“Will ye be of as good courage, think you,” asked Wastborowe, “the day ye stand up by Colne Water?”
“God knoweth,” was the reverent answer of Mrs Silverside. “If He holds us up, then shall we stand.”
“They be safe kept whom He keepeth,” said Johnson.
“Please, Mr Wastborowe,” said Cissy in a businesslike manner, “would you mind telling me when we shall be burned?”
The gaoler turned round and stared at his questioner.
“Thou aren’t like to be burned, I reckon,” said he with a laugh.
“I must, if Father is,” was Cissy’s calm response. “It’ll hurt a bit, I suppose; but you see when we get to Heaven afterwards, every thing will be so good and pleasant, I don’t think we need care much. Do you, please, Mr Wastborowe?”
“Marry come up, thou scrap of a chirping canary!” answered the gaoler, half roughly and half amused. “If babes like this be in such minds, ’tis no marvel their fathers and mothers stand to it.”
“But I’m not a baby, Mr Wastborowe!” said Cissy, rather affronted. “Will and Baby are both younger than me. I’m going in ten, and I takes care of Father.”
Mr Wastborowe, who was drinking ale out of a huge tankard, removed it from his lips to laugh.