och Chamber, the little chamber by the garden."

"And what did it all cost, Aunt?"

"I know not, child. Maybe he never paid for those. He used to pay for
such things as he offered to the holy saints; but for debts to
tradesfolk and such, they took their chance. If he had money, he might
pay some of them or no, at his pleasure; and if not, then of course they
had to wait. Very sure am I that many a pound of musk came into the
wardrobe more than was paid for. Never was such a Prince for scents.
He loved musk as much as he feared lightning; and there was only one
thing in all this world that he feared more, and that was Earl Simon of
Leicester."

"And did the Lady Queen squander her money as much as the Lord King,
Aunt Avice?"

"She was every bit as bad. She always seemed to me as if a piece of her
brains had never grown up along with the rest. Some folks are like
that. In respect of money, she was a very child. She had not a notion
how far it would go, and she never would wait to have it before she
spent it. She always appeared to think it would come somehow: and so
far as she was concerned, it often did. But then she never saw the
homeless Jews who were sold up to furnish it, nor the ruined tradesmen
who had to wait till they could not pay their own way, and were sent to
prison for debt. I think she might have been sorry, if she had done. I
suppose we should all be sorry, if we knew half the evil we do. Well,
God pardon her!--she is a holy sister now in the priory at Amesbury.
And our present Queen always pays her bills, I have heard say. Long may
she live to do it!"

"How old was the little Lady when her parents came back?"

"She was just over a year old. I waited on her from the Castle of
Windsor to the Palace at Westminster, for the Lord King desired to
behold her at once. And was not he delighted with her! I doubt if any
of the royal children were as dear to the hearts of their parents as our
little Lady."

"Was she pleased to go?"

"Pleased!--she gave nobody a bit of rest," said Avice, laughing. "All
the journey through she was plucking at my gown, and pointing, first
here and then there, with her little cry of `Who? who?'--for she talked
at fifteen months old as much as she ever spoke in this world. And
before I could find out what she meant, she was pointing to something
else, and `Who? who?' came over again."

"Did you know then that she was deaf and dumb?"

"No! nor for months af