“’Tis much less than I would have had it; and it hath taken me three-quarters of a year to scrape so much together. But—nay, Lady Lettice, forgive me, but never a penny will I take back. You sure forget that I owe all unto you. What should have come of me but for you and Sir Aubrey? But I was about to say, I have essayed in every direction to take service with a gentleman, and cannot compass it in any wise. So I see no other way but to go into trade.”
“But, Hans, thou art a gentleman’s son!”
“I am a King’s son, Madam,” said Hans with feeling: “and if I tarnish not the escocheon of my heavenly birth by honest craft, then shall I have no fear for that of mine earthly father.”
“Yet if so were, dear lad—though I should be verily sorry to see thee come down so low—yet bethink thee, thine apprenticeship may not be compassed without a good payment in money.”
“Your pardon, Madam. There is one craftsman in London that is willing to receive me without a penny. Truly, I did nothing to demerit it, since I did but catch up his little maid of two years, that could scarce toddle, from being run over by an horse that had brake loose from the rein. Howbeit, it pleaseth him to think him under an obligation to me, and his good wife likewise. And having made inquiries diligently, I find him to be a man of good repute, one that feareth God and dealeth justly and kindly by men: also of his wife the neighbours speak well. Seeing, then, all doors shut upon me save this one, whereat I may freely enter, it seems to me, under your Ladyship’s leave, that this is the way which God hath prepared for me to walk in: yet if you refuse permission, then I shall know that I have erred therein.”
“Hans, I would give my best rebate Aubrey had one half thy wit and goodness!” cried Temperance.
“I thank you for the compliment, Mistress Murthwaite,” said Hans, laughingly. “But truly, as for my wit, I should be very ill-set to spare half of it; and as for my goodness, I wish him far more of his own.”
“Where dwells this friend of thine, Hans?” inquired Lady Louvaine. “What is his name? and what craft doth he follow?”
“He dwells near, Madam, in Broad Saint Giles’; his name, Andrew Leigh, and is a silkman.”
“We shall miss thee, my boy,” said Edith.