was admonished to use its best endeavours to reach
Briton's Mead without delay, and Mistress Tabitha, tongue and all, was
left behind on the road.

"Eh, Mistress, but I'm fain to see you!" said Mary that evening, as she
and Alice stood in the pleasant glow of the kitchen fire. "I've had a
weary fortnight on't, with Master that contrarious, I couldn't do nought
to suit him, and Mistress Hall a-coming day by day to serve him wi'
vinegar and pepper. Saints give folks may be quiet now! We've had
trouble enough to last us this bout."

"I am glad to come home, Mall," was the gentle answer. "But man is born
to trouble, and I scarce think we have seen an end of ours. God
learneth His servants by troubles."

"Well, I wouldn't mind some folks being learned thus, but I'd fain see
other some have a holiday. What shall I dress for supper, Mistress?
There's a pheasant and a couple of puffins, and a platter of curds and
whey, and there's a sea-pie in the larder, and a bushel o' barberries."

"That shall serve, Mall. We had best lay in some baconed herrings for
next fish-day; your master loves them."

"Afore I'd go thinking what he loved, if I were you!"

This last reflection on Mary's part was not allowed to be audible, but
it was very earnest notwithstanding.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

REPENTING HIS REPENTANCE.

It was Saturday evening, and three days after Alice returned home. Mr
Benden sat in the chimney-corner, having just despatched a much more
satisfactory supper than Mary had ever allowed him to see during her
mistress's imprisonment; and Alice, her household duties finished for
the day, came and sat in the opposite corner with her work.

The chimney-corner, at that date, was literally a chimney-corner. There
were no grates, and the fire of logs blazed on a wide square hearth,
around which, and inside the chimney, was a stone seat, comfortably
cushioned, and of course extremely warm. This was the usual evening
seat of the family, especially its elder and more honourable members.
How they contrived to stand the very close quarters to the blazing logs,
and how they managed never to set themselves on fire, must be left to
the imagination.

Alice's work this evening was knitting. Stockings? Certainly not; the
idea of knitted stockings had not yet dawned. Stockings were still, as
they had been for centuries, cut out of woollen cloth, and sewn together
like any other garment. The woman who was to immortalise her