There was no thought that ye should part till you had some
purpose in view. Nay, we should be fain for Ambrose to bide on here, so
he would leave his portion for me to deal with, and teach little Will
his primer and accidence. You are a quiet lad, Ambrose, and can rule
your tongue better than Stephen."

"Thanks, brother John," said Ambrose, somewhat sarcastically, "but where
Stephen goes I go."

"I would--I would have found Stephen a place among the prickers or
rangers, if--" hesitated John. "In sooth, I would yet do it, if he
would make it up with the housewife."

"My father looked higher for his son than a pricker's office," returned
Ambrose.

"That do I wot," said John, "and therefore, 'tis for his own good that I
would send him forth. His godfather, our uncle Birkenholt, he will
assuredly provide for him, and set him forth--"

The door of the house was opened, and a shrewish voice cried, "Mr
Birkenholt--here, husband! You are wanted. Here's little Kate crying
to have yonder smooth pouch to stroke, and I cannot reach it for her."

"Father set store by that otter-skin pouch, for poor Prince Arthur slew
the otter," cried Stephen. "Surely, John, you'll not let the babes make
a toy of that?"

John made a helpless gesture, and at a renewed call, went indoors.

"You are right, Ambrose," said Stephen, "this is no place for us. Why
should we tarry any longer to see everything moiled and set at nought?
I have couched in the forest before, and 'tis summer time."

"Nay," said Ambrose, "we must make up our fardels and have our money in
our pouches before we can depart. We must tarry the night, and call
John to his reckoning, and so might we set forth early enough in the
morning to lie at Winchester that night and take counsel with our uncle
Birkenholt."

"I would not stop short at Winchester," said Stephen. "London for me,
where uncle Randall will find us preferment!"

"And what wilt do for Spring!"

"Take him with me, of course!" exclaimed Stephen. "What! would I leave
him to be kicked and pinched by Will, and hanged belike by Mistress
Maud?"

"I doubt me whether the poor old hound will brook the journey."

"Then I'll carry him!"

Ambrose looked at the big dog as if he thought it would be a serious
undertaking, but he had known and loved Spring as his brother's property
ever since his memory began, and he scarcely felt that they could be
separable for weal or woe.

The verdurers of the New Fores