a sort of bush to his wide, white-frilled ruff. He wore a
long-skirted, loose coat of green cloth with yellow fringe, provided
with large side-pockets, but without a belt. The sleeves were loose, but
brought in tightly at the wrists by yellow bands. His green hose were of
the short and tight French pattern, and he wore red stockings and
pointed shoes of Spanish leather.

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

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

"Ha, thou jade!" cried Master Goldsmith, for he it was. "Wilt give me
the 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 mustache
were decked with two or three spots of froth when, to her great
indignation, Phoebe was folded in his arms and soundly kissed on both
cheeks.

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

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

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

"Good lack!" cried the goldsmith, turning briskly to the table. "Had ye
no drink when ye first returned, then?"

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

Rebecca clutched the stair-rail for support, and, with eyes ready to
start from her head, she leaned forward, incredulous, as Phoebe took
the 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 that
last dread word.

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

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

Rebecca uttered one short scream and fled up to their bed-room. She had
seen the impossible. Her