“It were to no good,” said Maude, brushing away to get her sink clean. “There is nothing but sharp words and snybbyngs (scoldings) all day long; and if I give her word back, then will she challenge (accuse) me to Mistress, and soothly I am aweary of life.”
Weary of life at twelve years old! It was a new idea to Bertram, and he had found no answer, when the sharp voice of Ursula Drew summoned Maude away.
“Haste, child!” cried Ursula. “Thou art as long of coming as Advent Sunday at Christmas. Now, by the time I be back, lay thou out for me on the table four bundles of herbs from the dry herb closet—an handful of knot-grass, and the like of shepherd’s pouch, and of bramble-seeds, and of plantain. Now, mark thou, the top leaves of the plantain only! Leave me not find thee idling; but have yonder row of pans as bright as a new tester when I come, and the herbs ready.” (See note 3.)
Ursula bustled off, and Maude set to work at the pans. When they were sufficiently scrubbed, she pulled off the dirty apron in which she had been working, and went towards the dry herb closet. But she had not reached it, when her wrist was caught and held in a grasp like that of a vice.
“Whither goest, Mistress Maude?” demanded an unwelcome voice.
“Stay me not, I pray thee, Parnel!” said the child entreatingly. “Mistress Drew hath bidden me lay out divers herbs against she cometh.”
“What herbs be they?” inquired Parnel demurely, with an assumption of gravity and superior knowledge which Maude knew, from sad experience, to mask some project of mischief. But knowing also that peril lay in silence, no less than in compliance, she reluctantly gave the information.
“There is no shepherd’s pouch in the closet,” responded Parnel.
“Then whither must I seek it?” asked Maude.
“In the fields,” said Parnel.