“Nay, verily, not so!” saith she, and kissed him.
To say Wat were last, howbeit, I writ not well, for I forgat Mynheer, and Cousin Bess, the which I should not.
Cousin Bess marcheth up to Nell with—“Well, my maid, thou hast this morrow many goodlier gifts than mine, yet not one more useful. ’Tis plain and solid, like me.” And forth she holdeth a parcel which, being oped, did disclose a right warm thick hood of black serge, lined with flannel and dowlas, mighty comfortable-looking. Mynheer cometh up with a courtesy and a scrape that should have beseemed a noble of the realm, and saith he—
“Mistress Helena Van Louvaine—for that is your true name, as I am assured of certainty—I, a Dutchman, have the great honour and pleasure to offer unto you, a Dutch vrouw, a most precious relic of your country, being a stool for your feet, made of willow-wood that groweth by the great dyke which keepeth off from Holland the waters of the sea. ’Tis true, you be of the Nether-Land, and this cometh of the Hollow-Land—for such do the names mean. Howbeit, do me the favour, Domina mea, to accept this token at the hands of your obeissant paedagogus, that should have had much pleasure in learning you the Latin tongue, had it been the pleasure of your excellent elders. Alack that it were not so! for I am assured your scholarship should have been rare, and your attention thereto of the closest.”
Nell kept her countenance (which was more than Ned or Milly could do), and thanked Mynheer right well, ensuring him that she should essay to make herself worthy of the great honour of coming of Dutch parentage.
Saith Father drily, “There is time yet, Mynheer.”
“For what?” saith he. “To learn Mistress Helena the Latin? Excellent Sir, you rejoice me. When shall we begin, Mistress Helena?—this morrow?”
Helen laughed now, and quoth she,—“I thank you much, Mynheer, though I am ’feared you reckon mine understanding higher than it demerit: yet I fear there shall scantly be opportunity this morrow. I have divers dishes to cook that shall be cold for this even, and a deal of flannel-work to do.”
“Ah, the dishes and the flannel, they are mine abhorrence!” saith Mynheer. “They stand alway in the road of the learning.”
“Nay, mine old paedagogus!” crieth Ned. “I reckon the dishes are little your abhorrence at supper-time, nor the flannel of a cold night, when it taketh the form of blankets. ’Tis right well to uphold the learning, yet without Nell’s cates and flannel, your Latin should come ill off.”