King to their guide, and a throne to their bed, and angels to
their serving-men--verily these be folks of much distinction that be so
served! But, look you, there is one little point we may not miss--`If
we suffer, we shall reign.' There is the desert to be passed. There is
the Jordan to be forded. There is the cross to bear for the Master that
bare the cross for us. Yea, we shall best bear our cross by looking
well and oft on His cross. Ah! brethren, He standeth close beside; He
hath borne it all; He knoweth where the nails run, and in what manner
they hurt. Yet a little patience, poor suffering soul! yet a little
courage; yet a little stumbling over the rough stones of the wilderness:
and then the Golden City, and the royal banquet-hall, and the King that
brought us out despite all the Egyptians, that brought us in despite all
the dangers of the desert,--the King, our Shield, and Guide, and Father,
shall come forth and serve us."

Old Agnes Silverside, the priest's widow, sat with her hands clasped,
and her eyes fixed on the preacher. As he ended, she laid her hand upon
Rose Allen's.

"My maid," she said, "never mind the wilderness. The stones be sharp,
and the sun scorching, and the thirst sore: but one sight of the King in
the Golden City shall make up for all!"

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Note 1. Ten shillings; this was then the largest coin made.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

UNEXPECTED LODGINGS.

"Now then, who goes home?" cried the cheerful voice of Mrs Wade, when
the sermon was over. "You, Mistress Benold?--you, Alice Mount?--you,
Meg Thurston? You'd best hap your mantle well about your head.
Mistress Silverside, this sharp even: yon hood of yours is not so thick,
and you are not so young as you were once. Now, Adrian Purcas, thee be
off with Johnson and Mount; thou'rt not for my money. Agnes Love,
woman, I wonder at you! coming out of a November night with no thicker a
mantle than that old purple thing, that I'm fair tired of seeing on you.
What's that? `Can't afford a new one?' Go to Southampton! There's
one in my coffer that I never use now. Here, Doll! wherever is that
lazy bones? Gather up thy heels, wilt thou, and run to my great oak
coffer, and bring yon brown hood I set aside. Now don't go and fetch
the red one! that's my best Sunday gear, and thou'rt as like to bring
red when I tell thee brown as thou art to eat thy supper.--Well, Alice?