at of his
own particular Order; but beyond this, his mind was one of those which
dwell rather on the game season than the government of the country, and
was likely to feel more pleasure in an enormous gooseberry, or a calf
with two heads, than in the outbreak of a European war, or the discovery
of an unknown continent. The great subject in his mind at the moment
was starch. Somebody--Father Dan regretted that he was not able to name
him--had discovered the means of manufacturing a precious liquid, which
would impart various colours, and indescribable powers of standing
alone, to any texture of linen, lawn, or lace.

"Good heart! what labour it shall save!" cried lazy Dorothy--who did
assist in the more delicate parts of the household washing, but shirked
as much of it as she could.

"Ay, and set you off, belike, Mistress Doll," added the complimentary
Friar. "As for us, poor followers of Saint Francis, no linen alloweth
us our Rule, so that little of the new matter is like to come our way.
They of Saint Dominic shall cheapen well the same [buy plenty of it], I
reckon," he added, with a contemptuous curl of his lip, intended for the
rival Order.

"But lo' you, there is another wonder abroad, as I do hear tell,"
remarked Mistress Winter, "and 'tis certain matter the which, being
taken--Agnes, thou dolt! what hast done wi' the salad?--being taken
hendily [gently, delicately] off the top of ale when 'tis a-making,
shall raise bread all-to [almost] as well as sour dough. I know not
what folk call it.--Thou idle, gaping dizzard [fool]! and I have to ask
thee yet again what is come of aught, it shall be with mine hand about
thine ears! Find a spoon this minute!"

"Ha!" said Father Dan, helping himself to sack [Note 3], which had been
brought out specially to do him honour. "_Yeast_ is it I have heard the
same called. 'Tis said the bread is better tasted therewith, rather
than sour dough."

"Pray you, good Father, to eat of this salad," entreated his hostess.
"I had it of one of my Lord of Ely his gardeners; and there is therein
the new endive, and the Italian parsley, that be no common matter."

That the Cordelier was by no means indifferent to the good things of
this life might be seen in his face, as he drew the wooden salad bowl a
little nearer.

"Have you beheld the strange bird that Mistress Flint hath had sent to
her over seas?" inquired he. "I do hear that great lords and ladies
have kept such like thes