“At Stourbridge fair,” answered the boy. He had to give an account of their adventures after this, and they stared at him the more to hear of London and the shipwreck.
“And so thy father is sick to death in there?” said another man, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. The tears rushed into Hugh’s eyes, and Franklyn interposed.
“His craft is wood-carving, they say. Hast thou learnt aught of the trick of it?”
“Nay, I shall be a stone-carver,” faltered the boy. “I am to be prenticed here.”
“With Master Gervase?”
“Ay.”
William Franklyn looked black. He had a nephew of his own whom he had long tried to persuade the master to take into his house. That hope was now altogether at an end. He turned away angrily and went back to his work.
“What wilt thou do with thy monkey?” cried Wat, hopping round in high delight.
“No foreigners may work in the yard. That were against the guild laws,” said one of the men. “Down with all Easterlings!”
They were a jesting, light-hearted set, who laughed loudly, lived rudely, had plenty of holidays, yet did excellent work. At another time the boy would have had his answer ready, but now was sick at heart, and wanting nothing so much as a woman’s comforting, and the men thought him sullen. He got back to his father as quickly as he could, leaving many remarks behind him.