A door-latch clicked, and in the dark corner of the room appeared something pale and shining—the face of old Badge, who held open the stair-door and grinned at the assembly, leaning down from a high step.
'Weather-bound all,' he quavered maliciously. 'I will tell you why.'
He slipped down the step, pulling behind him the large figure of his grandchild Margot.
'Get you gone back,' the printer snarled at her.
'That will I not,' her gruff voice came. 'See where my back is wet with the drippings through the roof.'
She and her grandfather had been sitting on a bed in the upper room, but the rain was trickling now through the thatch. The printer made a nervous stride to his printing stick, and, brandishing it in the air, poured out these words:
'Whores and harlots shall not stand in the sight of the godly.'
Margot shrank back upon the stair-place and remained there, holding the bolt of the door in her hand, ready to shut off access to the upper house.
'I will take no beating, uncle,' she panted; 'this is my grandfather's abode and dwelling.'
The old man was sniggering towards the window. He had gathered up his gown about his knees and picked his way between the pools of water on the floor and the Lutherans on their chairs towards the window. He mounted upon an oak chest that stood beneath the casement and, peering out, chuckled at what he saw.