John Goose took her home with a lantern. As they threaded their way along St. Martin's Lane, which led from Aldersgate to St. Paul's Churchyard, he said to her,—
"Pray you, my mistress, is aught heard at this time of any ado against them of our doctrine?"
"In good sooth I trust not, Master Goose," was the reply. "I have nought heard of any such matter. Eh, good lack! it should be hard for some to be staunch, if so were!"
"I count it should be hard to them that had it to do for themselves," said John Goose.
"How mean you, my master?"
"Look you, I told you afore I was a Goose by name and nature," said the youth with a merry laugh. "So being, I know well I have no wits to cope with my learned masters the doctors of the Church. Herein I must needs betake me wholly unto my Master. He will give me the endurance, if He send me the need to endure. And that which cometh down from Heaven is like to be better than aught a man hath of his own."
"Then look you for troubles, Master Goose?"
"I look for nought, Mistress. My Master doth the work for me, and I take mine ease. So merry is Christ's service."
"It should be little ease that you should take at the stake, methinks," said Frideswide with a shake of her head. "Verily, methinks it were past all endurance."
"For Him, or for me?" significantly asked John Goose.