did
not live long; but he was succeeded by his brother Prince William, and
before he was old enough to do without nurses, a little Princess came
upon the scene. She was the last of the family, and she lived three
years and a half. After her death, the services of the nurses were no
longer needed. Queen Eleanor dismissed them with liberal wages and
handsome presents, and the two who were left--Agnes and Avice--
determined to go back to Lincoln. Avice was now a young woman of
twenty.

But when they reached their old home, they found many changes. The good
Bishop Grosteste was gone, but his chaplain, Father Thomas, had looked
after their interests, and Agnes found no difficulty in recovering her
little property. Happily for them, their tenants were anxious to leave
the house, and before many days were over, they had slipped quietly back
into the old place.

There were no banks in those days. A man's savings bank was an old
stocking or a tin mug. Agnes disposed of the money she had left from
the Queen's payment, partly in the purchase of a cow, and partly in a
stocking, which was carefully locked up in the oak chest. They could
live very comfortably on the produce of the cow and the garden, aided by
what small sums they might earn in one way and another. And so the
years went on, until Avice in her turn married and was left a widow; but
she had no child, and when her mother died Avice was left alone.

"I can never do to live alone," she said to herself; "I must have
somebody to love and work for."

And she began to think whom she could find to live with her. As she sat
and span in the twilight, one name after another occurred to her mind,
but only to be all declined with thanks.

There was her neighbour next door, Annora Goldhue: she had three
daughters. No, none of them would do. Joan was idle, and Amy was
conceited, and Frethesancia had a temper. Little Roese might have done,
who lived with old Serena at the mill end; but old Serena could not
spare her. At last, as Avice broke her thread for the fourth time, she
pushed back the stool on which she was sitting, and rose with her
determination taken, and spoke it out--

"I will go and see Aunt Filomena."

Aunt Filomena lived about a mile from Lincoln, on the Newport road. Her
husband was a greensmith: that is to say, he worked in copper, and
hawked his goods in the town when made. Avice lost no time in going,
but set out at once.

As she rounded