d words. When the long waiting for the English
fleet was mentioned, a kind of shudder passed over her, as if her
recollection of that time were painful and distinct enough; but
otherwise she stood motionless until the concluding question. Then she
answered--

"Ay, Dame--no, I would say: I mind it well."

"Thou shouldest! Then quote not Avena Foljambe to me. I care not a
brass nail for Avena Foljambe. Hand me yonder weary gear. It is better
than counting one's fingers, maybe."

Amphillis stooped and gathered up the scattered broidery, glancing at
Perrote to see if she were doing right. As she approached her mistress
to offer them, Perrote whispered, hurriedly, "On the knee, child! on the
knee!" and Amphillis, blushing for her mistake, dropped on one knee.
She was hoping that the lady would not be angry--that she could be
severely so, there could be no doubt--and she was much relieved to see
her laugh.

"Thou foolish old woman!" she said to Perrote, as she took her work
back. Then addressing Amphillis, she added,--"Seest thou, my maid, man
hath poured away the sparkling wine out of reach of my thirsty lips; and
this silly old Perrote reckons it of mighty moment that the empty cup be
left to shine on the buffet. What matters it if the caged eagle have
his perch gilded or no? He would a thousand times liefer sit of a bare
rock in the sun than of a perch made of gold, and set with emeralds. So
man granteth me the gilded perch, to serve me on the knee like a queen,
and he setteth it with emeralds, to call me Duchess in lieu of Countess,
and he reckoneth that shall a-pay the caged eagle for her lost liberty,
and her quenched sunlight, and the grand bare rock on the mountain tops.
It were good enough for the dove to sit on the pigeon-house, and preen
her feathers, and coo, and take decorous little flights between the
dovecote and the ground whereon her corn lieth. She cares for no more.
The bare rock would frighten her, and the sun would dazzle her eyes. So
man bindeth the eagle by a bond long enough for the dove, and quoth he,
`Be patient!' I am not patient. I am not a silly dove, that I should
be so. Chide me not, old woman, to tug at my bond. I am an eagle."

"Ah, well, Dame!" said Perrote, with a sigh. "The will of God must
needs be done."

"I marvel if man's will be alway God's, in sooth. Folks say, whatever
happeth, `God's will be done.' Is everything His will?--the evil things
no less than the