“Nay touching that, father Simon,” said the smith, “now that you are cool enough to hear me, I can swear on the Gospels, and I can call my nurse, Dame Shoolbred, to witness—”
“Nay—nay,” said the glover, “but wherefore rake up differences which should all be forgotten?”
“Hark ye, Simon!—Simon Glover!” This was now echoed from beneath.
“True, son Smith,” said the glover, seriously, “we have other work in hand. You and I must to the council instantly. Catharine shall remain here with Dame Shoolbred, who will take charge of her till we return; and then, as the town is in misrule, we two, Harry, will carry her home, and they will be bold men that cross us.”
“Nay, my dear father,” said Catharine, with a smile, “now you are taking Oliver Proudfute’s office. That doughty burgher is Henry’s brother at arms.”
Her father’s countenance grew dark.
“You have spoke a stinging word, daughter; but you know not what has happened. Kiss him, Catharine, in token of forgiveness.”
“Not so,” said Catharine; “I have done him too much grace already. When he has seen the errant damsel safe home, it will be time enough to claim his reward.”
“Meantime,” said Henry, “I will claim, as your host, what you will not allow me on other terms.”
He folded the fair maiden in his arms, and was permitted to take the salute which she had refused to bestow.