“That’s a trouble can be mended,” said Jenny softly; “and you’ll be main glad when it is, take my word for it.”
“I don’t know how to set about it, Jenny.”
“Why, dear heart! how do you set about knowing anybody? Go and see ’em, don’t you, and talk with ’em, and get ’em to do things for you? The good Lord always keeps His door open, and turns away none as come.”
At that moment Tom came in, with a hearty welcome to his guest. Jenny, helped by Molly, bustled about, setting the table, and cutting bread and butter, while Tom drew the ale; and they had just sat down when a little rap came on the door.
“Anybody at home here?” asked a bright voice. Jenny knew it at once.
“O Mrs Jane!—I crave pardon, my Lady!—pray you come in, and do us the honour to sit down in our house.”
“I’ll do you more honour than that,” said Lady Fisher comically, as she came forward. “I’ll eat that bread and butter, if you’ll give it me, for I have been a great way afoot, and I am as hungry as a hunter.”
“I pray you take a chair, madam, and do us so much pleasure,” said smiling Jenny. “I have here in the oven a cake but just ready to come forth, made the Princess Elizabeth’s way, His Majesty’s sister, and I shall be proud if your ladyship will taste it.”
“I’ll taste it vastly, if I get the chance,” said Lady Fisher, laughing, as Jenny took her cake out of the oven.
The Princess Elizabeth was that young gentle girl who had died a prisoner at Carisbrooke Castle, a few years after her father’s murder, her cheek resting on the little Bible which had been his last gift. Her cake was a rich plum-cake, made with cream, eggs, and butter.