n, John.

More felt that he could not leave his little ones motherless when they
were so young, and so he determined to marry again, and this time he was
not so fortunate, for he chose a rather plain, cross woman, many years
older than himself, who was a widow. He thought perhaps she would be a
careful manager, but the choice was unfortunate for him.

King Henry VII. was now dead, and his son, the Henry VIII. who married
six wives one after the other, was on the throne. He was very fond of
More, and often had him at the Court at Westminster, and gave him all
sorts of honours and dignities, and finally made him a knight, so that
he was Sir Thomas, and his cross wife could call herself Lady Alice
More, a title that pleased her very much.

More had never liked the life of a city, and now that he was richer,
owing to the King's kindness, he removed to a place that was then a
village three miles from London called Chelsea. It seems odd to think of
Chelsea ever being a village by itself, for it is now all a part of
London. The houses have crept on and on, and covered up all the space
between until Chelsea is right in London.

It is still a very pretty place beside the river, with shady trees and
beautiful houses, and in More's time it must have been charming. He had
a large house with a garden stretching right down to the side of the
water, and from this he could step into his barge and go down to
Westminster to see the King.

His little girls grew up here, and spent a happy childhood. They all,
especially the eldest, adored their father. More himself was a very
loving father, but he never spoilt his children, and always took care
that they learnt their lessons. He used to say: 'Children, virtue and
learning are the meat, and play but the sauce.' When any of them
grumbled at little hardships, he used to say: 'We must not look to go to
heaven on feather beds.' He was very fond of all of the children, but he
loved the best his eldest daughter Margaret, Meg as he called her, and
every day as Meg grew older she and her father were more and more to
each other. Meg was clever, too; when still only a girl she could write
letters in Latin and read many very difficult books.

The home life was rather different from that which we know now. There
were some pages in the household, boys of good family, who came to learn
from More as he had learnt from the Archbishop. One of these, William
Roper, was a very nice fellow, and he afterw