“Hoo does not get much direction, I reckon,” said Jennet.
“What, my Lady neither makes nor meddles?”
Jennet laughed. “I ne’er saw her make yet so much as an apple turno’er. As for tapestry work, and such, hoo makes belike. But I’ll just tell thee:—Sir Thomas is our master, see thou. Well, his wife’s his mistress. And Mistress Rachel’s her mistress. And Mistress Blanche is Mistress Rachel’s mistress. Now then, thou knowest somewhat thou didn’t afore.”
“And who is Mistress Blanche’s mistress or master belike?” demanded Barbara, laughing in her turn.
“Nay, I’ve getten to th’ top,” said Jennet. “I can go no fur’.”
“There’ll be a master some of these days, I cast no doubt,” observed Barbara, drily.
“Happen,” returned Jennet. “But ’tis a bit too soon yet, I reckon.—Mrs Meg, yon’s the breakfast bell.”
Margaret caught the ball from Clare, and pocketed it, and the whole party went into the hall for breakfast. Here the entire family assembled, down to the meanest scullion-lad. Jennet took Clare’s hand, and led her up to the high table, at which Mistress Rachel had already taken her seat, while Sir Thomas and Lady Enville were just entering from the door behind it.
“Ha! who cometh here?” asked Sir Thomas, cheerily. “My new daughter, I warrant. Come hither, little maid!”
Clare obeyed rather shyly. Her step-father set her on his knee, kissed her, stroked her hair with a rather heavy hand, and bade her “be a good lass and serve God well, and he would be good father to her.” Clare was not sorry when the ordeal was over, and she found herself seated between Margaret and Barbara. Sir Thomas glanced round the table, where an empty place was left on the form, just opposite Clare.