, that six months before
he had voluntarily cancelled his indentures, and made him his partner in
the business. Nothing changed Hans Floriszoon. He had sung as cheerily
in his humble apprenticeship, and would have done so had he been Lord
Mayor of London, as now when he came down the back road, lantern in
hand, every evening as regularly as the clock struck four, Mrs Abbott
declared that she set her clock by Hans whenever it stopped, which it
did frequently, for it was an ancient piece of goods, and suffered from
an asthmatic affection.

"There's Mestur 'Ans!" said Charity. "See thee, Rachel, I'll teem them
eggs into th' pan; thou doesn't need to come."

Rachel sat by the window, trying to finish making a new apron before
supper.

"That's a good lass," she said. "Eh, but it's a dark day; they'll none
see a white horse a mile off to-night." [Note 1.]

"They'd have better e'en nor me to see it any night," said Charity,
breaking the eggs into the pan.

"Hearken to th' lad!" said Rachel. "Eh, it's gradely [excellent,
exactly right] music, is that!"

"He sings well, does Mestur 'Ans."

The words were audible now, as the singer unlatched the gate, and turned
into the garden.

"And in the presence of my foes
My table Thou shalt spread:
Thou shalt, O Lord, fill full my cup,
And eke anoint mine head.

"Through all my life Thy favour is
So frankly showed to me,
That in Thy house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be."

Hans lifted the latch and came into the kitchen.

"Here's a clean floor, Rachel! Tarry a minute, while I pluck off my
shoes, and I will run across in my stocking-feet. It shall be `February
Fill-dyke,' methinks, ere the day break."

"He's as good as my Lady and Mrs Edith, for not making work," said
Charity as Hans disappeared.

"I would we could set him i' th' garden, and have a crop on him,"
responded Rachel. "He's th' only man I ever knew that 'd think for a
woman."

"Eh, lass, yo' never knew Sir Aubrey!" was Charity's grave comment.

There was a good deal for Hans to hear that evening, and he listened
silently while Edith told the tale, and Temperance now and then
interspersed sarcastic observations. When at last the story was told,
Hans said quietly--

"Say you that you look to see Aubrey again to-orrow?"

"Lady Lettice doth, and Edith. Not I," said Temperance. "'Tis a case
wherein too many cooks might spoil the broth, and the lad shall be