y to her mother's questions, she said that
her step-father had been in, but finding his wife not yet come from
market, he had said that he would step into the next neighbour's until
she came, and Rose was to call him when supper was ready.

William Mount, the second husband of Alice, was twenty years older than
his wife, their ages being sixty-one and forty-one. He was a tall,
grey, grave-looking man,--a field labourer, like most of the dwellers in
Much Bentley. This was but a small place, nestling at one corner of the
large park of the Earl of Oxford, the owner of all the property for some
distance round. Of course he was _the_ great man in the esteem of the
Much Bentley people. During the reign of Edward the Sixth, when
Protestantism was in favour at Court, Lord Oxford had been a Protestant
like other people; but, also like many other people, he was one of those
of whom it has been well said that:

"He's a slave who dare not be
In the right with two or three."

Lord Oxford was a slave in this sense--a slave to what other people said
and thought about him--and very sad slavery it is. I would rather sweep
a crossing than feel that I did not dare to say what I believed or
disbelieved, what I liked or did not like, because other people would
think it strange. It is as bad as being in Egyptian bondage. Yet there
are a great many people quite contented to be slaves of this kind, who
have not half so much excuse as Lord Oxford. If he went against the
priests, who then were masters of everything, he was likely to lose his
liberty and property, if not his life; while we may say any thing we
like without need to be afraid. It is not always an advantage to have a
great deal to lose. The poor labourers of Much Bentley, who had next to
no property at all, and could only lose liberty and life, were far
braver than the Earl whom they thought such a grand man, and who carried
a golden wand before the Queen.

Supper was over at the Blue Bell, and Margaret Thurston was thinking
about going home, when a little faint rap came on the door of the
cottage. Rose opened it, and saw a big jar standing on the door-sill, a
little boy sitting beside it, and an older girl leaning against the
wall.

"Please, we're come," said Cissy.

CHAPTER FOUR.

ON THE WAY TO THORPE.

"Please, we're come," said Cissy. "We've been a good while getting
here, but we--Oh, it isn't you!"

"What isn't me?" said Rose, laughing--for peopl