h, my dear daughter!" ejaculated her astonished mother.

"Mother, I can't stand it!" was the response. "I must either do this or
something worse. And to drag in the Apostle Paul as a prop for such
hypoc--I'll just go and churn, and perhaps I can talk like a Christian
when I come back!"

Such things as these did not move Lady Louvaine. But there were two
things which did move her, even to tears. The first was when Hans
brought her a little box in which lay five silver pieces, entreating her
to accept them, such as they were--and she found after close
cross-examination that part of the money was the boy's savings to buy
cherished books, and part the result of the sale of his solitary
valuable possession, a pair of silver buckles. The other took place
when notice was given to all the servants. Each received his or her
wages, and a little token of remembrance, with bow or courtesy, and an
expression of regret on leaving so kind a mistress, mingled with good
wishes for her future welfare: all but one. That one was Charity, the
under-housemaid from Pendle. Charity rolled up her arms in her apron,
and said curtly--"Nay!"

"But, Charity, I _owe_ you this," responded her mistress in some
surprise.

"If you're bound to reckon up, my Lady, betwixt you and me, there mun be
somewhat set down o' tother side o' th' book," announced Charity
sturdily. "Yo' mun mind you 'at yo' took me ba'at [without] a
commendation, because nob'ry [nobody] 'd have me at after Mistress
Watson charged me wi' stealing her lace fall, 'at she found at after
amongst her kerchiefs; that's a hundred pound to th' good. And yo'
nursed me through th' fever--that's another. And yo' held me back fro'
wedding wi' yon wastrel [scoundrel] Nym Thistlethwaite, till I'd seen a
bit better what manner of lad he were, and so saved me fro' being a
poor, bruised, heart-broke thing like their Margery is now, 'at he did
wed wi'--and that counts for five hundred at least. That's seven
hundred pound, Madam, and I've nobut twelve i' th' world--I'm bankrupt.
So, if you please, we'll have no reckonings, or I shall come off warst.
And would you please to tell me when you look to be i' London town, and
where you'll 'light first?"

"My good Charity! they named thee not ill," answered Lady Louvaine. "I
trust to be in London the end of March--nigh on Lady Day; and I light at
the White Bear, in the King's Street, Westminster."

"Pray you, Madam, how many miles is it hen