"Wouldn't it have been a good work for Father to stay at home, and save steps for Mother?"

"I think it would, my child," said Gerhardt; "but G.o.d knoweth best, and He let thy father go. Sometimes what seems to us the best work is not the work G.o.d has appointed for us."

Had Gerhardt wished to drive away Anania, he could not have taken a surer method than by words which savoured of piety. She resembled a good many people in the present day, who find the Bread of Life very dry eating, and if they must swallow a little of it, can only be persuaded to do so by a thick coating of worldly b.u.t.ter. They may be coaxed to visit the church where the finest anthem is sung, but that where the purest Gospel is preached has no attraction for them. The porter's wife, therefore, suddenly discovered that she had plenty to do at home, and took her departure, much to the relief of the friends on whom she inflicted herself. She had not been gone many minutes when Stephen looked in.

"Lads not come in yet?" said he. "Well, have you seen the grand sight?

The Queen's gone again; she only stayed for supper at the Castle, and then off to Woodstock. She'll not be there above a month, they say.

She never tarries long in England at once. But the King's coming back this autumn--so they say."

"Who say?" asked Gerhardt.

"Oh, every body," said Stephen with a laugh, as he leaned over the half-door.

"_Every_ body?" inquired Gerhardt drily.

"Oh, come, you drive things too fine for me. Every body, that is anybody."

"I thought every body was somebody."

"Not in this country: maybe in yours," responded Stephen, still laughing. "But I'm forgetting what I came for. Aunt Isel, do you want either a sheep or a pig?"

"Have you got 'em in that wallet on your back?"

"Not at present, but I can bring you either if you want it."

"What's the price, and who's selling them?"

"Our neighbour Veka wants to sell three or four bacon pigs and half-a-dozen young porkers; Martin le bon Fermier, brother of Henry the Mason, has a couple of hundred sheep to sell."

"But what's the cost? Veka's none so cheap to deal with, though she feeds her pigs well, I know."

"Well, she wants two shillings a-piece for the bacons, and four for the six porkers."

"Ay, I knew she'd clap the money on! No, thank you; I'm not made of gold marks, nor silver pennies neither."

"Well, but the sheep are cheap enough; he only asks twopence halfpenny each."

"That's not out of the way. We might salt one or two. I'll think about it. Not in a hurry to a day or two, is he?"

"Oh, no; I shouldn't think so."

"Has he any flour or beans to sell, think you? I could do with both those, if they were reasonable."

"Ay, he has. Beans a shilling a quarter, and flour fourteen pence a load. [Note 3.] Very good flour, he says it is."

"Should be, at that price. Well, I'll see: maybe I shall walk over one of these days and chaffer with him. Any way, I'm obliged to you, Stephen, for letting me know of it."

"Very good, Aunt Isel; Martin will be glad to see you, and I'll give Bretta a hint to be at home when you come, if you'll let me know the day before."

This was a mischievous suggestion on Stephen's part, as he well knew that Martin's wife was not much to his aunt's liking.

"Don't, for mercy's sake!" cried Isel. "She's a tongue as long as a yard measure, and there isn't a sc.r.a.p of gossip for ten miles on every side of her that she doesn't hand on to the first comer. She'd know all I had on afore I'd been there one Paternoster, and every body else 'd know it too, afore the day was out."

The s.p.a.ce of time required to repeat the Lord's Prayer--of course as fast as possible--was a measure in common use at that day.

"Best put on your holiday clothes, then," said Stephen with a laugh, and whistling for his dog, which was engaged in the pointing of Countess's kitten, he turned down Fish Street on his way to the East Gate.

Stephen's progress was arrested, as he came to the end of Kepeharme Lane, by a long and picturesque procession which issued from the western door of Saint Frideswide. Eight priests, fully robed, bore under a canopy the beautifully-carved coffer which held the venerated body of the royal saint, and they were accompanied by the officials of the Cathedral, the choir chanting a litany, and a long string of nuns bringing up the rear. Saint Frideswide was on her way to the bedside of a paralysed rich man, who had paid an immense sum for her visit, in the hope that he might be restored to the use of his faculties by a touch of her miracle-working relics. As the procession pa.s.sed up the street, a door opened in the Jewry, and out came a young Jew named Dieulecresse [Note 4], who at once set himself to make fun of Saint Frideswide.

Limping up the street as though he could scarcely stir, he suddenly drew himself erect and walked down with a free step; clenching his hands as if they were rigid, he then flung his arms open and worked his fingers rapidly.

"O ye men of Oxford, bring me your oblations!" he cried. "See ye not that I am a doer of wonders, like your saint, and that my miracles are quite as good and real as hers?"

The procession pa.s.sed on, taking no notice of the mockery. But when, the next day, it was known that Dieulecresse had committed suicide in the night, the priests did not spare the publication of the fact, with the comment that Saint Frideswide had taken vengeance on her enemy, and that her honour was fully vindicated from his aspersions.

"Ah!" said Gerhardt softly, "'those eighteen, on whom the tower in Siloam fell!' How ready men are to account them sinners above all men that dwell in Jerusalem! Yet it may be that they who thus judge are the worse sinners of the two, in G.o.d's eyes, however high they stand in the world's sight."

"Well, I don't set up to be better than other folks," said Stephen lightly. He had brought the news. "I reckon I shall pa.s.s muster, if I'm as good."

"That would not satisfy me," said Gerhardt. "I should want to be as good as I could be. I could not pa.s.s beyond that. But even then--"

"That's too much trouble for me," laughed Stephen. "When you've done your work, hand me over the goodness you don't want."

"I shall not have any, for it won't be enough."

"That's a poor lookout!"

"It would be, if I had to rely on my own goodness."

Stephen stared. "Why, whose goodness are you going to rely on?"

Gerhardt lifted his cap. "'There is none good but One,--that is, G.o.d.'"

"I reckon that's aiming a bit too high," said Stephen, with a shake of his head. "Can't tell how you're going to get hold of that."

"Nor could I, unless the Lord had first laid hold of me. '_He_ hath covered me with the robe of righteousness'--I do not put it on myself."

Gerhardt never made long speeches on religious topics. He said what he had to say, generally, in one pithy sentence, and then left it to carry its own weight.

"I say, Gerard, I've wondered more than once--"

"Well, Stephen?"

"No offence, friend?"

"Certainly not: pray say all you wish."

"Whether you were an unfrocked priest."

"No, I a.s.sure you."