caped from
the hollow tree in Shotover wood.

If Master Walgrave were in durance vile, where was my mistress and her
family? It was vain, I knew, to attempt to learn more from the sleepy
caretaker, at least till morning; nor was there anyone else, that I knew
of, from whom I could get satisfaction. So I had e'en to tramp the
streets like a watchman till daybreak; and weary enough I was at the end
of it.

Then I remembered that Mistress Walgrave had a constant gossip in
Mistress Straw, the horologer's wife, three doors off. Perhaps Mistress
Straw could give me news. So I waited till the 'prentices (the same two
who had shamefully eaten hasty pudding that day the Queen came into
London), came to open the door and set out their ware. With them, to my
surprise, I saw Peter Stoupe, my fellow 'prentice. He looked sheepish
when I hailed him.

"What, Humphrey," said he, in his doleful drawl, "thou hast returned at
last. In what misfortune dost thou find us! Our good master in prison,
you and I homeless, my dear mistress and her poor babes--"

"Ay, what of them?" demanded I, in no humour to hear him out.

"My dear mistress and her poor babes," continued he, heedless of my
tone, "dependent on the goodness of others. Oh! Humphrey, hadst thou
stayed at thy post, instead of--"

"A pox on your canting tongue!" cried I. "Tell me where my mistress is,
or, by my soul, I'll shake every tooth out of your head."

And I put my hand, not lightly, on his shoulder.

This brought him to reason; it generally did. Peter Stoupe could never
remember how to talk till he was reminded.

"She is here, in this house; and I am here to take care of her, by my
master's orders," said he, "and there is no room for thee too."

"And Master Walgrave, when was he arrested, and why?" I asked.

"Only yesterday--pray, unhand me, good Humphrey, thy hand is irksome--a
pursuivant of his Grace's, with Timothy Ryder from Stationers' Hall, and
a handful of the Company at their backs, made a sudden visitation, and
searched us up and down, till they lit on--you know what."

"The secret press," cried I, like a fool, letting him see that I knew of
it.

"Alack! Humphrey," said he, "there is nothing secret that shall not be
made manifest. Without more ado, my poor master was seized and hauled
away to the White Lion. 'Woe is me,' said he, as he departed, 'an enemy
hath done this, Peter--a viper whom I have nourished at my hearth. Look
to my poor