he beginning, and then to the
end,--then, closing the volume, he looked up and said, in a stern
voice--

"Andrew!"

Friar Andrew snored placidly on.

"Andrew!" said Sir Geoffrey, in a louder tone.

Friar Andrew gave an indistinct sound between a snore and a grunt. Sir
Geoffrey rose from his seat, and striding over to where his confessor
slept, laid hold of his shoulders, and gave him such a shake as nearly
brought him to the stone floor.

"Awake, thou sluggard!" said he, angrily. "Is it a time for the
shepherd to sleep when the wolf is already in the fold, and the lambs be
in danger?"

"Eh? Oh! ay!" said Friar Andrew, half awake. "Time to sup, eh?"

"Look here, Andrew!" roared his offended patron, "and see thee what this
sinful maid hath been doing. What penance deemest thou fit for such
fault as this?" He handed the book to the friar. The friar sat up,
rubbed his eyes, opened the book, and turned over two or three leaves.

"I cry your good worship mercy," said he. "I knew not you were assaying
to arouse me. I was dreaming of a kettle of furmety of Madge's making."

"I trow here is a pretty kettle of furmety of Madge's making!" was the
irate response.

"I conceive you not, good master," said the friar. "The book is a good
book enough, trow."

"Thou art an ass!" was the civil answer. "Seest thou not that it is the
translation of Scripture whereof the Lord Marnell spake, by Master John
Wycliffe, the Lollard priest? Mindest thou not that which he said about
Lollards?"

"An what if it be?" said the confessor, yawning. "I pin not my faith on
my Lord Marnell's sleeve, though it _were_ made of slashed velvet. And
I trow Madge hath been too well bred up to draw evil from the book. So
let the damsel alone, good master, and give her book back. I trow it
will never harm her." Margery was exceedingly surprised at the turn
which affairs were taking. The truth was, that Friar Andrew was very
fond of her; he had been Sir Geoffrey's chaplain before she was born,
she had grown up under his eye, and she made, moreover, such a kettle of
furmety as he declared no one else could make. Beside this, Andrew was
a marvellous poor scholar; he could never read a book at sight, and
required to spell it over two or three times before he could make out
the meaning. He could read his mass-book, because he had done so for
the last forty years, and could have gone through the service as easily
without book as with it