and clinging to his grey cloak.
"Thou wilt take us to the fair, wilt thou not?"
"And let us see the monkey that runs up the ladder, and the dancingbear, and--we have some nuts for the monkey."
Mistress Judith's face relaxed.
"Nay, now, children, ye must not be troublesome. The good friar hasdoubtless other business on hand--"
"I'll take them, I'll take them," said the friar, hastily, "if you willput the boy in order by a few touches of your skilful handiwork. Assoon as I have bestowed him in safety I will return for them."
"To see the monkey," persisted little Eleanor.
"Ay, if thou wilt--" He was interrupted by a pull of the sleeve fromHugh.
"So please you, holy friar," said the boy shyly, "the monkey is at ourlodging."
"What, is that the poor beast which those young villains would havestoned? Nay, then, hearken, little maidens. The monkey has been inevil case, and was like to be in worse but for this boy, Hugh Bassett.And the cruel varlets who would have killed it set upon him fordelivering it, and though he fought right sturdily he would have been inevil case but for Wolf."
"Our Wolf?"
"Even so. What say you now?"
"He is a good boy," said the little Anne gravely. Eleanor went nearer,and looked steadfastly at Hugh.
"Is the poor monkey at your house?"
"Ay, little mistress."
"Shall we come and see him?"
Hugh looked uncertainly at the friar, and the friar at Mistress Judith.Mistress Judith threaded her needle afresh.
"If my lady--" began the friar.
"My lady does not permit my young mistresses to run about the fair likechurls' children," interrupted the nurse sourly. "Marry, come up! Imarvel your reverence should have thought of such a thing."
She was interrupted in her turn. Eleanor had clambered on a chair andflung her arms round her neck, laying hold of her chin and turning it soas to look in her face, and press her rosy lips to her cheek.
"Nay, nay, mother said we should see the monkey! Thou wilt come withus, and Friar Nicholas, and this good boy. Say yea, say yea, goodnurse!"
Mistress Judith, rock with all others, was but soft clay in the hands ofher nurslings. She remonstrated feebly, it is true, but Eleanor had herway, and it was not long before the little party set forth, the childrenindulging in many skips and jumps, and chattering freely in theirgraceful _langue de Provence_.
There was so much to see, and so many remarks to be made on many things,such wonderful and undreamt of crowds, such enchanting goods, suchpopinjays, such booths of cakes, such possibilities of spending a silverpenny, that it seemed as if the sacristan's house would never bereached, and 'twas easy to see it cost the children something to turnfrom the fair towards the church. Perhaps Anne would have consented toput their object aside and remain in this busy scene of enchantment.But nothing to Eleanor could balance her desire to see the monkey, andthey went their way with no further misadventure than arose from the bagof nuts slipping from her little fingers, and the nuts scattering in alldirections.
The sacristan's house consisted of but one room, with the fire as usualin the centre. The sacristan himself was in the church; over the firesat a thin pale-faced man, engaged in putting the last strokes to acarved oaken box of most delicate workmanship. The monkey, which hadbeen sitting with him, directly the little party appeared, uttered a cryof fear, sprang on the high back of a bench, and from thence to theuncovered rafters of the roof, where it sat jabbering indignantly, andglancing at the visitors with its bright eyes.
The man, who was Stephen Bassett, Hugh's father, rose and greeted themrespectfully, though with some amazement at seeing his boy in unknowncompany.
"Welcome, holy friar," he said. "If you seek John the sacristan, Hughshall run and fetch him from the church."
"Nay," said the friar, with his easy smile, "I fear me we are on alighter quest. These little maidens had a longing to behold the monkey,and thy boy offered to bring them here for that purpose." MistressJudith looked unutterable disgust at the poor room and her surroundings,though she condescended to sit down on a rough stool, from which shefirst blew the dust. The friar entered into conversation with StephenBassett, and the little golden-haired girls pressed up to Hugh.
"Make him come down," said Eleanor pointing.
"He is frightened--I know not," said Hugh, shaking his head. He was,however, almost as anxious as the other children could be to show offhis new possession, and, thanks either to an offered nut, or to thetrust which the monkey instinctively felt towards his deliverer, thelittle creature came swiftly down, hanging by hand and tail from therafters, to intensest delight of both Anne and Eleanor, and finallyleaping upon Hugh's shoulder, where it cracked its nut with all theconfidence possible. It was small and rather pretty, and it wore muchsuch a little coat as monkeys wear now. Eleanor could not contain herdelight. She wanted to have it in her own arms, but her first attemptto remove it from its perch brought such a storm of angry chatteringthat Anne in terror plucked her sister's little gown and implored her tocome away. Eleanor drew back unwillingly.
"Why doesn't he like me?" she demanded. "I love him. What is hisname?"
"Agrippa."
"Agrippa! And can he do tricks? Yesterday he did tricks."
"He knows me not yet, mistress," explained Hugh. "His master diedsuddenly, and he had no other friend."
"But thou wilt be his friend," said Eleanor, looking earnestly at theboy, "and so will I. I will leave him all these nuts. Anne, I would myfather would give us a monkey!"
"I like him not," said Anne, fearfully withdrawing yet closer toMistress Judith. Eleanor knew no fear. She would have taken the littlecreature in her arms, regardless of its sharp teeth, or of the waitingwoman's remonstrances, but that Hugh would not suffer her to make theattempt. He looked at the two little girls with an eager pride andadmiration, felt as if he were responsible for all that happened, andhad he been twice his age could not have treated them with more carefulrespect.
CHAPTER TWO.
STOLEN AWAY.
Meanwhile the friar and Stephen Bassett conversed together, seated on arude bench at the other side of the dimly-lit room. The friar was a manof kindly curiosity, who let his interests run freely after hisneighbours' affairs, and, attracted by the boy, whose education had faroverpast that of the knight's son, Edgar, he made searching inquiries,which Stephen answered frankly, relating more fully than Hugh how inFlanders, where he had travelled in order to perfect himself in an artnot yet brought to a high pitch of excellence in England, his wife haddied, and he having been left with the boy on his hands, the child hadexcited the interest of the monks, who, finding him teachable, hadinstructed him in the then rare accomplishments of reading and writing.
"He is like to forget them, though," he added with a sigh, "unless inour wanderings we fall upon other brothers as good as those, which isscarce likely."
"Have you thought of his taking the habit?"
"Nay, his bent lies not that way," said Bassett, smiling. The othersmiled also.
"Truly, it seemed not so by the lusty manner in which he laid about himbut now. And I mind me he spoke of his wish to be a soldier."
"That I will not consent to," Bassett replied hastily; "he shall followmy trade. It would break my heart if I thought that all my labours diedwith me." He was interrupted by a fit of coughing.
"And where," inquired the Franciscan, "where dost thou purpose goingwhen the fair is ended?"
"In good sooth, holy friar, that is what troubles me. I had thought ofLondon, but I wot not--"
The other leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, and his chin inthe palm of his hand.
"I wot not either," he said at last, "but in these days there is muchnoble work akin to thine going on in the great churches and minsters ofthe kingdom. There is St Peter's at Exeter, now. One of our order wastelling me but lately how gloriously the bishop of that see is bringingit to perfection. The
air in those western shires is soft and healing,better for thy cough than London, which has many fens giving out theirvapours, to say nothing of the smoke arising from that vile coal thecitizens are now trying to burn, and which pours out its choking fumesupon the poor air. Were I thee I would not bestow myself in London."
"Exeter," said Bassett reflectively; "I thank thee for the suggestion.My wife came from those shires, and a bishop with a zeal for decorationmight well give me employment."
"The journey is long," put in the friar, with a desire that prudenceshould have her share in this advice of his which the wood-carver seemedso ready to adopt.
"We are used to journeys and I dread them not."
"Nor fear robbers?"
"I am too poor to tempt them. Besides, our great king has done much forthe security of the country, by what I hear. Is it not so, holy friar?"
"Truly it is. But Scotland has taken more of his thought lately, andwhen the lion is in combat, the smaller beasts slink out to fall ontheir prey. But if you make your way to Exeter and would go firstthrough London, our house in Newgate Street will give you hospitablelodging.--How now, Mistress Eleanor?"
"It is the monkey, Friar Nicholas--might he not bring it for madam, ourmother, to see? He says that Wolf would eat him."
"And in good sooth that were not unlikely. Better be content to comehere again and see the little pagan beast, if Mistress Judith does notmislike it. Fare thee well, Master Bassett. I will meet thee again,and hear whether Exeter still has attraction."
Mistress Judith rose and shook her skirts before folding them round her,an operation which the monkey, happening to be close to her on Hugh'sshoulder, resented greatly, chattering at and scolding her with all hismight. Eleanor screamed with delight, while Anne hid her face; andHugh, somewhat abashed at Mistress Judith's displeasure, retired withAgrippa to the back of the room, while his father escorted his guests afew paces beyond the door.
He came back and found Hugh enthusiastic over his new friends.
"The dog, father, a noble beast! I would you had seen him! I warrantme Peter the smith's son has had enough of fighting to last him a while.He ran like a deer!"
"And how fell it out?"
Thus questioned a long story had to be told of the ill deeds of Peter,who had been the chief offender; and the damage to Hugh's garments,which Mistress Judith had but hastily caught together, was ruefullyexhibited. Stephen shook his head.
"Another time keep thy fighting till a woman is near to back up thyprowess with her needle. Yet--I'll not blame thee. 'Twould have been acowardly deed to have suffered that poor beast to be stoned. And atleast I can mother thee for these bruises and scratches."
He fetched some water as he spoke, took out a few dried herbs from abag, set them in the water on the fire, and as soon as the decoction wasready bathed the boy's many hurts with a hand as gentle indeed as hismother's could have been. While this was going on he talked to thechild with a freedom which showed them to be more than usuallycompanions in the fullest sense of the word.
"What thinkest thou the good friar hit upon? He thought I might findwork at one of the great churches which are rising to perfection in theland. And, Hugh, thou hast heard thy mother speak of Exeter? At Exeterthere is much of this going on, and if we could get there, I mightobtain the freedom of one of the craft guilds, and apprentice thee."
"Ay"--doubtfully.
"Well, why that doleful tone?"
"I would be a soldier, father."
"Serve thy 'prenticeship first and talk of fighting afterwards. Dostthou think King Edward takes little varlets of eleven years old to makehis army? Besides--speak not of it, Hugh. My heart is set upon thycarrying on my work. Life has not been sweet for me, and 'tis likely tobe short; let me see some fruit before I die."
The boy flung his arms round Bassett's neck.
"Father, talk not like that! I will be what thou wilt!"
"Thou wilt? Promise me, then," said his father eagerly.
"I promise."
Stephen Bassett's breath came short and fast.
"See here, Hugh. Thou art young in years but quick of understanding,and hast been my close companion of late. Thou art ready to engage, asfar as thou canst--I would not bind thee too closely," he added,reluctantly--"to renounce those blood-letting dreams of thine, andfollow my trade, and, as I well believe thou wilt, make our namefamous?"
"Ay," said the little lad gravely, "that will I do. Only--"
"What?"
"If I must needs be cutting something, I would sooner 'twere stone thanwood."
"Sayest thou so?" said the carver, rising and walking backwards andforwards in the room. He was evidently disappointed, and was undergoinga struggle with himself. But at last he stopped, and laid his handkindly upon the boy's shoulder. "As thou wilt, Hugh," he said; "I wouldnot be unreasonable; and truly I believe thy hand finds more delight inthat cold unfriendly surface than in the fine responsive grain of thewood. So thou art a carver, choose thine own material. Stone and woodare both needed in the churches. We will go to Exeter. I mind me thymother had cousins there. We will but wait for the end of the fair, andthere will be folk going to London with whom we may journey safely."
The man's sanguine nature as usual overleapt all difficulties. Hiscough and his breathing were so bad, that others might have well dreadedthe effects of a long and toilsome journey, but he would hear of nopossible drawbacks, and Hugh was too young to be alarmed, and took theover-bright eyes and occasional flush of the cheek as glad signs thathis father was getting well again.
Thanks to Hugh's new friends, moreover, Bassett sold his work, and soldit well. Dame Edith de Trafford sent for him, desiring he would bringhis boy and some specimens of his carving. Hugh begged sore to beallowed to take Agrippa, for the joy it would give to the littleEleanor, but his father would not have it. The monkey, though it hadattached itself devotedly to Hugh, was capricious with others, variablein temper, and at times a very imp of mischief, and Stephen feared itspranks might offend their new patroness.
Agrippa was, therefore, consigned to the rafters, where he chatteredwith displeasure at seeing his master go out without him.
"If he is to journey with us, we must get him a cord," said Bassett."As it is, we shall pass for a party of mountebanks. See that the dooris safely closed, for John the sacristan will not be back yet awhile."
The night had been wet, and the gaiety of the fair much bedraggled inconsequence. Under foot, indeed, the mud and mire of the trampled grassmade so sticky a compound that it was difficult for one foot to followthe other. The poor folk who had been obliged--as numbers were--tosleep on rough boards, raised on four legs from the ground, and butslightly protected from the weather, were in sad plight. Happily thesun had come out, and though there was not much heat in his rays, theyserved to lessen some of the discomfort, and to bring back a touch ofcheerfulness. Peter the smith's son, with one or two others, pointedand grimaced at Hugh as he passed on, without venturing to approachnearer. The goldsmiths were hanging up costly chains and sets of pearlswith which to tempt the noble ladies who approached, while a Hans tradercalled attention to the fact that winter was coming and his furs wouldprotect from cramps and rheumatism. Presently down through the boothsrode a party of knights and javelin men, none other than the highsheriff with the four coroners and others, on their way to the shirecourt, which was to be held that day under the shire-oak a few milesdistant. A number of countrymen had already gone off to this meeting,and in a few minutes Hugh saw Wolf bounding along by the side of asmaller group of knights; Edgar was behind with a younger party, andevidently Sir Thomas de Trafford as one of the knights of the shire wasproceeding to join the assembly. Many remarks were made by thebystanders, to which Bassett, who had been long out of England, listenedattentively. He found that much satisfaction was in general expressed,though one or two malcontents declared that each assembly was but theherald for a demand for money.
"Parliament or no pa
rliament, 'tis ever the same," grumbled one smallcobbler, drest in the usual coarse garment reaching just below theknees, and headed by a square cape, too large for his shrunk shoulders:"wars to be waged, and money to be squeezed from our bodies."
"Thine would not furnish the realm with the weight of a silver penny,"said a burly countryman, glancing with much contempt at the cobbler."And when does the king ask for aid except in case of need? If thouhadst, as I friends in Cumberland, I reckon you would be the first tocry out that a stop should be put to these Scotch outlaws harrying theborders."
"And hast thou friends in Gascony, too, Dick-o'-the-Hill?" demanded thelittle cobbler spitefully.
"Nay, it's been a scurvy trick of the French king, that getting hold ofGascony," put in a baker who had joined the group; "I'm all for fightingfor Gascony."
"Well, I'll warrant that our burgesses, Master Dennis and Master Small,will speak their minds against any wicked waste," persisted the cobbler."'Tis time the king were checked."
"And who has given you burgesses to speak for you, ay, and passed lawsputting the ay and the nay into your own hands?" broke in StephenBassett indignantly. "I have been out of England for many a long year,but I mind the time, my masters, if you have forgotten, when theparliament was called, not to vote