The girl gave a little laugh. “I don’t think whether I like it or not,” she said. “I like being taught what will get me a living some day.”
“I hate it!” answered Antigone. “Why should I have to work for my living, when Lady Margaret, up at the Castle, never needs to put a needle in or out unless she pleases?”
“Nay, you’re wrong there. My sister Justina is scullion-maid at the Castle, and I am sure, from what she tells me, you wouldn’t like to change with Lady Margaret.”
“My word, but I would!”
“Why not, Sarah?” asked Emma.
“Well,” replied Sarah with a smile, “Antigone likes what she calls a bit of fun when the day’s work is over; and she would not get nearly so much as she does, if she were in Lady Margaret’s place. She dwells in three chambers in her mother’s tower, and never comes down except to hall,” (namely, to meals,) “with now and then a decorous dance under the eyes of the Lady Countess. No running races on the green, nor chattering away to everybody, nor games—except upstairs in her own room with a few other young damsels. Antigone would think she was in prison, to be used like that. And learning!—why, she has to learn Latin, and surgery, and heraldry, and all sorts of needlework—not embroidery only; and cooking, and music, and I do not know what else. How would you like it, Antigone?”
“Well, at any rate, she has a change!” said Antigone, with some acerbity.
“Not quite the same thing as no work at all, for which I thought you were longing. And no liberty, remember.”
“But her gowns, Sarah, her gowns!—and her hoods, and cloaks, and everything else! Did you see her last Saint Michael? I’d have given a bit of liberty for that orange samite and those lovely blue slippers!”
Sarah laughed and gave a little shake of her head.