gh it and sweeten all so quickly! Then Margot
and Mary taught me clear-starching. Last year I tied the herbs and
tended the herb-attic; I grew the rosemary and sweet-basil in my own
garden, and Big Hans brought us marjoram. There is no thyme and summer
savoury like the Dame's, though."

"And what does the Dame pay you for all this?" she asked.

"Each of us has a great piece of the fine weaving--enough for
body-linen," said Elspeth, "and some of the coarser to lay aside for our
chests; a gown and shoes at Christmas; a goose to send home at
Michaelmas (and Dame always adds a good flitch of bacon--she is so
generous, the Dame!) and a gold piece at Easter. When little Myrta was
married she had a silk gown and a great bag of fine flour and pillows
and mattress for her bed. And it is well known that Joan will have a
silver porringer and spoons and the carved chest with real Damask
napkins."

"And you have no sports--no games? You slave here the year round for a
flitch of bacon and a bit of linen?"

"No, indeed, madam; it is not so! We are always having a treat! Why,
think now: at Christmas, the holidays, the gifts, the carols and the
games, with fiddler and spiced wine and all manner of cakes; at harvest,
the great dance, the prizes, the ale; at Easter, the church trimming,
the gold-pieces sent home and the pick of the lambs for the one that
does best at Catechism (but that is the little ones); at mid-summer, the
fairings----"

"And who come to these fairs?" she asked quickly.

Elspeth hung her head and coloured, glancing about as one caught in a
trap.

"Enough of this nonsense!" the woman cried, upsetting the spotless linen
angrily. "Tell me where I am and what game you play here! I will go
myself and soon be quit of this wonderful Farm of yours and this
masquerading Dame!"

"Elspeth," said the grave voice of the Dame herself, "you will be always
at the talk, my child, and now you have made trouble, and you, my dear,
if I were to tell you where you were, how would it help you to go
elsewhere? Listen to me. Through yonder door you may go at this moment,
but I advise you not to go without the great hound, for much is on the
moors that is far from safe. And at the end he will only bring you here,
for he knows no other way, and you would wander endlessly there."

She looked, and around the edge of the tilled land she saw mile upon
mile of desolate moor. Rushing to the window at the end of the hall,
she saw the pastur