reat Andredes Weald,
a vast forest which in Saxon days stretched from Kent to the border of
Hampshire. There was still, in 1556, much of the forest about the
Weald, and even yet it is a well-wooded part of the country, the oak
being its principal tree, though the beech sometimes grows to an
enormous size. Trees of the Weald were sent to Rome for the building of
Saint Peter's.

"And how go matters with you, neighbour?" asked the first speaker, whose
name was Alice Benden.

"Well, none so ill," was the reply. "My master's in full work, and
we've three of our lads at the cloth-works. We're none so bad off as
some."

"I marvel how it shall go with Sens Bradbridge, poor soul! She'll be
bad off enough, or I err greatly."

"Why, how so, trow? I've not heard what ails her."

"Dear heart! then you know not poor Benedict is departed?"

"Eh, you never mean it!" exclaimed the bundle-bearer, evidently shocked.
"Why, I reckoned he'd taken a fine turn toward recovery. Well, be
sure! Ay, poor Sens, I'm sorry for her."

"Two little maids, neither old enough to earn a penny, and she a
stranger in the town, pretty nigh, with never a 'quaintance saving them
near about her, and I guess very few pennies in her purse. Ay, 'tis a
sad look-out for Sens, poor heart."

"Trust me, I'll look in on her, and see what I may do, so soon as I've
borne this fardel home. Good lack! but the burying charges 'll come
heavy on her! and I doubt she's saved nought, as you say, Benedict being
sick so long."

"I scarce think there's much can be done," said Alice, as she moved
forward; "I was in there of early morrow, and Barbara Final, she took
the maids home with her. But a kindly word's not like to come amiss.
Here's Emmet [See Note 1] Wilson at hand: she'll bear you company home,
for I have ado in the town. Good-morrow, Collet."

"Well, good-morrow, Mistress Benden. I'll rest my fardel a bit on the
stile while Emmet comes up."

And, lifting her heavy bundle on the stile, Collet Pardue wiped her
heated face with one end of her mantle--there were no shawls in those
days--and waited for Emmet Wilson to come up.

Emmet was an older woman than either Alice or Collet, being nearly fifty
years of age. She too carried a bundle, though not of so formidable a
size. Both had been to Cranbrook, then the centre of the cloth-working
industry, and its home long before the days of machinery. There were
woven the solid grey broadcloths which gav