"From the Vulgate of the blessed Saint Jerome, reverend sir," I answered demurely. "I am convent bred, and can construe Latin."
"More's the pity," growled the friar. "They had done better to teach you to hold your tongue, and mind your spindle and needle. 'Twas never a good world since women and laymen learned to read and write!"
My mother made me a sign not to answer, and presently we disposed ourselves for bed—my mother and I in one room, my father and Harry in the other. Our beds were but of straw, but fresh and with clean and lavendered, though very coarse linen. The good woman made many apologies, though I am sure none were needful, and after lingering a little came close up, and said in a whisper:
"You will not think ill of my poor gaffer, my Lady—indeed, he is no heretic, but a godly and devout old man. You see he is more than a hundred years old, and old men's minds do mostly run on what they have heard and thought when young. But he is no heretic, but a good old man!"
"That I can well believe," said my mother. "I am glad his reverend age finds such a safe and warm harbor. Believe me, good dame, your dutifulness to him will not go unrewarded."
"Nay, we were worse than the heathen not to care for our gaffer," answered the woman, and again bidding us good-night, she departed.
We slept well, despite our hard beds, and were awakened early by the crowing of fowls, the bleating of sheep, and the loud-voiced directions of the yeoman and his dame to their men and maids. They would not let us go till we had broken our fast, and set us down to a plentiful table again. The old man was not in his place, and my father noticed it.
"Aye, gaffer sleeps late, and we never rouse him," said the good man. "Besides, I had no mind he should be questioned and teased by yonder friar. A plague on them, say I—black cattle, that spare no man's field, but live on the work of other men. Time was when we thought the begging friars the best of the clergy, and now I think they are every one worse than another."
'Tis strange how the clergy generally seem to be losing their hold on the common folk, and how little they seem to be aware of it. The good people would take no fee for our entertainment, saying that they so seldom had any guests that it was a pure pleasure to them. My mother, however, prevailed on the dame to accept a hood and pinners of black Cyprus, and a bottle of her famous bitter and spicy cordial for her daughter, who is weakly, and failing with a cruel tertian ague, which shakes her to pieces every spring, and hardly gives her time to take breath before it comes again in the fall.
We travelled much more slowly the second day, over a wild country, mostly moorland, with here and there a deep dell wherein would be a rushing stream and a few trees, with often a cool fountain gushing from the rocks. We saw but few inhabitants, and those of the wildest, more like savages than aught I ever conceived of Englishmen. My Cousin Joslyn says they are indeed savages, and all but heathen in their usages.