eighty persons
composing the household, he kept on making comments. "Harry Hempseed,
clerk to the kitchen; ay, Hempseed will serve his turn one of these
days. Walter Randall, groom of the chamber; ah, ha! my lads, if you
want a generous uncle who will look after you well, there is your man!
He'll give you the shakings of the napery for largesse, and when he is
in an open-handed mood, will let you lie on the rushes that have served
the hall. Harry of Lambeth, yeoman of the stable. He will make you
free of all the taverns in Eastchepe."

And so on, accompanying each remark with a pantomime mimicry of the air
and gesture of the individual. He showed in a second the contortions of
Harry Weston in drawing the bow, and in another the grimaces of Henry
Hope, the choir man, in producing bass notes, or the swelling majesty of
Randall Porcher, the cross-bearer, till it really seemed as if he had
shown off the humours of at least a third of the enormous household.
Stephen had laughed at first, but as failure after failure occurred, the
antics began to weary even him, and seem unkind and ridiculous as hope
ebbed away, and the appalling idea began to grow on him of being cast
loose on London without a friend or protector. Ambrose felt almost
despairing as he heard in vain the last name. He would almost have been
willing to own Hal the scullion, and his hopes rose when he heard of
Hodge Randolph, the falconer, but alas, that same Hodge came from
Yorkshire.

"And mine uncle was from the New Forest in Hampshire," he said.

"Maybe he went by the name of Shirley," added Stephen, "'tis where his
home was."

But the comptroller, unwilling to begin a fresh search, replied at once
that the only Shirley in the household was a noble esquire of the
Warwickshire family.

"You must e'en come back with me, young masters," said Tibble, "and see
what my master can do for you."

"Stay a bit," said the fool. "Harry of Shirley! Harry of Shirley!
Methinks I could help you to the man, if so be as you will deem him
worth the finding," he added, suddenly turning upside down, and looking
at them standing on the palms of his hands, with an indescribable leer
of drollery, which in a moment dashed all the hopes with which they had
turned to him. "Should you know this nunks of yours?" he added.

"I think I should," said Ambrose. "I remember best how he used to carry
me on his shoulder to cull mistletoe for Christmas."

"Ah, ha! A proper fe