“O uncle! Father would have honoured thee!” cried Stephen.
“Why didst thou not bring her down to the Forest?” said Ambrose.
“I conned over the thought,” said Randall, “but there was no way of living. I wist not whether the Ranger might not stir up old tales, and moreover old Martin is ill to move. We brought him down by boat from Windsor, and he has never quitted the house since, nor his bed for the last two years. You’ll come and see the housewife? She hath a supper laying out for you, and on the way we’ll speak of what ye are to do, my poor lads.”
“I’d forgotten that,” said Stephen.
“So had not I,” returned his uncle; “I fear me I cannot aid you to preferment as you expected. None know Quipsome Hal by any name but that of Harry Merryman, and it were not well that ye should come in there as akin to the poor fool.”
“No,” said Stephen, emphatically.
“Your father left you twenty crowns apiece?”
“Ay, but John hath all save four of them.”
“For that there’s remedy. What saidst thou of the Cheapside armourer? His fellow, the Wry-mouth, seemed to have a care of you. Ye made in to the rescue with poor old Spring.”
“Even so,” replied Ambrose, “and if Stevie would brook the thought, I trow that Master Headley would be quite willing to have him bound as his apprentice.”