last time, and all his goods was taken to the Queen's
use? But now, see, he's come back, and they let him alone. They've
done all they mean to do, I reckon."

"God grant it!" said Alice, with a sigh. "Meg, I cannot forget last
August. Twenty-two of us had up afore the Bishop, and we only escaped
by the very skin of our teeth, as saith Job. Ay me! I sometimes marvel
if we did well or no, when we writ our names to that submission."

"Truly, neighbour, so have I," replied Margaret rather bluntly. "I
would not have set mine thereto, I warrant you."

Alice sighed heavily. "God knoweth we meant not to deny His truth,"
said she; "and He looketh on the heart."

After that they were silent till they came to Much Bentley. Turning
down the lane which led to Thorpe, they came in sight of a girl of
twenty years, sitting on a low stool at the door of the third cottage in
the lane, weaving worsted lace on a pillow with bobbins. Over the door
hung a signboard bearing a bell painted blue. The lace-maker was a
small-built girl, not in any way remarkable to look at, with smooth dark
hair, nicely kept, and a rosy face with no beauty about it, but with a
bright, kind-hearted expression which was better than outside beauty.
If a person accustomed to read faces had been there, he might perhaps
have said that the small prominent chin, and the firm setting of the
lips, suggested that Rose Allen occasionally had a will of her own. The
moment that Rose saw who was coming, she left her stool with a bright
smile which lighted up all her face, and carrying the stool in one hand,
and her lace pillow in the other, disappeared within the house.

"She's quick at her work, yonder maid," said Margaret.

"Ay, she's a good lass, my Rose!" was her mother's answer. "You'll come
in and sit a bit, neighbour?"

"Well, thank you, I don't mind if I do--at any rate till them children
comes up," responded Margaret, with a little laugh. "Will you have me
while then?"

"Ay, and as long after as you've a mind," said Alice heartily, leading
the way into her cottage.

As Margaret had a mile yet to walk, for she lived midway between Much
Bentley and Thorpe, she was glad of a rest. In the kitchen they found
Rose, very busy with a skillet over the fire. There was no tea in those
days, so there was no putting on of the kettle: and Rose was preparing
for supper a dish of boiled cabbage, to which the only additions would
be bread and cheese. In repl