They returned on their steps past the dilapidated buildings of the old Jewry, and presently saw the market in full activity; but the sounds and sights of busy life where they were utter strangers, gave Ambrose a sense of loneliness and desertion, and his heart sank as the bolder Stephen threaded the way in the direction of a broad entry over which stood a slender-bodied hart with gold hoofs, horns, collar, and chain.
“How now, my sons?” said a full cheery voice, and to their joy, they found themselves pushed up against Father Shoveller.
“Returned already! Did you get scant welcome at Hyde? Here, come where we can get a free breath, and tell me.”
They passed through the open gateway of the White Hart, into the court, but before listening to them, the monk exchanged greetings with the hostess, who stood at the door in a broad hat and velvet bodice, and demanded what cheer there was for noon-meat.
“A jack, reverend sir, eels and a grampus fresh sent up from Hampton; also fresh-killed mutton for such lay folk as are not curious of the Wednesday fast. They are laying the board even now.”
“Lay platters for me and these two young gentlemen,” said the Augustinian. “Ye be my guests, ye wot,” he added, “since ye tarried not for meat at Hyde.”
“Nor did they ask us,” exclaimed Stephen; “lubbers and idlers were the best words they had for us.”
“Ho! ho! That’s the way with the brethren of St. Grimbald! And your uncle?”
“Alas, sir, he doteth with age,” said Ambrose. “He took Stephen for his own brother, dead under King Harry of Windsor.”
“So! I had heard somewhat of his age and sickness. Who was it who thrust you out?”