothered in mire and filthas others were. Down the midst of every narrow street ran a gutter,which after rain was apt to become a brook, and into which dirt of everysort was emptied by every householder. There were no causeways; andthere were frequent holes of uncertain depth, filled with thick mud.Ownerless dogs, and owned but equally free-spoken pigs, roamed thestreets at their own sweet will, and were not wont to make way for thehuman passengers; while if a cart were met in the narrow street, it wasnecessary for the pedestrian to squeeze himself into the smallestcompass possible against the wall, if he wished to preserve his limbs ingood working order. Such were the delights of taking a walk in the goodold times. It may reasonably be surmised that unnecessary walks werenot frequently taken.

  Kepeharme Lane left behind, where the topography of the holes wastolerably familiar, Derette had to walk more guardedly. After gettingpretty well splashed, and dodging a too attentive pig which was intenton charging her for venturing on his beat, Derette at last found herselfat the Osney Gate. She felt now that half her task was over.

  "Who goes there?" demanded the welcome voice of Stephen, when Deretterapped at the gate.

  "It's me, Stephen,--Derette: do let me in."

  The gate stood open in a moment, and Stephen's pleasant face appearedbehind it, with a look of something like consternation thereon.

  "Derette!--alone!--whatever is the matter?"

  "Nothing, Stephen; oh, nothing's the matter. I only came alone becauseI knew Mother wouldn't let me if I asked her."

  "Hoity-toity!--that's a nice confession, young woman! And pray what areyou after, now you have come?"

  "Stephen--dear, good Stephen, will you do me a favour?"

  "Hold off, you coaxing sinner!"

  "Oh, but I want it so much! You see, she gave it up because Motherwanted a rug, and she let her have the money--and I know it won't mendup to wear any thing like through the winter--and I do want so to gether another--a nice soft one, that will be comfortable, and--You'll helpme, won't you, Steenie?"

  And Derette's small arms came coaxingly round her cousin's wrist.

  "I'm a heathen Jew if I have the shadow of a notion what I'm wanted tohelp! `A nice soft one!' Is it a kitten, or a bed-quilt, or a sack ofmeal, you're after?"

  "O Stephen!--what queer things you guess! It's a gown--."

  "I don't keep gowns, young woman."

  "No, but, Steenie, you might help me to get at somebody that does. Oneof the Lady's women, you know. I'm sure you could, if you would."

  Steenie whistled. "Well, upon my word! _You'll_ not lose cakes forwant of asking for. Why don't you go to Anania?"

  "You know she'd only be cross."

  "How do you know
I sha'n't be cross?" asked Stephen, knitting his brows,and pouting out his lips, till he looked formidable.

  "Oh, because you never are. You'll only laugh at me, and you won't dothat in an ugly way like some people. Now, Steenie, you _will_ help meto get a gown for Agnes?"

  "Agnes, is it? I thought you meant Flemild."

  "No, it's Agnes; and Ermine gave up her hood to help: but Agnes wantsthe gown worse than Ermine does a hood. You like them, you know,Steenie."

  "Who told you that, my Lady Impertinence? Dear, dear, what pests thesechildren are!"

  "Now, Stephen, you know you don't think any thing of the sort, and youare going to help me this minute."

  "How am I to help, I should like to know? I can't leave my gate."

  "You can call somebody. Now do, Steenie, there's a darling cousin!--andI'll ask Mother to make you some of those little pies you like so much.I will, really."

  "You outrageous wheedler! I suppose I shall have no peace till I getrid of you.--Henry!"

  A lad of about twelve years old, who was crossing the court-yard at theother side, turned and came up at the call.

  "Will you take this maid in, and get her speech of Cumina? She's verygood-natured, and if you tell her your story, Derette, I shouldn'twonder if she helps you."

  "Oh, thank you, Steenie, so much!"

  Derette followed Henry, who made faces at her, but gave her no furtherannoyance, into the servants' offices at the Castle, where he turned herunceremoniously over to the first person he met--a cook in a white capand apron--with the short and not too civil information that--

  "She wants Cumina."

  The cook glanced carelessly at Derette.

  "Go straight along the passage, and up the stairs to the left," he said,and then went on about his own business.

  Never before had Derette seen a house which contained above four roomsat the utmost. She felt in utter confusion amid stairs, doors, andcorridors. But she managed to find the winding staircase at the end ofthe passage, and to mount it, wishing much that so convenient a mode ofaccess could replace the ladder in her mother's house. She went up tillshe could go no further, when she found herself on the top landing of around tower, without a human creature to be seen. There were two doors,however; and after rapping vainly at both, she ventured to open one. Itled to the leads of the tower. Derette closed this, and tried theother. She found it to open on a dark fathomless abyss,--the Castlewell [Note 3], had she known it--and shut it quickly with a sensation ofhorror. After a moment's reflection, she went down stairs to the nextlanding.

  Here there were four doors, and from one came the welcome sound of humanvoices. Derette rapped timidly on this. It was opened by a girl aboutthe age of Flemild.

  "Please," said Derette, "I was to ask for Cumina."

  "Oh, you must go to the still-room," answered the girl, and would haveshut the door without further parley, had not Derette intercepted herwith a request to be shown where the still-room was.

  With an impatient gesture, the girl came out, led Derette a little wayalong the corridor running from the tower, and pointed to a door on theleft hand.

  Derette's hopes rose again. She was one of those persons whom delaysand difficulties do not weary out or render timid, but rather inspire tofresh and stronger action.

  "Well, what do you want?" asked the pleasant-faced young woman whoanswered Derette's rap. "Please, is there somebody here called Cumina?"

  "I rather think there is," was the smiling answer. "Is it you?"

  "Ay. Come in, and say what you wish." Derette obeyed, and poured outher story, rather more lucidly than she had done to Stephen. Cuminalistened with a smile.

  "Well, my dear, I would give you a gown for your friend if I had it,"she said good-humouredly; "but I have just sent the only one I can spareto my mother. I wonder who there is, now--Are you afraid of folks thatspeak crossly?"

  "No," said Derette. "I only want to shake them." Cumina laughed."You'll do!" she said. "Come, then, I'll take you to Hagena. She's notvery pleasant-spoken, but if any body can help you, she can. The onlydoubt is whether she will."

  Derette followed Cumina through what seemed to her endless corridorsopening into further and further corridors, till at last she asked in atone of astonishment--

  "How can you ever find your way?"

  "Oh, you learn to do that very soon," said Cumina, laughing, as sheopened the door of a long, low chamber. "Now, you must tread softlyhere, and speak very respectfully."

  Derette nodded acquiescence, and they went in.

  The room was lined with presses from floor to ceiling. On benches whichstood back to back in its midst, several lengths of rich silken stuffswere spread out; and on other benches near the windows sat two or threegirls busily at work. Several elder ladies were moving about the room,and one of them, a rather stout, hard-featured woman, was examining thegirls' work. Cumina went up to her.

  "If you please, Hagena," she said, "is there any where an old gown whichit would please you to bestow on this girl, who has asked the boon?"

  Hagena straightened herself up and looked at Derette.

  "Is she the child of one of my Lord's tenants?"

  "No," answered Derette. "My mother's house is her own."

  "Well, if ever I heard such assurance! Perchance, Madam, you would likea golden necklace to go with it?"

  If Derette had not been on her good behaviour, Hagena would havereceived as much as she gave. But knowing that her only chance ofsuccess lay in civil and submissive manners, she shut her lips tight andmade no answer.

  "Who sent you?" pursued Hagena, who was the Countess's mistress of thehousehold, and next in authority to her.

  "Nobody. I came of myself."

  "_Ha, chetife_! I do wonder what the world's coming to! The impudenceof the creature! How on earth did she get in? Just get out again asfast as you can, and come on such an errand again if you dare! Be offwith you!"

  Derette's voice trembled, but not with fear, as she turned back toCumina. To Hagena she vouchsafed no further word.

  "I did not know I was offending any body," she said, in a manner notdevoid of childish dignity. "I was trying to do a little bit of good.I think, if you please, I had better go home."

  Derette's speech infuriated Hagena. The child had kept her manners andher dignity too, under some provocation, while the mistress of thehousehold was conscious that she had lost hers.

  "How dare--" she was beginning, when another voice made her stopsuddenly.

  "What has the child been doing? I wish to speak with her."

  Cumina hastily stopped Derette from leaving the room, and led her up tothe lady who had spoken and who had only just entered.

  "What is it, my little maid?" she said kindly.

  "I beg your pardon," said the child. She was but a child, and her braveheart was failing her. Derette was very near tears. "I did not meanany harm. Somebody had given up having a new gown--and she wanted itvery much--to let somebody else have the money; and I thought, if Icould beg one for her--but I did not mean to be rude. Please let me gohome."

  "Thou shalt go home, little one," answered the lady; "but wait a moment.Does any one know the child?"

  Nobody knew her.

  "Stephen the Watchdog knows me," said Derette, drawing a long breath."He is my cousin. So is Osbert the porter."

  The lady put her arm round Derette.

  "What sort of a gown wouldst thou have, my child?"

  Derette's eyes lighted up. Was she really to succeed after all?

  "A nice one, please," she said, simply, making every one smile exceptHagena, who was still too angry for amusement. "Not smart nor grand,you know, but warm and soft. Something woollen, I suppose, it shouldbe."

  The lady addressed herself to Hagena.

  "Have I any good woollen robe by the walls?"

  When a dress was done with, if the materials were worth using forsomething else, it was taken to pieces; if not, it was hung up "by thewall
s," ready to give away when needed.

  Hagena had some difficulty in answering properly.

  "No, Lady; the last was given to Veka, a fortnight since."

  "Then," was the quiet answer, which surprised all present, "it must beone of those I am wearing. Let Cumina and Dora bring such as I have."

  Derette looked up into the face of her new friend.

  "Please, are you the Lady Countess?"

  "Well, I suppose I am," replied the Countess with a smile. "Now, littlemaid, choose which thou wilt."

  Seven woollen gowns were displayed before the Countess and Derette, allnearly new--blue, green, scarlet, tawny, crimson, chocolate, andcream-colour. Derette looked up again to the Countess's face.

  "Nay, why dost thou look at me? Take thine own choice."

  The Countess was curious to see what the child's selection would be.

  "I looked to see which you liked best," said Derette, "because Iwouldn't like to choose that."

  "True courtesy here!" remarked the Countess. "It is nothing to me, mychild. Which dost thou like?"

  "I like that one," said Derette, touching the crimson, which was a rich,soft, dark shade of the colour, "and I think Agnes would too; but Idon't want to take the best, and I am not sure which it is."

  "Fold it up," said the Countess to Cumina, with a smile to Derette; "letit be well lapped in a kerchief; and bid Wandregisil go to the OsneyGate, so that Stephen can take the child home."

  The parcel was folded up, the Countess's hand kissed with heartfeltthanks, and the delighted Derette, under the care of Cumina, returned tothe Osney Gate with her load.

  "Well, you are a child!" exclaimed Stephen. "So Cumina has really foundyou a gown? I thought she would, if she had one to give away."

  "No," said Derette, "it is the Countess's gown."

  "And who on earth gave you a gown of the Lady's?"

  "Her own self!--and, Stephen, it is of her own wearing; she hadn't donewith it; but she gave it me, and she was so nice!--so much nicer thanall the others except Cumina."

  "Well, if ever I did!" gasped Stephen. "Derette, you are a terriblechild! I never saw your like."

  "I don't know what I've done that's terrible," replied the child. "I'msure Agnes won't think it terrible to have that pretty gown to wear.What is terrible about it, Stephen?"

  They had left the Castle a few yards behind, were over the drawbridge,and winding down the narrow descent, when a sharp call of "Ste-phen!"brought them to a standstill.

  "Oh dear, that's Cousin Anania!" exclaimed Derette. "Let me run on,Stephen, and you go back and see what she wants."

  "Nay, I must not do that, child. The Lady sent orders that I was to seeyou home. You'll have to go back with me."

  "But she'll worry so! She'll want to know all about the gown, and thenshe'll want it undone, and I'm sure she'll mess it up--and Cumina foldedit so smooth and nice:" urged Derette in a distressed tone.

  "We won't let her," answered Stephen, quietly, as they came to theentrance gate. "Well, what's up, Anania?"

  "What's Derette doing here? Who came with her? Where are you going?--and what's in that fardel?"

  "Oh, is that all you're after? I'll answer those questions when I comeback. I've got to take Derette home just now."

  "You'll answer them before you go an inch further, if you please. Thatchild's always in some mischief, and you aid and abet her a deal toooften."

  "But I don't please. I am under orders, Anania, and I can't stop now."

  "At least you'll tell me what's in the fardel!" cried Anania, as Stephenturned to go on his way without loosing his hold of the parcel.

  "A gown which the Lady has given to Derette," said Stephenmischievously, "and she sent commands that I was to escort her home withit."

  "A gown!--the Lady!--Derette!" screamed Anania. "Not one of her own?--why on earth should she give Derette a gown?"

  "That's the Lady's business, not mine."

  "Yes, one of her own," said Derette proudly.

  "But what on earth for? She hasn't given me a gown, and I am sure Iwant it more than that child--and deserve it, too."

  "Perhaps you haven't asked her," suggested Derette, trotting afterStephen, who was already half-way across the bridge.

  "Asked her! I should hope not, indeed--I know my place, if you don't.You never mean to say you asked her?"

  "I can't stop to talk, Cousin Anania."

  "But which gown is it?--tell me that!" cried Anania, in an agony ofdisappointed curiosity.

  "It's a crimson woollen one. Good morrow."

  "What! never that lovely robe she had on yesterday? Saints bless usall!" was the last scream that reached them from Anania.

  Stephen laughed merrily as Derette came up with him.

  "We have got clear of the dragon this time," said he.

  A few minutes brought them to the Walnut Tree.

  "Haimet--Oh, it's Stephen!" cried Isel in a tone of sore distress, assoon as he appeared at the door. "Do, for mercy's sake--I'm just at mywits' end to think whatever--Oh, there she is!"

  "Yes, Mother, I'm here," said Derette demurely.

  "Yes, she's here, and no harm done, but good, I reckon," added Stephen."Still, I think it might be as well to look after her a bit, Aunt Isel.If she were to take it into her head to go to London to see the LadyQueen, perhaps you mightn't fancy it exactly."

  "What has she been doing?" asked Isel in consternation.

  "Only paying a visit to the Countess," said Stephen, laughing.

  By this time Derette had undone the knots on the handkerchief, and thecrimson robe was revealed in all its beauty.

  "Agnes," she said quietly, but with a little undertone of decidedtriumph, "this is for you. You won't have to give up your gown, thoughyou did give Mother the money."

  A robe, in the Middle Ages, meant more than a single gown, and thecrimson woollen was a robe. Under and upper tunics, a mantle, and acorset or warm under-bodice, lay before the eyes of the amazed Agnes.

  "Derette, you awful child!" exclaimed her mother almost in terror, "whathave you been after, and where did you get all that? Why, it's a newrobe, and fit for a queen!"

  "Don't scold the child," said Stephen. "She meant well, and I believeshe behaved well; she got more than she asked for, that's all."

  "Please, it isn't quite new, Mother, because the Lady wore it yesterday;but she said she hadn't one done with, so she gave me one she waswearing."

  Bit by bit the story was told, while Isel held up her hands in horrifiedastonishment, which she allowed to appear largely, and in inwardadmiration of Derette's spirit, of which she tried to prevent theappearance. She was not, however, quite able to effect her purpose.

  "_Meine Kind_!" cried Agnes, even more amazed and horrified than Isel."Dat is not for me. It is too good. I am only poor woman. How shall Isuch beautiful thing wear?"

  "But it is for you," pleaded Derette earnestly, "and you must wear it;because, you see, if you did not, it would seem as if I had spokenfalsely to the Lady."

  "Ay, I don't see that you can do aught but take it and wear it," saidStephen. "Great ladies like ours don't take their gifts back."

  Gerhardt had come in during the discussion.

  "Nor does the Lord," he said, "at least not from those who receive themworthily. Take it from Him, dear, with thankfulness to the humaninstruments whom He has used. He saw thy need, and would not sufferthee to want for obeying His command."

  "But is it not too fine, Gerhardt?"

  "It might be if we had chosen it," answered Gerhardt with a smile; "butit seems as if the Lord had chosen it for thee, and that settles thematter. It is only the colour, after all."

  There was no trimming on the robe, save an edging of grey fur,--not evenembroidery: and no other kind of trimming was known at that time. Agnestimidly felt the soft, fine texture.

  "It is beautiful!" she said.

  "Oh, it is beautiful enough, in all conscience," said Isel, "and willlast you a life-time
, pretty nigh. But as to that dreadful child--"

  "Now, Mother, you won't scold me, will you?" said Derette coaxingly,putting her arms round Isel's neck. "I haven't done any harm, have I?"

  "Well, child, I suppose you meant well," said Isel doubtfully, "and Idon't know but one should look at folks' intentions more than theirdeeds, in especial when there's no ill done; but--"

  "Oh, come, let's forgive each other all round!" suggested Stephen."Won't that do?"

  Isel seemed to think it would, for she kissed Derette.

  "But you must never, never do such a thing again, child, in all the daysof your life!" said she.

  "Thank you, Mother, I don't want to do it again just now," answeredDerette in a satisfied tone.

  The afternoon was not over when Anania marched into the Walnut Tree.

  "Well, Aunt Isel! I hope you are satisfied _now_!"

  "With what, Anania?"

  "That dreadfully wicked child. Didn't I tell you? I warned you to lookafter her. If you only would take good advice when folks take thetrouble to give it you!"

  "Would you be so good as to say what you mean, Anania? I'm not at allsatisfied with dreadfully wicked children. I'm very much dissatisfiedwith them, generally."

  "I mean Derette, of course. I hope you whipped her well!"

  "What for?" asked Isel, in a rather annoyed tone.

  "`What for?'" Anania lifted up her hands. "There now!--if I didn'tthink she would just go and deceive you! She can't have told you thetruth, of course, or you could never pass it by in that light way."

  "If you mean her visit to the Castle," said Isel in a careless tone,"she told us all about it, of course, when she got back."

  "And you take it as coolly as that?"

  "How did you wish me to take it? The thing is done, and all's well thatends well. I don't see that it was so much out of the way, for my part.Derette got no harm, and Agnes has a nice new gown, and nobody theworse. If anybody has a right to complain, it is the Countess; and Ican't see that she has so much, either; for she needn't have given therobe if she hadn't liked."

  "Oh, she's no business to grumble; she has lots more of every thing.She could have twenty robes made like that to-morrow, if she wantedthem. I wish I'd half as many--I know that!"

  Agnes came down the ladder at that moment, carrying one of her newtunics, which she had just tried on, and was now going to alter to fitherself.

  "That's it, is it?" exclaimed Anania in an interested voice. "I thoughtit was that one. Well, you are in luck! That's one of her newestrobes, I do believe. Ah, folks that have more money than they know whatto do with, can afford to do aught they fancy. But to think of throwingaway such a thing as that on _you_!"

  Neither words nor tone were flattering, but the incivility droppedharmless from the silver armour of Agnes's lowly simplicity.

  "Oh, but it shall not away be t'rown," she said gently; "I will dem allup-make, and wear so long as they will togeder hold. I take care ofdat, so shall you see!"

  Anania looked on with envious eyes.

  "How good lady must de Countess be!" added Agnes.

  "Oh, she can be good to folks sometimes," snarled Anania. "She's justas full of whims as she can be--all those great folks are--proud andstuck-up and crammed full of caprice: but they say she's kind where she_takes_, you know. It just depends whether she takes to you. She nevertook to me, worse luck! I might have had that good robe, if she had."

  "I shouldn't think she would," suddenly observed the smallest voice inthe company.

  "What do you mean by that, you impudent child?"

  "Because, Cousin Anania, I don't think there's much in you to take to."

  Derette's prominent feeling at that moment was righteous indignation.She could not bear to hear the gentle, gracious lady, who had treatedher with such unexpected kindness, accused of being proud and full ofwhims, apparently for no better reason than because she had not "takento" Anania--a state of things which Derette thought most natural andprobable. Her sense of justice--and a child's sense of justice is oftenpainfully keen--was outraged by Anania's sentiments.

  "Well, to be sure! How high and mighty we are! That comes of visitingCountesses, I suppose.--Aunt Isel, I told you that child was gettinginsufferable. There'll be no bearing her very soon. She's as stuck-upnow as a peacock. Just look at her!"

  "I don't see that she looks different from usual," said Isel, who wasmixing the ingredients for a "bag-pudding."

  Anania made that slight click with her tongue which conveys the idea ofdespairing compassion for the pitiable incapacity of somebody toperceive patent facts.

  Isel went on with her pudding, and offered no further remark.

  "Well, I suppose I'd better be going," said Anania--and sat still.

  Nobody contradicted her, but she made no effort to go, until Osbertstopped at the half-door and looked in.

  "Oh, you're there, are you?" he said to his wife. "I don't know whetheryou care particularly for those buttons you bought from Veka, but Selishas swallowed two, and--"

  "_Those_ buttons! Graven silver, as I'm a living woman! I'll shake himwhile I can stand over him! And only one blessed dozen I had of them,and the price she charged me--The little scoundrel! Couldn't he haveswallowed the common leaden ones?"

  "Weren't so attractive, probably," said Osbert, as Anania hurried away,without any leave-taking, to bestow on her son and heir, aged six, theshaking she had promised.

  "But de little child, he shall be sick!" said Agnes, looking up from herwork with compassionate eyes.

  "Oh, I dare say it won't hurt him much," replied Osbert coolly, "andperhaps it will teach him not to meddle. I wish it might teach hismother to stay at home and look after him, but I'm afraid that'shopeless. Good morrow!"

  Little Selis seemed no worse for his feast of buttons, beyond a fit ofviolent indigestion, which achieved the wonderful feat of keeping Ananiaat home for nearly a week.

  "You've had a nice quiet time, Aunt Isel," said Stephen. "Shall I seeif I can persuade Selis to take the rest of the dozen?"

  Life went on quietly--for the twelfth century--in the little house inKepeharme Street. That means that nobody was murdered or murderouslyassaulted, the house was not burned down nor burglariously entered, andneither of the boys lost a limb, and was suffered to bleed to death, forinterference with the King's deer. In those good old times, theselittle accidents were rather frequent, the last more especially, as theawful and calmly-calculated statistics on the Pipe Rolls bear terriblewitness.

  Romund married, and went to live in the house of his bride, who was anheiress to the extent of possessing half-a-dozen houses in Saint Ebbe'sparish. Little Rudolph grew to be seven years old, a fine fearless boy,rather more than his quiet mother knew how to manage, but alwaysamenable to a word from his grave father. The Germans had settled downpeaceably in various parts of the country, some as shoemakers, some astailors, some as weavers, or had hired themselves as day-labourers tofarmers, carpenters, or bakers. Several offers of marriage had beenmade to Ermine, but hitherto, to the surprise of her friends, all hadbeen declined, her brother assenting to this unusual state of things.

  "Why, what do you mean to do, Gerard?" asked Isel of her, when the lastand wealthiest of five suitors was thus treated. "You'll never have abetter offer for the girl than Raven Soclin. He can spend sixty poundby the year and more; owns eight shops in the Bayly, and a brew-housebeside Saint Peter's at East Gate. He's no mother to plague his wife,and he's a good even-tempered lad, as wouldn't have many words with her.Deary me! but it's like throwing the fish back into the sea whenthey've come in your net! What on earth are you waiting for, I shouldjust like to know?"

  "Dear Mother Isel," answered Ermine softly, "we are waiting to see whatGod would have of me. I think He means me for something else. Let uswait and see."

  "But there is nothing else, child," returned Isel almost irritably,"without you've a mind to be a nun; and that's what I wouldn't be, takemy word for i
t. Is that what you're after?"

  "No, I think not," said Ermine in the same tone.

  "Then there's nothing else for you--nothing in this world!"

  "This is not the only world," was the quiet reply.

  "It's the only one I know aught about," said Isel, throwing her beansinto the pan; "or you either, if I'm not mistaken. You'd best be wisein time, or you'll go through the wood and take the crookedest stick youcan find."

  "I hope to be wise in time, Mother Isel; but I would rather it wereGod's time than mine. And we Germans, you know, believe inpresentiments. Methinks He has whispered to me that the way He hasappointed for my treading is another road than that."

  Ermine was standing, as she spoke, by the half-door, her eyes fixed onthe fleecy clouds which were floating across the blue summer sky.

  "Can you see it, Aunt Ermine?" cried little Rudolph, running to her."Is it up there, in the blue--the road you are going to tread?"

  "It is down below first," answered Ermine dreamily. "Down very low, inthe dim valleys, and it is rough. But it will rise by-and-bye to theeverlasting hills, and to the sapphire blue; and it leads straight toGod's holy hill, and to His tabernacle."

  They remembered those words--seven months later.

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  Note 1. The Pipe Rolls speak of _large_ cheeses, which cost fromthreepence to sixpence each, and the ordinary size, of which two orthree were sold for a penny. They were probably very small.

  Note 2. Modern value of above prices:--Pig, 1 pound, 19 shillings 7pence; half ox, 1 pound, 15 shillings 5 pence; cloth, 1 pound 16shillings 5 and a half pence per ell; cloak, 13 pounds 6 shillings 8pence; cape, 6 pounds, 13 shillings 4 pence; pair of slippers, 12shillings 6 pence; boots, per pair, 25 shillings; cheeses, 2 shillings 1penny each; flour and cabbage, each 1 pound 9 shillings 2 pence; mealand herrings, each 2 pounds, 10 shillings; beans, 2 pounds 1 shilling 8pence; coffer, 6 pounds, 5 shillings; nails, 2 pounds, 18 shillings 4pence; rug, 50 pounds. It will be seen that money was far cheaper thannow, and living much more expensive.

  Note 3. For the sinking of which King Henry paid 19 pounds, 19shillings 5 pence near this time.