he
was vanquished, and then the crown passed into the keeping of another
victor.

Mary Gifford thanked the man, who had been so kind to her boy, with one of
her sweetest smiles, and Ambrose, at her bidding, said,--

'Thank you, kind sir, for letting me see the show. I'd like to see the game
of bowls now where all the folk are going.'

'No, no, Ambrose! you have had enough. We must go home, and you must get to
bed early, for your little legs must be tired.'

'Tired! I'd never be tired of seeing horses gallop and prance. Only, I long
to be astride of one, as I was of Mr Philip Sidney's.'

Mother and son pursued their way up the hill, Ambrose going over the events
of the day in childish fashion--wanting no reply, nor even attention from
his mother, while she was thinking over the different ways in matters of
religion of those who called themselves Christians.

These Sunday sports were denounced by some as sinful--and a sign of return
to the thraldom of Popery from which the kingdom had been delivered; others
saw in them no harm, if they did not actually countenance them by their
presence; while others, like herself, had many misgivings as to the
desirability of turning the day of rest into a day of merry-making, more,
perhaps, from personal taste and personal feeling than from principle.

When Mary Gifford reached Ford Manor, she found it deserted, and only one
old serving-man keeping guard. The mistress had gone with the rest of the
household to a prayer and praise meeting, held in the barn belonging to a
neighbouring yeoman, two miles away; and he only hoped, he said, that she
might return in a sweeter temper than she went. She had rated him and
scolded all round till she had scarce a breath left in her.

The old man was, like all the other servants, devoted to the gentle lady
who had gone out from her home a fair young girl, and had returned a sad
widow with her only child, overshadowed by a great trouble, the particulars
of which no one knew.

The rest of that Sabbath day was quiet and peaceful.

Mary read from Tyndale's version of the Testament her favourite chapter
from the Epistle of St John, and the love of which it told seemed to fill
her with confidence and descend dove-like upon her boy's turbulent young
heart.

He was in his softest, tenderest mood, and, as Mary pressed him close to
her side, she felt comforted, and said to herself,--

'While I have my boy, I can bear all things, with God's help.'