“By your leave, Master Walgrave,” said I, “here is a matter that presses. If we get not his Grace’s licence now, the occasion for the book will be gone by. How if you let me go to Canterbury, to wait upon him?”
Master Walgrave shrugged his shoulders.
“Have you forgot your last journey for me?” said he. “For if you have, I have not.”
“Oh,” said I, rather sheepish, “I am older than that now. Besides, I know what I go for this time, and have not my business sewn up in my cloak’s lining.”
“’Tis bad weather for so long a journey,” said my mistress.
“I heed not that,” said I, like a hypocrite, “so I get my master his licence.”
“Beside,” said Jeannette, who knew what was afoot, “Humphrey likes to travel, and he pines, I know, to be freed a day or so from my apron strings.”
I vowed she wronged me there; but between us all, my master yielded and said I should start next day to see his Grace.
“Nay,” said I, “I will start to-night. There is no time to lose.”
But they would not hear of that, and for fear of betraying myself, I forbore to press it, and went betimes to bed, promising to be away before daybreak on the morrow.