The Panchronicon

by Harold Steele MacKaye

  CHAPTER VII

  NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS

  How long they slept after their extraordinary experience with therunaway air-ship neither Rebecca nor Phoebe ever knew; but when theyawoke all was still, and it was evidently dark outside, for no ray oflight found its way past the hangings they had placed over theirwindows.

  There was something uncanny in the total silence. Even the noise of themachinery was stilled, and the two sisters dressed together in Rebecca'sroom for company's sake.

  "Do you suppose we've arrived in Infinite Space yet?" Rebecca asked.

  "It's still enough fer it," Phoebe replied, in a low voice. "But Idon't hear the Panchronicon's machinery any more. It must have run downentirely, wherever we are."

  At that moment there was borne faintly to their ears the distant crowingof a cock.

  "Well, there!" said Rebecca, with an expression of immense relief, "Idon't believe the's any hens an' roosters in Infinite Space, is the'?"

  Phoebe laughed and shook her head as she ran to the window. She drewaside the shawl hanging before the glass and peered out.

  The first gleams of dawn were dispelling the night, and against a darkgray sky she saw the branches of thickly crowding trees.

  Dropping the shawl, she turned eagerly to her sister.

  "Rebecca Wise!" she exclaimed. "As sure as you're alive, we're back safeon the ground again. We're in the woods."

  "Mos' likely Putnam's wood lot," said Rebecca, with great satisfactionas she finally adjusted her cameo brooch. "Gracious! Won't I be glad tosee all the folks again!"

  She pushed open her door and, followed by Phoebe, entered the mainroom. Here all was gloom, but they could hear Droop's breathing, andknew that he was still sleeping under the table in the corner.

  "For the lands sakes! Let's get out in the fresh air," Rebecca exclaimedas she groped her way toward the stairs. "You keep a-holt o' me,Phoebe. That's right. We'll get out o' here an' make rabbit tracks ferhome, I tell ye. We can come back later for our duds when that mis'ablespecimen is sober fer awhile again."

  Slowly the two made their way down the winding stairs to the lower hall,where, after much fumbling, they found the door handle and lock.

  As they emerged from the prison that had so long confined them, a coolmorning zephyr swept their faces, bringing with it once more thewell-known voice of distant chanticleer.

  They walked across the springing turf a few yards and were then able tomake out the looming black mass of some building beyond the end of theair-ship.

  "Goodness!" Rebecca whispered. "This ain't Peltonville, Phoebe. Thereain't a house in the town as high as that, 'less it's the meetin'-house,an' 'tain't the right shape fer that."

  They advanced stealthily toward the newly discovered building, in whichnot a single light was to be seen.

  "In good sooth," Phoebe exclaimed, putting one hand on her sister'sarm, "it hath an air of witchcraft! Dost not feel cold chills in thee,Rebecca?"

  Rebecca stopped short, stiff with amazement.

  "What's come over ye?" she asked, trying to peer into her sister's face."Whatever makes ye talk like that, child?"

  Phoebe laughed nervously and, taking her sister's arm, pressed closeup to her.

  "I don't know, dear. Did I speak funny?" she asked.

  "Why you know you did. What's the use o' tryin' to scare a body withgibberish? This place is creepy 'nough now."

  As she spoke, they reached the door of the strange building. They couldsee that it stood open, and even as they paused near the thresholdanother puff of air passed them, and they heard a door squeak on itsrusty hinges.

  They stood and listened breathlessly, peering into the dark interiorwhence there was borne to their nostrils a musty odor. A large batwhisked across the opening, and as they started back alarmed he returnedwith swift zig-zag cuts and vanished ghostlike into the house.

  "It's deserted," whispered Rebecca.

  "Perhaps it's haunted," Phoebe replied.

  "Well, we needn't go in, I guess," said Rebecca, turning from the doorand starting briskly away. "Come on this way, Phoebe--look out fer thetrees--lands! Did y'ever see so many?"

  A few steps brought them to a high brick wall, against which flowers,weeds, and vines grew rank together. They followed this wall, walkingmore rapidly, for the day was breaking in earnest and groping wasneedless now. Presently they came to a spot where the wall was brokenaway, leaving an opening just broad enough to admit a man's body.Rebecca squeezed boldly through and Phoebe followed her, rather forcompany's sake than with any curiosity to see what was beyond.

  They found themselves in a sort of open common, stretching to the edgeof a broad roadway about a hundred yards from where they stood. On theother side of the road a cluster of gabled cottages was visible againstthe faint rose tint of the eastern sky.

  As Phoebe came to her sister's side, she clutched her arm excitedly:

  "Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "'Tis Newington, as true as I live! Newingtonand Blackman Street!"

  Suddenly she sat down in the grass and hid her face in her hands.

  "What d'ye mean?" said Rebecca, looking down at her sister with apuzzled expression. "Where's Newington--I never heerd tell of BlackmanStreet. Air ye thinkin' of Boston, or----"

  Phoebe interrupted her by leaping to her feet and starting back to theopening in the wall.

  "Come back, Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "Come back quick!"

  Rebecca followed her sister in some alarm. Phoebe must have been takensuddenly ill, she thought. Perhaps they had reached one of those regionsinfected by fevers of which she had heard from time to time.

  In silence the two women hurried back to the Panchronicon, whose uncouthform was now quite plainly visible behind the trees into the midst ofwhich it had fallen when the power stored within it was exhausted.

  Not until they were safely seated in Rebecca's room did Phoebe speakagain.

  "There!" she exclaimed, as she dropped to a seat on the edge of the bed,"I declare to goodness, Rebecca, I don't know what to make of it!"

  "What is it? What ails ye?" said Rebecca, anxiously.

  "Why, I don't believe I'm myself, Rebecca. I've been here before. I knowthat village out there, and--and--it's all I can do to talk same's I'vealways been used to. I'm wanting to talk like--like I did awhile back."

  "It's all right! It's all right!" said Rebecca, soothingly. "Th' ain'tnothing the matter with you, deary. Ye've ben shet up here with sideweight an' what not so long--o' course you're not yerself."

  She bustled about pretending to set things to rights, but her heart washeavy with apprehension. She thought that Phoebe was in the firststages of delirium.

  "Not myself! No," said Phoebe. "No--the fact is, I'm somebody else!"

  At this Rebecca straightened up and cast one horrified glance at hersister. Then she turned and began to put on her bonnet and jacket. Hermind was made up. Phoebe was delirious and they must seek a doctor--atonce.

  "Get your things on, Phoebe," she said, striving to appear calm. "Puton your things an' come out with me. Let's see if we can't take a littleexercise."

  Phoebe arose obediently and went to her room. They were neither ofthem very long about their preparations, and by the time the sun wasactually rising, the two women were leaving the air-ship for the secondtime, Phoebe carrying the precious carved box and Rebecca her satcheland umbrella.

  "What you bringin' that everlastin' packet o' letters for?" Rebeccaasked, as they reached the opening in the wall.

  "I want to have it out in the light," Phoebe replied. "I want to seesomething."

  Outside of the brick wall she paused and opened the box. It was empty.

  "I thought so!" she said.

  "Why, ye've brought the box 'thout the letters, Phoebe," said Rebecca."You're not agoin' back for them, air ye?"

  "No," Phoebe replied, "'twouldn't do any good. Rebecca. They aren'tthere."

  She dropped the box in the grass and looked wistfully about her.

  "Not there!"
said Rebecca, nonplussed. "Why, who'd take 'em?"

  "Nobody. They haven't been written yet."

  "Not--not--" Rebecca gasped for a moment and then hurried toward theroad. "Come on!" she cried.

  Surely, she thought--surely they must find a doctor without delay.

  But before they reached the road, Rebecca was glad to pause again andtake advantage of a friendly bush from whose cover she might gazewithout being herself observed.

  The broad highway which but so short a time ago was quite deserted, wasnow occupied by a double line of bustling people--young and old--men,women, and children. Those travelling toward their left, to the north,were principally men and boys, although now and then a pair ofloud-voiced girls passed northward with male companions. Those who weretravelling southward were the younger ones, and often whole familiestogether. Among these the women predominated.

  All of these people were laughing--calling rough jokes back andforth--singing, running, jumping, and dancing, till the whole roadwayappeared a merry Bedlam.

  "Must be a county fair near here!" exclaimed Rebecca. "But will yelisten to the gibberish an' see their clothes!"

  Indeed, the language and the costumes were most perplexing to good NewEngland ears and eyes, and Rebecca knew not whether to advance or toretreat.

  The women all wore very wide and rather short skirts, the petticoat wornexposed up to where a full over-skirt or flounce gave emphasis to theirhips. The elder ones wore long-sleeved jackets and high-crowned hats,while the young ones wore what looked like low-necked jerseys tiedtogether in front and their braided hair hung from uncovered crowns.

  The men wore short breeches, some full trunk hose, some tighter butpuffed; their jackets were of many fashions, from the long-skirted opencoats of the elders to the smart doublets or shirts of the young men.

  The children were dressed like the adults, and most of them wore wreathsand garlands of flowers, while in the hands of many were baskets full ofposies.

  Phoebe gazed from her sister's side with the keenest delight, sayingnothing, but turning her eyes hither and thither as though afraid oflosing the least detail of the scene.

  Presently two young girls approached, each with a basket in her hand.They moved slowly over the grass, stopping constantly to pick theviolets under their feet. They were so engrossed in their task and intheir conversation that they failed to notice the two sisters halfhidden by the shrubbery.

  "Nay--nay!" the taller of the two was saying, "I tell thee he made oathto't, Cicely. Knew ye ever Master Stephen to be forsworn?"

  "A lover's oaths--truly!" laughed the other. "Why, they be made forbreaking. I doubt not he hath made a like vow to a score of sillywenches ere this, coz!"

  "Thou dost him wrong, Cicely. An he keep not the tryst, 'twill onlybe----"

  "'Twill only be thy first misprision, eh?"

  "Marry, then----"

  Here their words were lost as they continued to move farther away, stilldisputing together.

  "Well!" exclaimed Rebecca, turning to Phoebe. "Now I know where we'veben carried to. This is the Holy Land--Jerusalem or Bethlehem or Canaanor some sech place. Thou--thee--thy! Did ye hear those girls talkin'Bible language, Phoebe?"

  Phoebe shook her head and was about to reply when there was a loudclamour of many tongues from the road near by.

  "The May-pole! The May-pole!" and someone started a roaring song inwhich hundreds soon joined. The sisters could not distinguish the words,but the volume of sound was tremendous.

  There was the tramp of many rushing feet and a Babel of cries behindthem. They turned to see a party of twenty gayly clad young men bearingdown upon them, carrying a mighty May-pole crowned with flowers andstreaming with colored ribbons.

  Around these and following after were three or four score merry lads andlasses, all running and capering, shouting and dancing, singly or ingroups, hand in hand.

  In a trice Rebecca found herself clinging to Phoebe with whom she wasborne onward helpless by the mad throng.

  The new-comers were clad in all sorts of fantastic garbs, and many ofthem were masked. Phoebe and her sister were therefore not conspicuousin their long scant black skirts and cloth jackets with balloon sleeves.Their costumes were taken for disguises, and as they were swallowed upin the mad throng they were looked on as fellow revellers.

  Had Rebecca been alone, she would probably have succeeded in time inworking her way out of this unwelcome crowd, but to her amazement, nosooner had they been surrounded by the young roysterers than Phoebe,breaking her long silence, seized her sister by the hand and beganlaughing, dancing, and running with the best of them. To crown all,what was Rebecca's surprise to hear her sister singing word for wordthe madcap song of the others, as though she had known these words allher life. She did not even skip those parts that made Rebecca blush.

  It was incredible--monstrous--impossible! Phoebe, the sweet, modest,gentle, prudish Phoebe, singing a questionable song in a whirl ofroystering Jerusalemites!

  Up the broad road they danced--up to the northward, all men making wayfor them as, with hand-bag and umbrella flying in her left hand, she wasdragged forward on an indecorous run by Phoebe, who held her tightlyby the right.

  On--ever on, past wayside inn and many a lane and garden, house andhedge. Over the stones and ruts, choking in clouds of dust.

  Once Rebecca stumbled and a great gawky fellow caught her around thewaist to prevent her falling.

  "Lips pay forfeit for tripping feet, lass!" he cried, and kissed herwith a sounding smack.

  Furious and blushing, she swung her hand-bag in a circle and brought itdown upon the ravisher's head.

  "Take that, you everlastin' rascal, you!" she gasped.

  The bumpkin dodged with a laugh and disappeared in the crowd and dust,cuffing, pushing, scuffling, hugging, and kissing quite heedless ofsmall rebuffs.

  When they had proceeded thus until Rebecca thought there was nothingleft for it but to fall in her tracks and be trampled to death, thewhole crowd came suddenly to a halt, and the young men began to erectthe May-pole in the midst of a shaded green on one side of the mainroad.

  Rebecca stood, angry and breathless, trying to flick the dust off herbag with her handkerchief, while Phoebe, at her side, her eyes brightand cheeks rosy, showed her pretty teeth in a broad smile of pleasure,the while she tried to restore some order to her hair. As for her hat,that had long ago been lost.

  "I declare--I declare to goodness!" panted Rebecca, "ef anybody'd toldme ez you, Phoebe Wise, would take on so--so like--like a--a----"

  "Like any Zanny's light-o-love," Phoebe broke in, her bosom heavingwith the violence of her exercise. "But prithee, sweet, chide me not.From this on shall I be chaste, demure, and sober as an abbess in aplay. But oh!--but oh!" she cried, stretching her arms high over herhead, "'twas a goodly frolic, sis! I felt a three-centuries' fastinglust for it, in good sooth!"

  Rebecca clutched her sister by the arm and shook her.

  "Phoebe Wise--Phoebe Wise!" she cried, looking anxiously into herface, "wake up now--wake up! What in the universal airth----"

  A loud shout cut her short, and the two sisters turned amazed.

  "The bull! The bull!"

  There was an opening in the crowd as four men approached leading anddriving a huge angry bull, which was secured by a ring in his nose towhich ropes were attached. Another man followed, dragged forward bythree fierce bull-dogs in a leash.

  The bull was quickly tied to a stout post in the street, and the crowdformed a circle closely surrounding the bull-ring. It was the famousbull-ring of Blackman Street in Southwark.

  A moment later the dogs were freed, and amid their hoarse baying andgrowling and the deep roaring of their adversary, the baiting began--thechief sport of high and low in the merry days of good Queen Bess.

  The sisters found themselves in the front of the throng surrounding theraging beasts, and, before she knew it, Rebecca saw one of the dogscaught on the horns of the bull and tossed, yelping and bleeding, intothe air.


  For one moment she stood aghast in the midst of the delighted crowd ofshouting onlookers. Then she turned and fiercely elbowed her wayoutward, followed by her sister.

  "Come 'long--come 'long, Phoebe!" she cried. "We'll soon put a stop tothis! I'll find the selectmen o' this town an' see ef this cruelty toanimals is agoin' on right here in open daylight. I guess the's laws o'some kind here, ef it _is_ Bethlehem or Babylon!"

  Hot with indignation, the still protesting woman reached the outskirtsof the throng and looked about her. Close at hand a tall, swaggeringfellow was loafing about. He was dressed in yellow from head to foot,save where his doublet and hose were slashed with dirty red at elbows,shoulders, and hips. A dirty ruff was around his neck, and on his headhe wore a great shapeless hat peaked up in front.

  "Hey, mister!" cried Rebecca, addressing this worthy. "Can you tell mewhere I can find one o' the selectmen?"

  The stranger paused in his walk and glanced first at Rebecca and then,with evidently increased interest, at Phoebe.

  "Selectmen?" he asked. "Who hath selected them, dame?"

  He gazed quizzically at the excited woman.

  "Now you needn't be funny 'bout it," Rebecca cried, "fer I'm not goin'to take any impidence. You know who I mean by the selectmen jest's wellas I do. I'd be obliged to ye ef ye'd tell me the way--an' drop thatBible talk--good every-day English is good enough fer me!"

  "In good sooth, dame," he replied, "'tis not every day I hear suchEnglish as yours."

  He paused a moment in thought. This was May-day--a season of revelry andgood-natured practical joking. This woman was evidently quizzing him, soit behooved him to repay her in kind.

  "But a truce to quips and quillets, say I," he continued. "'Twill do memuch pleasure an your ladyship will follow me to the selectman. As ithappens, his honor is even now holding court near London Bridge."

  "London Bridge!" gasped Rebecca. "Why, London ain't a Bible country, isit?"

  Deigning no notice to a query which he did not understand, the youngfellow set off to northward, followed closely by the two women.

  "Keep close to him, Phoebe," said Rebecca, warningly. "Ef we shouldlose the man in all this rabble o' folks we would not find him in ahurry."

  "Thou seest, sweet sister," Phoebe replied, "'tis indeed our belovedcity of London. Did I not tell thee yon village was Newington, and herewe be now in Southwark, close to London Bridge."

  Rebecca had forgotten her sister's ailment in the fierce indignationwhich the bull-baiting had aroused. But now she was brought back to herown personal fears and aims with a rude shock by the strange languagePhoebe held.

  She leaped forward eagerly and touched their guide's shoulder.

  "Hey, mister!" she exclaimed, "I'd be obliged to ye if ye'd show us thehouse o' the nearest doctor before we see the selectman."

  The man stopped short in the middle of the street, with a cunning leeron his face. The change of purpose supported his belief that a May-dayjest was forward.

  "Call me plain Jock Dean, mistress," he said. "And now tell me further,wilt have a doctor of laws, of divinity, or of physic. We be in a merrymood and a generous to-day, and will fetch forth bachelors, masters,doctors, proctors, and all degrees from Oxford, Cambridge, or London ata wink's notice. So say your will."

  Rebecca would have returned a sharp reply to this banter, but she wasvery anxious to find a physician for Phoebe, and so thought it best totake a coaxing course.

  "What I want's a doctor," she said. "I think my sister's got the shakesor suthin', an' I must take her to the doctor. Now look here--you looklike a nice kind of a young man. I know it's some kind of antiques andhorribles day 'round here, an' all the folks hes on funny clothes anddoes nothin' on'y joke a body. But let's drop comical talk jest fer aminute an' get down to sense, eh?"

  She spoke pleadingly, and for a moment Jock looked puzzled. He onlyunderstood a portion of what she was saying, but he realized that shewas in some sort of trouble.

  "Why bait the man with silly questions, Rebecca," Phoebe broke in. "Atruce to this silly talk of apothecaries. I have no need of surgeons, I.My good fellow," she continued, addressing Jock with an air ofcondescension that dumfounded her sister, "is not yonder the Southwarkpillory?"

  "Ay, mistress," he replied, with a grin. "It's there you may see theselectman your serving-maid inquired for."

  Rebecca gasped and clinched her hands fiercely on her bag and umbrella.

  "Serving-maid!" she cried.

  "Ahoy--whoop--room! Yi--ki yi!"

  A swarm of small white animals ran wildly past them from behind, andafter them came a howling, laughing, scrambling mob that filled thestreet. Someone had loosed a few score rabbits for the delight of therabble.

  There was no time for reflection. With one accord, Jock and the twowomen ran with all speed toward the pillory and the bridge, drivenforward by the crowd behind them. To have held their ground would havebeen to risk broken bones at least.

  Fortunately the hunted beasts turned sharply to the right and left atthe first cross street, and soon the three human fugitives could haltand draw breath.

  They found themselves in the outskirts of a crowd surrounding thepillory, and above the heads of those in front they could see a huge redface under a thatch of tousled hair protruding stiffly through a hole ina beam supported at right angles to a vertical post about five feethigh. On each side of the head a large and dirty hand hung through anappropriate opening in the beam.

  Under the prisoner's head was hung an account of his misdeeds, placedthere by some of his cronies. These crimes were in the nature of certainbreaches of public decorum and decency, the details of which thebystanders were discussing with relish and good-humor.

  "Let's get out o' here," said Rebecca, suddenly, when the purport ofwhat she heard pierced her nineteenth-century understanding. "Thesefolks beat me!"

  She turned, grasping Phoebe's arm to enforce her request, but shefound that others had crowded in behind them and had hemmed them in.This would not have deterred her but, unaccountably, Phoebe did notseem inclined to move.

  "Nay--nay!" she said. "'Tis a wanton wastrel, and he well deserves thepillory. But, Rebecca, I've a mind to see what observance these peoplewill give the varlet. Last time I saw one pilloried, alas! they slew himwith shards and paving-stones. This fellow is liker to be pelted withnosegays, methinks."

  "Mercy me, Phoebe! Whatever--what--oh, goodness gracious grandmother,child!" Poor Rebecca could find only exclamations wherein to express herfeelings. She began to wonder if she were dreaming.

  At this moment a sprightly, dashing lad, in ragged clothing andbareheaded, sprang to the platform beside the prisoner and waved hisarms for silence.

  There were cries of "Hear--hear!" "Look at Baiting Will!" "Ho--ho--bullyrook!" "Sh-sh-h!"

  After a time the tumult subsided so that Baiting Will could make himselfheard. He was evidently a well-known street wag, for his remarks werereceived with frequent laughter and vocal applause.

  "Hear ye--hear ye--all good folk and merry!" he shouted. "Here ye seethe liege lord of all May merry-makers. Hail to the King of the May, mybully boys!"

  "Ho--ho! All hail!"

  "Hurrah--crown him, crown him!"

  "The King of the May forever!"

  By dint of bawling for silence till he was red in the face, the speakerat length made himself heard again.

  "What say ye, my good hearts--shall we have a double coronation? Where'sthe quean will be his consort? Bring her forward, lads. We'll crown thetwain."

  This proposal was greeted with a roar of laughter and approval, and anumber of slattern women showing the effects of strong ale in theirfaces stepped boldly forward as competitors for coronation.

  But again Baiting Will waved his arms for a chance to speak.

  "Nay, my merry lads and lasses," he cried, "it were not meet to wed ourgracious lord the king without giving him a chance to choose his queen!"

  He leaned his ear close to the grinning head, pretending t
o listen amoment. Then, standing forward, he cried:

  "His gracious and sovereign majesty hath bid me proclaim his choice. Hebids ye send him up for queen yon buxom dame in the black doublet andunruffed neck--her wi' the black wand and outland scrip."

  He pointed directly at Rebecca. She turned white and started to push herway out of the crowd, but those behind her joined hands, laughing andshouting: "A queen--a queen!"

  Two or three stout fellows from just beneath the pillory elbowed theirway to her side and grasped her arms.

  She struggled and shrieked in affright.

  Phoebe with indignant face seized the arm of the man nearest her andpulled lustily to free her sister.

  "Stand aside, you knaves!" she cried, hotly. "Know your betters and keepyour greasy hands for the sluttish queans of Southwark streets!"

  The lads only grinned and tightened their hold. Rebecca was strugglingfiercely and in silence, save for an occasional shriek of fear.

  Phoebe raised her voice.

  "Good people, will ye see a lady tousled by knavish street brawlers!What ho--a rescue--a Burton--a Burton--a rescue--ho!"

  Her voice rose high above the coarse laughter and chatter of the crowd.

  "What's this? Who calls?"

  The crowd parted to right and left with screams and imprecations, and ona sudden two horsemen reined up their steeds beside the sisters.

  "Back, ye knaves! Unhand the lady!" cried the younger of the two,striking out with his whip at the heads of Rebecca's captors.

  Putting up their hands to ward off these blows, the fellows hastilyretreated a few steps, leaving Rebecca and Phoebe standing alone.

  "What's here!" cried the young man. "God warn us, an it be not fairMistress Burton herself!"

  He leaped from his horse, and with the bridle in one hand and hishigh-crowned hat in the other, he advanced, bowing toward the sisters.

  He was a strongly built young man of middle height. His smooth face,broad brow, and pleasant eyes were lighted up by a happy smile whereinwere shown a set of strong white teeth all too rare in the England ofhis time. His abundant blond hair was cut short on top, but hung down oneach side, curling slightly over his ears. He wore a full-skirted,long-sleeved jerkin secured by a long row of many small buttons down thefront. A loose lace collar lay flat over his shoulders and chest. HisFrench hose was black, and from the tops of his riding-boots thereprotruded an edging of white lace.

  He wore a long sword with a plain scabbard and hilt, and on his handswere black gloves, well scented.

  Phoebe's face wore a smile of pleased recognition, and she stretchedforth her right hand as the cavalier approached.

  "You come in good time, Sir Guy!" she said.

  "In very sooth, most fair, most mellific damsel, your unworthy servitorwas erring enchanted in the paradise of your divine idea when that thehorrific alarum did wend its fear-begetting course through thelabyrinthine corridors of his auricular sensories."

  Phoebe laughed, half in amusement half in soft content. Then sheturned to Rebecca, who stood with wide-open eyes and mouth contemplatingthis strange apparition.

  "Be not confounded, sweetheart," she said. "Have I not told thee I haveta'en on another's self. Come--thou art none the less dear, nor I lessthine own."

  She stepped forward and put her hand gently on her sister's.

  Rebecca looked with troubled eyes into Phoebe's face and said,timidly:

  "Won't ye go to a doctor's with me, Phoebe?"

  There was a rude clatter of hoofs as the elder of the new-comers trottedpast the two women and, with his whip drove back the advancing crowd,which had begun to close in upon them again.

  "You were best mount and away with the ladies, Sir Guy," he said. "Yonscurvy loons are in poor humor for dalliance."

  With a graceful gesture, Sir Guy invited Phoebe to approach his horse.She obeyed, and stepping upon his hand found herself instantly seatedbefore his saddle. She seemed to find the seat familiar, and her heartbeat with a pleasure she could scarce explain when, a moment later, thehandsome cavalier swung into place behind her and put one arm about herwaist to steady her.

  Rebecca started forward, terror-stricken.

  "Phoebe--Phoebe!" she cried. "Ye wouldn't leave me here!"

  "Nay--nay!" said a gruff but kindly voice at her side. "Here, gi'e usyour hand, dame, step on my foot, and up behind you go."

  Sir Guy's horse was turning to go, and in her panic Rebecca awaited nosecond bidding, but scrambled quickly though clumsily to a seat behindthe serving-man.

  They were all four soon free of the crowd and out of danger, thanks tothe universal respect for rank and the essential good nature of theMay-day gathering.

  The horses assumed an easy ambling gait, a sort of single step which wasfar more comfortable than Rebecca had feared she would find it.

  The relief of deliverance from the rude mob behind her gave Rebeccacourage, and she gazed about with some interest.

  On either side of the street the houses, which hitherto had stood apartwith gardens and orchards between them, were now set close together,with the wide eaves of their sharp gables touching over narrow and darkalleyways. The architecture was unlike anything she had ever seen, thewalls being built with the beams showing outside and the windows of manysmall diamond-shaped panes.

  They had only proceeded a few yards when Rebecca saw the glint ofsunbeams on water before them and found that they were approaching agreat square tower, surmounted by numberless poles bearing formlessround masses at their ends.

  With one arm around her companion to steady herself, she held herumbrella and bag tightly in her free hand. Now she pointed upward withher umbrella and said:

  "Do you mind tellin' me, mister, what's thet fruit they're a-dryin' upon thet meetin'-house?"

  The horseman glanced upward for a moment and then replied, withsomething of wonder in his voice:

  "Why, those are men's heads, dame. Know you not London Bridge and thetraitors' poles yet?"

  "Oh, good land!" said the horrified woman, and shut her mouth tightly.Evidently England was not the sort of country she had pictured it.

  They rode into a long tunnel under the stones of this massive tower andemerged to find themselves upon the bridge. Again and again did theypass under round-arched tunnels bored, as it were, through gloomybuildings six or seven stories high. These covered the bridge from endto end, and they swarmed with a squalid humanity, if one might judgefrom the calls and cries that resounded in the vaulted passageways andinterior courts.

  As they finally came out from beneath the last great rookery, thesisters found themselves in London, the great and busy city of fourhundred thousand inhabitants.

  They were on New Fish Street, and their nostrils gave them witness ofits name at once. Farther up the slight ascent before them they metother and far worse smells, and Rebecca was disgusted.

  "Where are we goin'?" she asked.

  "Why, to your mistress' residence, of course."

  Rebecca was on the point of objecting to this characterization of hersister, but she thought better of it ere she spoke. After all, if thesemen had done all this kindness by reason of a mistake, she needed not tocorrect them.

  The street up which they were proceeding opened into Gracechurch Street,leading still up the hill and away from the Thames. It was a fairlybroad highway, but totally unpaved, and disgraced by a ditch or "kennel"into which found their way the ill-smelling slops thrown from thewindows and doors of the abutting houses.

  "Good land o' Goshen!" Rebecca exclaimed at last. "Why in goodness' namedoes all the folks throw sech messes out in the street?"

  "Why, where would you have them throw them, dame?" asked her companion,in surprise. "Are ye outlandish bred that ye put me such questions?"

  "Not much!" she retorted, hotly. "It's you folks that's outlandish. Why,where I come from they hev sewers in the city streets an' pavements an'sidewalks an' trolley cars. Guess I've ben to Keene, an' I ought toknow."

  She tossed her head w
ith the air of one who has said somethingconclusive.

  The man held his peace for a moment, dumfounded. Then he laughedheartily, with head thrown back.

  "That's what comes of a kittenish hoyden for a mistress. Abroad tooearly, dame, and strong ale before sunrise! These have stolen away yourwits and made ye hold strange discourse. Sewers--side-walkersforsooth--troll carries, ho--ho!"

  Rebecca grew red with fury. She released her hold to thump her companiontwice on the arm and nearly fell from the horse in consequence.

  "You great rascal!" she cried, indignantly. "How dare ye talk 'boutdrinkin' ale! D'you s'pose I'd touch the nasty stuff? Me--a member ofthe Woman's Christian Temperance Union! Me--a Daughter of Temperance an'wearin' the blue ribbon! You'd ought to be ashamed, that's what youought!"

  But the servant continued to laugh quietly and Rebecca raged within. Ohhow she hated to have to sit thus close behind a man who had so insultedher! Clinging to him, too! Clinging for dear life to a man who accusedher of drinking ale!

  They turned to the left into Leadenhall Street and Bucklesbury, wherethe two women sniffed with delighted relief the spicy odor of the herbsexposed on every hand for sale. They left Gresham's Royal Exchange onthe right, and shortly afterward stopped before the door of one of themany well-to-do houses of that quarter.

  Sir Guy and the two women dismounted, and, while the groom held thehorses, the others approached the building before which they hadpaused.

  Rebecca was about to address Phoebe, whose blushing face was beamingwith pleasure, when the door was suddenly thrown open and ahappy-looking buxom woman of advanced middle age appeared.

  "Well--well--well!" she cried, holding up her fat hands in mockamazement. "Out upon thee, Polly, for a light-headed wench!What--sneaking out to an early tryst! Fie, girl!"

  "Now, good mine aunt," Phoebe broke in, with a smile and a curtsey,"no tryst have I kept, in sooth. Sir Guy is my witness that he found mequite by chance."

  "In very truth, good Mistress Goldsmith," said the knight, "it was butthe very bounteous guerdon of fair Dame Fortune that in the auspiciousforthcoming of my steed I found the inexpressible delectancy of my sogreat discovery!"

  He bowed as he gave back one step and kissed his hand toward Phoebe.

  "All one--all one," said Dame Goldsmith, laughing as she held out herhand to Phoebe. "My good man hath a homily prepared for you, mistress,and the substance of it runneth on the folly of early rising on aMay-day morning."

  Phoebe held forth her hand to the knight, who kissed it with aflourish, hat in hand.

  "Shall I hear from thee soon?" she said, in an undertone.

  "Forthwith, most fairly beautiful--most gracious rare!" he replied.

  Then, leaping on his horse, he dashed down the street at a mad gallop,followed closely by his groom.

  Rebecca stood stupefied, gazing first at one and then at the other, tillshe was rudely brought to her senses by no other than Dame Goldsmithherself.

  "What, Rebecca!" she exclaimed. "Hast breakfasted, woman--what?"

  "Ay, aunt," Phoebe broke in, hurriedly. "Rebecca must to my chamber totire me ere I see mine uncle. Prithee temper the fury of his homily,sweet aunt."

  Taking the dame's extended hand, she suffered herself to be led within,followed by Rebecca, too amazed to speak.

  On entering the street door they found themselves in a large hall, atthe farther end of which a bright wood fire was burning, despite theseason. A black oak table was on one side of the room against the wall,upon which were to be seen a number of earthen beakers and a greatsilver jug or tankard. A carved and cushioned settle stood against theopposite wall, and besides two comfortable arm-chairs at the twochimney-corners there were two or three heavy chairs of antique patternstanding here and there. The floor was covered with newly gatheredfresh-smelling rushes.

  A wide staircase led to the right, and to this Phoebe turned at onceas though she had always lived there.

  "Hast heard from my father yet?" she asked, pausing upon the firststair and addressing Dame Goldsmith.

  "Nay, girl. Not so much as a word. I trow he'll have but little to sayto me. Ay--ay--a humorous limb, thy father, lass."

  She swept out of the room with a toss of the head, and Phoebe smiledas she turned to climb the stairs. Immediately she turned again and heldout one hand to Rebecca.

  "Come along, Rebecca. Let's run 'long up," she said, relapsing into herold manner.

  She led the way without hesitation to a large, light bedroom, the frontof which hung over the street. Here, too, the floor was covered withsweet rushes, a fact which Rebecca seemed to resent.

  "Why the lands sakes do you suppose these London folks dump weeds ontheir floors?" she asked. "An' look there at those two beds, stillunmade and all tumbled disgraceful!"

  "Why, there's where we slept last night, Rebecca," said Phoebe,laughing as she dropped into a chair. "As for the floors," shecontinued, "they're always that way when folks ain't mighty rich. Thelords and all have carpets and rugs."

  Rebecca, stepping very high to avoid stumbling in the rushes, moved overto the dressing-table and proceeded to remove her outer wraps, havingfirst deposited her bag and umbrella on a chair.

  "I don't see how in gracious you know so much about it," she remarked,querulously. "'Pon my word, you acted with that young jackanapes an'that fat old lady downstairs jest's ef you'd allus known em."

  "Well, so I have," Phoebe replied, smiling. "I knew them all nearlythree hundred years before you were born, Rebecca Wise."

  Rebecca dropped into a chair and looked helplessly at her sister withher arms hanging at her sides.

  "Phoebe Wise--" she began.

  "No, not now!" Phoebe exclaimed, stopping her sister with a gesture."You must call me Mistress Mary. I'm Mary Burton, daughter of IsaacBurton, soon to be Sir Isaac Burton, of Burton Hall. You are my dear oldtiring-woman--my sometime nurse--and thou must needs yield me therespect and obedience as well as the love thou owest, thou fond olddarling!"

  The younger woman threw her arms about the other's neck and kissed herrepeatedly.

  Rebecca sat mute and impassive, making no return.

  "Seems as though I ought to wake up soon now," she muttered, weakly.

  "Come, Rebecca," Phoebe exclaimed, briskly, stepping to a high, carvedwardrobe beside her bed, "this merry-making habit wearies me. Let us dona fitter attire. Come--lend a hand, dearie--be quick!"

  Rebecca sat quite still, watching her sister as she proceeded to changeher garments, taking from wardrobe and tiring chest her wide skirts,long-sleeved jacket, and striped under-vest with a promptitude andreadiness that showed perfect familiarity with her surroundings.

  "There," thought Rebecca, "I have it! She's been reading those oldletters and looking at that ivory picture so long she thinks that she'sthe girl in the picture herself, now. Yes, that's it. Mary Burton wasthe name!"

  When Phoebe was new-dressed, her sister could not but acknowledgeinwardly that the queer clothes were mightily becoming. She appeared thebeau ideal of a merry, light-hearted, healthy girl from the country.

  On one point, however, Rebecca could not refrain from expostulating.

  "Look a-here, Phoebe," she said, in a scandalized voice, as she roseand faced her sister, "ain't you goin' to put on somethin' over yourchest? That ain't decent the way you've got yerself fixed now!"

  "Nonsense!" cried Phoebe, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye."Wouldst have me cover my breast like a married woman! Look to thine ownattire. Come, where hast put it?"

  Rebecca put her hands on her hips and looked into her sister's face witha stern determination.

  "Ef you think I'm agoin' to put on play-actor clothes an' go roundlookin' indecent, Phoebe Wise, why, you're mistaken--'cause Iain't--so there!"

  "Nay, nurse!" Phoebe exclaimed, earnestly. "'Tis the costume thou artwearing now that is mummer's weeds. Come, sweet--come! They'll notyield thee admittance below else."

  She concluded with a warning inflection, and shook her fingeraf
fectionately at her sister.

  Rebecca opened her mouth several times and closed it again in despairere she could find a reply. At length she seated herself slowly, foldedher arms, and said:

  "They can do jest whatever they please downstairs, Phoebe. As fer me,I'd sooner be seen in my nightgown than in the flighty, flitter-scatterduds the women 'round here wear. Not but you look good enough in 'em, ifyou'd cover your chest, but play-actin' is meant for young folks--notfer old maids like me."

  "Nay--but----"

  "What the lands sakes d'ye holler neigh all the time fer? I'm not agoin'to neigh, an' you might's well make up your mind to't."

  Phoebe bit her lips and then, after a moment's hesitation, turned tothe door.

  "Well, well! E'en have it thy way!" she said.

  Followed by Rebecca, the younger woman descended the stairs. As shereached the entrance hall, she stopped short at sight of a tall, heavyman standing beside the table across the room with his face buried in agreat stone mug.

  He had dropped his flat round hat upon the table, and his long hair fellin a sort of bush to his wide, white-frilled ruff. He wore along-skirted, loose coat of green cloth with yellow fringe, providedwith large side-pockets, but without a belt. The sleeves were loose, butbrought in tightly at the wrists by yellow bands. His green hose were ofthe short and tight French pattern, and he wore red stockings andpointed shoes of Spanish leather.

  As he removed the cup with a deep sigh of satisfaction, there wasrevealed a large, cheerful red face with a hooked nose between bushybrows overhanging large blue eyes.

  Phoebe stood upon the lowest stair in smiling silence and with foldedhands as he caught her eye.

  "Ha, thou jade!" cried Master Goldsmith, for he it was. "Wilt give methe slip of a May-day morn!"

  He set down his cup with a loud bang and strode over to the staircase,shaking his finger playfully at his niece.

  Rebecca had just time to notice that his long, full beard and mustachewere decked with two or three spots of froth when, to her greatindignation, Phoebe was folded in his arms and soundly kissed on bothcheeks.

  "There, lass!" he chuckled, as he stepped back, rubbing his hands. "Itold thy aunt I'd make thee do penance for thy folly."

  Phoebe wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief and tipped her headimpudently at the cheerful ravisher.

  "Now, God mend your manners, uncle!" she exclaimed. "What! Bedew mycheeks with the froth of good ale on your beard while my throat lacksthe good body o't! Why, I'm burned up wi' thirst!"

  "Good lack!" cried the goldsmith, turning briskly to the table. "Had yeno drink when ye first returned, then?"

  He poured a smaller cupful of foaming ale from the great silver jug andbrought it to Phoebe.

  Rebecca clutched the stair-rail for support, and, with eyes ready tostart from her head, she leaned forward, incredulous, as Phoebe tookthe cup from the merchant's hand.

  Then she could keep silence no longer.

  "Phoebe Wise!" she screamed, "be you goin' to drink ALE!"

  No words can do justice to the awful emphasis which she laid upon thatlast dread word.

  Phoebe turned and looked up roguishly at her sister, who was stillhalf-way up the stairs. The young girl's left hand leaned on her uncle'sarm, while with her right she extended the cup in salutation.

  "Here's thy good health, nurse--and to our better acquaintance," shelaughed.

  Rebecca uttered one short scream and fled up to their bed-room. She hadseen the impossible. Her sister Phoebe with her face buried in a mugof ale!