nd satins.
What will become of our trade with Flanders,--answer me that, Master
Stokton? The House of York is a good House, and the king is a good king,
but trade is trade. Every man must draw water to his own mill."

"Hush, Master Heyford!" said a small lean man in a light-gray surcoat.
"The king loves not talk about what the king does. 'T is ill jesting
with lions. Remember William Walker, hanged for saying his son should be
heir to the crown."

"Troth," answered Master Heyford, nothing daunted, for he belonged to
one of the most powerful corporations of London,--"it was but a scurvy
Pepperer [old name for Grocer] who made that joke; but a joke from a
worshipful goldsmith, who has moneys and influence, and a fair wife of
his own, whom the king himself has been pleased to commend, is another
guess sort of matter. But here is my grave-visaged headman, who always
contrives to pick up the last gossip astir, and has a deep eye into
millstones. Why, ho, there! Alwyn--I say, Nicholas Alwyn!--who would
have thought to see thee with that bow, a good half-ell taller than
thyself? Methought thou wert too sober and studious for such man-at-arms
sort of devilry."

"An' it please you, Master Heyford," answered the person thus
addressed,--a young man, pale and lean, though sinewy and large-boned,
with a countenance of great intelligence, but a slow and somewhat formal
manner of speech, and a strong provincial accent,--"an' it please you,
King Edward's edict ordains every Englishman to have a bow of his
own height; and he who neglects the shaft on a holiday forfeiteth one
halfpenny and some honour. For the rest, methinks that the citizens of
London will become of more worth and potency every year; and it shall
not be my fault if I do not, though but a humble headman to your
worshipful mastership, help to make them so."

"Why, that's well said, lad; but if the Londoners prosper, it is because
they have nobles in their gipsires, [a kind of pouch worn at the girdle]
not bows in their hands."

"Thinkest thou then, Master Heyford, that any king at a pinch would
leave them the gipsire, if they could not protect it with the bow? That
Age may have gold, let not Youth despise iron."

"Body o' me!" cried Master Heyford, "but thou hadst better curb in thy
tongue. Though I have my jest,--as a rich man and a corpulent,--a lad
who has his way to make good should be silent and--But he's gone."

"Where hooked you up that young jack fish?" sa