. If he did commit a sin in speaking
falsely, he said to himself, it was Tabitha's fault for forcing him to
it, and Father Bastian would absolve him easily, considering the
circumstances.

"No, Tabitha; I did not say a word to the Bishop."

"You expect me to believe you, after all that fencing and skulking under
hedges? Then I don't. If you'd said it fair out at first, well--may be
I might, may be I mightn't. But I don't now, never a whit. And I think
you'd best eat the succade I brought you. I believe you demerit it; and
if you don't, you soon will, or I'm a mistaken woman, and I'm not apt to
be that," concluded Mistress Tabitha, with serene consciousness of
virtue.

"Tabitha, my dear sister, I do ensure you--"

"You'd best ensure me of nothing, my right undear brother. Out on your
snaky speeches and beguiling ways! You'll have your succade, and I'll
leave you to digest it, and much good may it do you!"

And he had it. After which transaction Mistress Tabitha went home, and
slept all the better for the pleasing remembrance that she had
horsewhipped Mr Edward Benden.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

AT THE WHITE HART.

There was a good deal of bustle going on in the kitchen of the White
Hart, the little hostelry at Staplehurst. It was "fair day," and fairs
were much more important things in the olden time than now. A fair
now-a-days is an assemblage of some dozen booths, where the chief
commodities are toys and sweetmeats, with an attempt at serious business
in the shape of a little crockery or a few tin goods. But fairs in 1557
were busy places where many people laid in provisions for the season, or
set themselves up with new clothes. The tiny inn had as many guests as
it could hold, and the principal people in the town had come together in
its kitchen--country inns had no parlours then--to debate all manner of
subjects in which they were interested. The price of wool was an
absorbing topic with many; the dearness of meat and general badness of
trade were freely discussed by all. Amongst them bustled Mistress
Final, the landlady of the inn, a widow, and a comely, rosy-faced, fat,
kindly woman, assisted by her young son Ralph, her two daughters, Ursula
and Susan, and her maid Dorcas. Cakes and ale were served to most of
the customers; more rarely meat, except in the form of pies, which were
popular, or of bacon, with or without accompanying eggs.

The company in the kitchen were all more or less acquain