in that wallet on your back?"

"Not at present, but I can bring you either if you want it."

"What's the price, and who's selling them?"

"Our neighbour Veka wants to sell three or four bacon pigs and
half-a-dozen young porkers; Martin le bon Fermier, brother of Henry the
Mason, has a couple of hundred sheep to sell."

"But what's the cost? Veka's none so cheap to deal with, though she
feeds her pigs well, I know."

"Well, she wants two shillings a-piece for the bacons, and four for the
six porkers."

"Ay, I knew she'd clap the money on! No, thank you; I'm not made of
gold marks, nor silver pennies neither."

"Well, but the sheep are cheap enough; he only asks twopence halfpenny
each."

"That's not out of the way. We might salt one or two. I'll think about
it. Not in a hurry to a day or two, is he?"

"Oh, no; I shouldn't think so."

"Has he any flour or beans to sell, think you? I could do with both
those, if they were reasonable."

"Ay, he has. Beans a shilling a quarter, and flour fourteen pence a
load. [Note 3.] Very good flour, he says it is."

"Should be, at that price. Well, I'll see: maybe I shall walk over one
of these days and chaffer with him. Any way, I'm obliged to you,
Stephen, for letting me know of it."

"Very good, Aunt Isel; Martin will be glad to see you, and I'll give
Bretta a hint to be at home when you come, if you'll let me know the day
before."

This was a mischievous suggestion on Stephen's part, as he well knew
that Martin's wife was not much to his aunt's liking.

"Don't, for mercy's sake!" cried Isel. "She's a tongue as long as a
yard measure, and there isn't a scrap of gossip for ten miles on every
side of her that she doesn't hand on to the first comer. She'd know all
I had on afore I'd been there one Paternoster, and every body else 'd
know it too, afore the day was out."

The space of time required to repeat the Lord's Prayer--of course as
fast as possible--was a measure in common use at that day.

"Best put on your holiday clothes, then," said Stephen with a laugh, and
whistling for his dog, which was engaged in the pointing of Countess's
kitten, he turned down Fish Street on his way to the East Gate.

Stephen's progress was arrested, as he came to the end of Kepeharme
Lane, by a long and picturesque procession which issued from the western
door of Saint Frideswide. Eight priests, fully robed, bore under a
canopy the beautifully-carved coffer which he