"And where is your father?"
"I don't know," answered the child sadly. "We have not seen him in many days, and mother cries so I can't ask her."
"He is where he deserves to be, and that is in prison, from which he will come to be burned with the next batch of heretics!" said a sour, thin-faced old woman. "And serve him right, too, for speaking slightingly of the Blessed Virgin. I would they were all served with the same sauce."
"For shame, dame! Have you a woman's heart in your breast, that you speak so to the worse than orphan child?" said my uncle, indignantly.
"Oh, ho! I did not know your worship was so near," answered the old woman, with a cackling laugh. "Methinks we are very tender to heretics—we are!"
"We are tender to other sinners besides heretics, or a wicked, hard-hearted old woman, who owes two quarters rent, would be turned into the street as she deserves," rejoined my aunt, severely. "You had better keep civil words, Dame Davis, at least until you can pay your debts."
The old woman turned pale at this home thrust, and muttering something about meaning no harm, retired into the crowd. My uncle asked the child a few questions, and then, turning to the dame who was measuring the milk, he bade her fill the child's pitcher, at the same time putting a piece of silver into her hand.
"That I will, your worship, and give her good measure too!" answered Dame Goodman. "Jenny Higgins is a good, hard-working creature, and not to be blamed for her husband's follies. Drat the man, why can't he believe as his betters tell him, and not go prying where he has no business?"
My uncle smiled, but sadly methought, and Sambo's great can being filled, we walked away by another road.
"Who was that old woman, aunt? You seemed to know her," said he presently.