next, trow?"

But the other voice was very tender and gentle.

"Didst thou lack that told thee, mine own little Annis? Ay me! Maybe
men are happier lower down. Who should love thee, my floweret, if not
thine own mother? Kiss me, and say thou wilt be good maid till I see
thee again."

I managed to whisper, "I will try, Dame."

"How long will it be?" cries Jack.

"I cannot tell thee, Jack," she saith. "Some months, I fear. Not
years--I do trust, not years. But God knoweth--and to Him I commit
you." And as she bent her head low over the mantle wherein I was
lapped, I heard her say--"_Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere
nobis, Jesu_!"

I knew that, because I always had to repeat it in my evening prayers,
though I never could tell what it meant, only, as it seemed to say
"Agnes" and "Monday," I supposed it had something to do with me, and was
to make me good after some fashion, but I saw not why it must be only on
a Monday, especially as I had to say it every day. Now, of course, I
know what it means, and I wonder children and ignorant people are not
taught what prayers mean, instead of being made to say them just like
popinjays. I wanted to teach my Joan what it meant, but the Lady
Julian, my lord's mother, commanded me not to do so, for it was unlucky.
I begged her to tell me why, and she said the Latin was a holy tongue,
known to God and the saints, and so long as they understood our prayers,
we did not need to understand them.

"But, Dame," said I, "saving your presence, if I say prayers I
understand not, how can I tell the way to use them? I may be asking for
a basket of pears when I want a pair of shoes."

"Wherefore trouble the blessed saints for either?" saith she. "Prayers
be only for high and holy concerns--not for base worldly matter, such as
be pears and shoes."

"But I am worldly matter, under your leave, Dame," said I. "And saith
not the Paternoster somewhat touching daily bread?"

"Ay, the food of the soul--`_panem supersubstantialem da nobis_'" quoth
she. "It means not a loaf of bread, child."

"That's Saint Matthew," said I. "But Saint Luke hath it `_panem
quotidianum_,' and saith nought of `_supersubstantialem_.' And surely
common food cometh from God."

"Daughter!" saith she, somewhat severely, "thou shouldst do a deal
better to leave thy fantasies and the workings of thine own brain, and
listen with meek submission to the holy doctors that can teach thee with
auth