," cried Dr Thorpe, "when he can put his
hand into the King's treasury, and draw it out full of rose nobles? The
scurvy rogue! I would he were hanged!"

John laid his hand very gently and lovingly on the old man's shoulder.

"Would you truly that, friend?" said he, softly.

"A man meaneth not alway every thing he saith," replied Dr Thorpe,
somewhat ashamed. "Bring me not to bar, prithee, for every word, when I
am heated."

"Dear old friend," John answered, softly, "we shall stand at one Bar for
every word."

"Then I shall look an old fool, as I do now," said he. "Sit thee down,
lad! and hold that soft tongue o' thine. I can stand a fair flyting
[scolding: still a Northern provincialism] or a fustigation [beating],
but I never can one of those soft tongues like thine."

John sat down, a little smile playing round his lips, and said no more.

One day in October, Mr Underhill dined at the Lamb. He brought news
that at Hampton Court, that day, the Earl of Warwick was to be made Duke
of Northumberland; the Marquis Dorset [Henry Grey, husband of the late
Duke's elder daughter], Duke of Suffolk; the Lord Treasurer [William
Paulet, Lord Saint John], Marquis of Winchester; and Mr William Herbert,
Earl of Pembroke.

"Duke of Northumberland!" cried Dr Thorpe, fairly roused at this news.
"Duke of Blunderhead! Had the King made him Duke of Cumberland I had
little marvelled. Wherefore did his Grace (saving the reverence due)
not likewise make me Duke of Truro or Marquis of Bodmin? I have been a
truer man unto his Highness than ever my Lord of Warwick, and have done
the kingdom a sight less harm."

"Less harm, quotha!" laughed Mr Underhill. "Why, friend, if all were
made dukes and marquises that have done no harm to the kingdom, we
should have the Minories choke-full of noble houses."

"We should have mighty few of the Lords keeping their titles," said Dr
Thorpe, grimly.

A few days later, Dr Thorpe, having gone to the barber's near Aldgate,
returned with a budget of news, as was usual when he came from that
quarter.

"What will you give me for my news?" cried he, as he came in. "Rare
news! glorious news!--for all knaves, dolts, and runagates!"

John entered likewise just after him.

"I will give you nought, Doctor, at that rate," said Isoult, laughing.

"I know it, friend," replied John, so sadly that her mirth vanished in a
moment. "It is a woeful blow to the Gospel. Isoult, the Duke of
Somerset and m