that never should she sing or dance
for any one's pleasure save her own and mine, and letting him know that
I came of a worthy family. We were wedded out of hand by the priest
that had been sent for to housel him, and in our true names. The Fire-
eater was fiery enough, and swore that, wedded or not, I was bound to
him, that he would have both of us, and would not drag about a helpless
old man unless he might have the wench to do his bidding. I verily
believe that, but for my being on the watch and speaking a word to two
or three stout yeomen of the king's guard that chanced to be crushing a
pot of sack at the Garter, he would have played some villainous trick on
us. They gave a hint to my Lord of York's steward and he came down and
declared that the Archbishop required Quipsome Hal, and would--of his
grace--send a purse of nobles to the Fire-eater, wherewith he was to be
off on the spot without more ado, or he might find it the worse for him,
and they, together with mine host's good wife, took care that the rogue
did not carry away Perronel with him, as he was like to have done. To
end my story, here am I, getting showers of gold coins one day and
nought but kicks and gibes the next, while my good woman keeps house
nigh here on the banks of the Thames with Gaffer Martin. Her Flemish
thrift has set her to the washing and clear--starching of the lawyers'
ruffs, whereby she makes enough to supply the defects of my scanty days,
or when I have to follow my lord's grace out of her reach, sweet soul.
There's my tale, nevoys. And now, have ye a hand for Quipsome Hal?"

"O uncle! Father would have honoured thee!" cried Stephen.

"Why didst thou not bring her down to the Forest?" said Ambrose.

"I conned over the thought," said Randall, "but there was no way of
living. I wist not whether the Ranger might not stir up old tales, and
moreover old Martin is ill to move. We brought him down by boat from
Windsor, and he has never quitted the house since, nor his bed for the
last two years. You'll come and see the housewife? She hath a supper
laying out for you, and on the way we'll speak of what ye are to do, my
poor lads."

"I'd forgotten that," said Stephen.

"So had not I," returned his uncle; "I fear me I cannot aid you to
preferment as you expected. None know Quipsome Hal by any name but that
of Harry Merryman, and it were not well that ye should come in there as
akin to the poor fool."

"No," said Stephen, em