"Yes, Mistress Jennings. He, too, is my friend and a good man."
"Yes, yes, tell me, Betty. Good, say you? I had not supposed him good, but—"
"If you supposed otherwise, you were wrong," returned Betty, straightening up in her chair, ready to do battle for her friend.
"Yes, yes, tell me, please, Betty, why you deem him good," pleaded
Frances, eager to be convinced. "What has he done or left undone?"
"He has left undone all which he should not have done in so far as I know," said Betty, "and has done a great deal of good. Recently when a plague was raging along the wall from Aldgate to Bishopgate, where a great many poor people live, you know, Master Hamilton went down among them at peril of his life."
"Yes, yes," interrupted Frances, eagerly.
"He nursed them and carried food and water to them. You know one stricken with the plague is ready to die of thirst. He took care of the children, helped to bury the dead, which, you know, in case of very poor people, is done after night, consoled the bereaved, and—oh, Mistress Jennings, it was an awful sight!" said Betty, tears coming to her eyes.
"And Master Hamilton helped them?" asked Frances, hoping to keep the glorious narrative going.
"Yes, he did the work of half a score of men," said Betty. "In the disguise of a Quaker, he solicited money with which to buy medicine and to employ physicians, and did everything in his power to comfort the poor sufferers. Doctor Lilly, the astrologer, helped us. People say he is a cheat, but I wish we had more of his kind among us."
"And you helped him?" asked Frances.