Selwick Hall, March ye iv.
Yesterday, being Sunday, was nought said touching Wat and his ways: only all to church, of course, at matins and evensong, but this day no sermons. This morrow, after breakfast, as we arose from the table, saith Father:—
“Walter, my lad, thou and I must have some talk.”
“An’ it like you, Sir,” saith Wat.
“Wouldst thou choose it rather without other ears?”
“Not any way, I thank you, Sir.”
“Then,” quoth Father, drawing of a chair afore the fire, “we may tarry as we be.”
Walter sat him down in the chimney-corner; Mother, with her sewing, on the other side the fire; Aunt Joyce in the place she best loveth, in the window. Cousin Bess and Mynheer were gone on their occasions. Ned and we three maids were in divers parts of the chamber; Ned carving of a wooden boat for Anstace her little lad, and we at our sewing.
“Wilt tell me, Wat,” saith Father, “what years thou hast?”
“Why, Sir,” quoth he, “I reckon you know that something better than I; but I have alway been given to wit that the year of my birth was Mdlvii.” (1557.)