Loveday's history

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"We will both forgive and forget," said my uncle, raising and kissing me.

"You have need to thank Sambo, niece, for it was his sharp sight and quick hand which brought to light the proofs of your innocence. Give him your hand."

I did so willingly, and Sambo kissed it with many grins and giggles. Then the servants were dismissed, and presently I saw Sambo dancing a dance of triumph on the stones of the garden walk, to the music of his own singing and whistling. The twins were overjoyed, and would have given me all their most cherished possessions to celebrate the event. My uncle said he would take us to the Tower to see the lions, and bade us get ready. I escaped for a little, and shutting myself in my own little room, I said a prayer for forgiveness and repeated a paternoster. As I did so, the sense of the words came to me as never before, and I resolved that I would try to forgive even Betty.

We went to the Tower and saw the lions—two very fine fellows—a leopard and some other wild creatures, and enjoyed the fearful pleasure of feeding the great brown bear with cakes. On the way home, my uncle took us to see some of the goldsmiths' and other fine shops, and bought us each a fairing. At one place, a silk mercer's, he asked the elderly man in attendance about his son.

"He hath not yet returned," said the old man, shaking his head; "a dangerous service, Master Corbet—a dangerous service; but we must not withhold even Isaac when the Lord calls for him."

"Truly not, my brother," answered mine uncle; "but I hope the need of these perilous journeys may soon be past. I heard it from one that knows what goes on at Court, that his Grace is like to be moved of his royal bounty to give to this land a free gospel before long."

The old man's face lighted up: "The Lord fulfill it—the Lord fulfill it, Master Corbet. But think you it is true? The Chancellor is very bitter against Master Tyndale?"

"The Chancellor is like to need his breath to cool his own porridge, if all tales be true," said my uncle; "but this is not the place, nor does it become us to be talking of such matters. I hope your son may soon return in safety."

When we reached home, which we did in time for supper, Betty was missing. Anne, the laundry-woman, slept in our room that night. The next day we heard that Betty had been sent to her home in the country, and old Madge had gone with her, not choosing to stay after her favorite grandchild was disgraced. I don't think my aunt was very sorry to have the old woman go of her own accord, though she would never have sent her away, for the poor thing was grown so cankered and jealous that she kept the house in hot water. After Betty's departure, some of the other maids were very forward in their tales of her dishonest practices and running out of nights, but my aunt treated these tales with very little ceremony, saying that the time to have told them was not behind Betty's back, but when she was there to speak for herself. I hardly ever saw any one with such a strong sense of justice as Aunt Joyce. It showed itself in all she did, and was one secret of her success in governing a household.

Things had now returned to their usual course. I went about my lessons and my play with the other children, and, warned by what had happened, was careful to give no just cause of offense. My uncle was kinder to me than ever, but there was a cloud on his brow and a look of sadness on his face when his eyes rested on me that I could not understand, and which made me vaguely uneasy.