[CHAPTER XIII.]
August 12, Feast of St. Clare.
THE Queen goes to-morrow, and I am right glad on't. Not that I have aught against her Grace. She has been a good mistress to me, and I have learned many things of Mistress Patience, chiefly the art of knitting stockings, with which I am delighted. Moreover, I believe the restraint I have had to put on myself in the presence, has been good discipline for me, who am ever apt to speak without thought.
Another privilege I have gained by my attendance on the Queen, which I fear I shall sorely miss. I mean that of walking abroad. The Queen hath visited the poor people in the village, and all about here, even to two or three miles distant; and as Amice cannot walk far on account of her lame ancle, I have attended her Grace, along with Mistress Patience, and Master Griffith, who is a very sober, good-natured gentleman, about as old as my father. It did seem marvellous pleasant to be going to the cottages once more, nursing the babes, chatting with the good wives, and making acquaintance with the children. Mistress Bullen sometimes goes with us, and the men are loud in praise of her beauty and kindness. I don't think the women fancy her so much, and I must say I don't fancy her at all any more.
The Queen is very liberal, and gives with an open hand; but she is shrewd, too, and will not be imposed upon. Roger Smith, whom she met in the street, told her Grace a pitiful tale of his sick wife and children, and his want of work. She said but little at the time, giving him a small alms, but presently she turned to me and asked if I knew anything about them. I told her that he had help constantly from our house; besides that, we bought fish of him, whenever we could get them.
"And can he not get them as oft as you need them?" she asked.
I told her I knew no reason why he could not, as the sea was but a few miles away, and I knew he owned a boat; but added that I thought he was not over fond of work, so long as he could get bread without. She made no remark that day, but the next time we were out, she asked a little urchin who was playing in a pool of dirty water, where Roger Smith lived. He put his thumb in his mouth and hung down his head, but presently pointed out a very dirty cottage, with a dunghill before the door, strewed all over with fish-heads and the like. The smell was so bad, that Mrs. Patience ventured a remonstrance, but her Grace persevered, and we entered the cottage. There lay Roger on the settle bed, in what was plainly a drunken sleep. On the rude table lay the remains of a couple of fowls, amid fish-bones, fragments of bread, and ribs of some animal looking mightily like a deer's, while a slatternly woman, and a bold, impudent-looking girl were just beginning to clear away, though it was nearly nine o'clock of the morning. It was clear there had been a debauch over night; and that, whatever else might be needed, there was no want of food. Her Grace looked deliberately round the room, and then turned away.
"What do you please to want, Madam?" asked the woman, in a half servile, half impudent tone.
"I heard there was a sick woman with sick children living here;" answered her Grace, "and that they were in want of food; but fowls, and venison, and strong waters, and a man asleep at this time of day, are no arguments either of poverty or honesty."