“I will tell thee, when thou wilt answer when I was suffered to say so much as ‘Good morrow’ to any maid under the degree of a knight’s daughter.”
“Holy Mary, be our aid!” interjected the horrified old lady.
“I am aweary, Dame Agnes,” said the child, laying herself down in the chair, as nearly at full length as its size would allow. “I have played the damosel (person of rank—used of the younger nobility of both sexes) so long time, I would fain be a little maid a season. I looked forth from the lattice this morrow, and I saw far down in the base court a little maid the bigness of me, washing of pans at a window. Now, prithee, have yon little maid up hither, and set her under the cloth of estate in my velvets, and leave me run down to the base court and wash the pans. It were rare mirth for both of us.”
Dame Agnes shook her head, as if words failed to express her feelings at so unparalleled a proposal.
“What sangst thou as I was a-coming in?” asked the child, dropping a subject on which she found no sympathy.
“’Twas but an old song, Lady, of your Grace’s grandsire King Edward (whom God assoil! (pardon)) and his war of France.”
“That was ere I was born. Was it ere thou wert, Dame?”
“Truly no, Lady,” said Agnes, smiling; “nor ere my Lord your father.”
“What manner of lad was my Lord my father, when he was little?”
“Rare meek and gent, Lady,—for a lad, and his ire saved.” (Except when he was angry.)