“Come forward, Ned!” shouted John in return.
And forward he came.
“I am weary as a dog!” said he. “And I see yonder some eggs and butter (‘Buttered eggs’ survive north of the Trent) that doth make my mouth water; and a warden-pie (the warden was a very late pear, used chiefly for pies), if mine eyes bewray me not. Mrs Avery—” but here, his eye catching Robin, he broke off short. “Do you bid ghosts to supper? If those be not Robin Tremayne’s eyes, they are the fairest copies ever mine saw!”
“Robin Tremayne’s eyes are very glad to see you, Mr Underhill,” said he, laughingly: and Mr Underhill wrung his hand till Robin’s fingers must have tingled no little.
“Draw a chair and fall to, man,” said John.
“Go to!” replied Mr Underhill; and did so with much apparent gusto.
“Well, so your work is over,” said John. “How passed all? and where is the Queen?”
“In her bed, I hope,” answered Mr Underhill, “unless she be somewhat more than other women. Marry, but she must be aweary to-night! ’Twas a splendrous matter, and worth seeing; but as cold as charity. And when ’tis January other where, ’tis not August in Westminster Abbey. We heretics fared uncommon well; George Ferris and I got a red deer pie betwixt us, and we made it look ashamed of himself ere we had done, I warrant you.”
“Ned Underhill!” said John, “’tis a standing marvel to me that Austin Bernher and thou should have come out of Queen Mary’s persecution alive.”
“’Tis a greater marvel to me that thou shouldst,” replied Mr Underhill, a second time attacking the buttered eggs. “Mrs Avery, I hope you have more eggs in the house?—With all thy prudence, and cautiousness, and wariness, sweet Jack, thou earnest not off a whit better than thy rash and foolish neighbour.”