“Ah!” exclaimed Sir Thomas, “there is my poor jester playing his pranks and spoiling all my garden.”
“Henry Pattison!” cried the children, laughing.
“Himself,” said Sir Thomas.
At that moment the little fool, dressed in a scarlet coat all covered with gold lace, opened the gate, and, putting out his great, flat head, made a thousand grimaces, accompanied by roars of laughter and savage cries, which he endeavored to render agreeable, in order to express the gratification he felt at the return of his master.
“Ah! well, what news do you bring us?” said More, looking at him.
“Master,” replied the fool, opening a mouth so wide that it might have better fitted a giant than a dwarf, “father is sick.”
“What! my father sick?” cried More, greatly alarmed.
“Yes, my lord,” replied the jester.
But Sir Thomas, without awaiting his response, rushed into the house and disappeared.
* * * * *