Prentice Hugh

by Frances Mary Peard

whether or no the money should beraised, but to raise it. Few laws had you in old days, and little voicein them!"

  "He speaks the truth," said a grave franklin standing by.

  "When, since the days of Alfred, has there been an English king like ourKing Edward?" added Dick-o'-the-Hill.

  "One that ever keeps his word."

  "And makes laws for the poor."

  "I say that none speak against him except traitors and false loons,"said the baker, squaring up towards the cobbler in a threatening manner.

  "Nay, my masters, I meant no harm," urged the cobbler, alarmed. "Thesaints forbid that I should say a word against King Edward! Doubtless,we shall pay our twelfth, such of us as can--and be as much better as weare like to be."

  He added these words under his breath, but Stephen Bassett caught them.

  "Ay," he said, "so long as we are saved from sinking into a nation ofcurs such as thee."

  The cobbler cast an infuriated look at him as he walked on, the flushwhich Hugh loved to see on his cheek.

  "That was an evil man, father," said the boy. Bassett was silent for aspace.

  "There are many such discontented knaves," he returned at last, "eatinglike a canker into the very heart of our nation. Self, self, that isthe limit to which their thoughts rise. And they measure all others bytheir own petty standard--even the king. It makes one sick at heart tothink what he has done for his country, and how--to hear some of thesemean-spirited loons talk--it is turned against him, and besmirched, tillfairest deeds are made to look black, and nothing is left to him but hisfaults."

  If Hugh could not understand all, he took in much, and remembered itafterwards. But the delights of the fair drove all else out of his headfor the moment, and he could scarce be torn away from the dancing bear.

  "Hearken," said his father at last with a laugh, "whatever happens, I'llhave none of the bear! His masters may die, and he be baited by all thedogs in the town, but he shall never be my travelling fellow. Come,'tis time we were at the lady's."

  This time they were passed through the passage to the talking room,where Dame Edith was sitting on a bench or low settle. The walls wereunplastered, its rough floor uncarpeted, its windows unglazed, to modernnotions it would have seemed little better than a cell, but Dame Edithherself created about her an air of refinement and delicacy. After thenew fashion, instead of the plaits which had been worn, her fair hairwas turned up and enclosed in a network caul of gold thread, over whichwas placed a veil. She wore a kirtle of pale blue silk, and afawn-coloured velvet mantle, with an extravagantly long trainembroidered in blue. She looked too young to be the mother of Edgar,and indeed was Sir Thomas's second wife, and the very darling of hisheart. The twins, especially Anne, strongly resembled her; Eleanor hadmore of her father's and her step-brother's eager impetuosity, but Annebade fair to be as sweet-mannered and dainty as her mother. Bassett andhis son had hardly made their greeting, before the little maidens werein the room, Eleanor so brimming over with questions about the monkeythat she could scarce keep her tongue in check.

  Dame Edith smiled very kindly on the boy.

  "I have heard all the tale from Friar Nicholas," she said, "and of howdiscreetly Wolf came to the rescue. And so thou wouldst be a soldier?"

  Hugh coloured, and his father broke in--

  "Nay, lady, he hath laid by that foolish fancy. He will be a carver,like myself."

  She lifted her pretty eyebrows.

  "In good sooth? Now we had settled matters quite otherwise. I had wonmy good husband to consenting that he should be taken into our meine,and there he might have risen. Is the subject quite decided?"

  "Quite, lady," Bassett said firmly. "I thank you very humbly for yourgoodness, but Hugh and I must hold together while I live, and I have setmy heart upon his carving a name for himself with a lowlier but a morelasting weapon than the sword."

  His cough shook him again as he spoke, and Dame Edith, though unused toopposition, was too kindly natured to show displeasure. She asked tosee what he had brought, and was soon wrapt in admiration at the freeand delicate work which was displayed. Meanwhile, Eleanor could whisperto Hugh--

  "Hath Agrippa eaten all the nuts? Doth he like spice-bread or figs?I'll give thee some. But oh, I wish, I wish thou hadst brought him!Wolf is gone to the shire-oak. And see now, bend down thy head, andhearken to a secret. Madam, our mother, has a silken cord for thee tohold him with. When may we come again and see him? I should like it tobe to-day."

  Dame Edith was a liberal purchaser. Her last choice was a beautifullittle reliquary box, minutely carved, yet with a freedom of designwhich enchanted her. She would scarcely allow them to leave her, andthe afternoon had advanced before father and son found themselves ontheir way back to the sacristan's house. He met them at the door--alittle, withered old man--in an indignant temper.

  "Folk should shut the door behind them, and not leave the house to bepillaged," he said, crossly. "Here I come back and find all indisorder, and the door wide open to invite all the ill loons in theplace to come in and work their will."

  "We left the door safely shut," said Bassett, in surprise.

  "Father--Agrippa!" cried Hugh, bolting into the house.

  His fears were too true. No Agrippa chattered his welcome to them fromthe rafters, and as he always remained in that place of refuge duringtheir absence, and was too timid to come down to any stranger, it wasevident that some dire abduction had taken place. Hugh, who had grownvery fond of the monkey, was like one distracted. John, the sacristan,who loved it less, was disposed to be philosophical.

  "Well, well, well," he said, "if the varlets have taken nought else Iwish them joy of their bargain, and 'tis well it's no worse. By 'rLady, 'tis a foul thing to break into a man's house, and we shall seewhat the Master of the College will say to the watch."

  "I'll find the poor beast, if he be still alive," said Hugh, with achoke in his voice, "wherever they've bestowed him. 'Tis Peter's work!"

  He was rushing out when Bassett checked him.

  "Softly, softly," he said, "prudence may do more than valour in thiscase. Let us ask a few questions to begin with. Master John, at whattime came you back?"

  "At four o' the clock, and found the door open--thus, and the tankard ofale I had left emptied. The scurvy knaves! But there's no virtue leftin the watch since Master Simpkins got the upper hand, and hath upsetall the ancient customs."

  Scarce restraining Hugh's impatience, his father made inquiries at someof the houses round, and ended at last in gaining information. GoodyJones was sick of a fever, and her little grandchild, playing atbob-apple before the door with another, had seen Peter, the smith's son,and two other boys, whom she named, go into the sacristan's house.Pressed to say whether she saw them come out again, she said nay. Hergrandam had called her, and she had run in.

  Link the first was therefore established.

  Hugh was for rushing at once to Peter, and forcing the rest out of him,but Bassett counselled more wary walking.

  "'Tis a deep-laid plot," he said, "and it were best to meet craft bycraft. Besides, if they are accused, they may kill the poor beast tosave themselves and spite thee. Let us go out to the fair, and maybe weshall pick up some tidings."

  It was dreadful to Hugh to behold Peter in the distance, and to berestrained from falling upon him, and the fair had quite lost its charm,though the noise and stir had increased. Costard-mongers were bawlingapples--red, white, and grey costards--at the top of their voices;pig-women inviting the passers-by to partake of the roast pig whichsmoked on their tables; tooth-drawers and barbers, each proclaiming hiscalling more loudly than the other. The abbot of a neighbouringmonastery had his palfrey surrounded by a group of clothiers, while afool in motley was the centre of another group. Among these thewood-carver spied a sturdy yeoman, the same Dick-o'-the-Hill who hadopposed the cobbler earlier in the day. It struck him that here was aman for his purpose, and he managed to extract him from the others, andto tell him
what they were seeking. Honest Dick-o'-the-Hill scratchedhis head.

  "If you knew where they had disposed the beast," he said, "and breakingof heads could do it, I'm your man. But as for finding where 'tis hid,my wife would tell you I was the veriest numskull!" The next moment hebrightened. "I have it! There's my cousin before us, carrying thatfardel of hay. He's the wisest head for miles round, and I'll warranthe'll clap some sense on the matter. Hi, Mat! Ancient Mat!"

  Thus adjured, a small, dried-up, pippin-faced man paused on his way, andwaited till his cousin overtook him and explained what was amiss. Helistened testily, showing profound contempt