h she.
"Howbeit--what next?"

"Why, then, methinks, I would go to the wars."

"And bring back as many heads, arms, and legs, as thou tookest thither?"

"Oh, for sure," saith _Milly_. "I would not be killed."

"Just. Very well,--Mistress _Milisent_ back from the wars, and covered
with glory. And then?"

"Well--methinks I would love to be a judge for a bit."

"Dry work," saith Aunt _Joyce_. "And then a bishop?"

"Ay, if you will."

"And then?"

"Why, I might as well be a king, while I went about it."

"Quite as well. I am astonished thou hast come thither no sooner. And
then?"

"Well,--I know not what then. You drive one on, Aunt _Joyce_.
Methinks, then, I would come home and see you all, and recount mine
aventures."

"Oh, mightily obliged to your Highness!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_. "I had
thought, when your Majesty were thus up at top of the tree, you should
forget utterly so mean a place as _Selwick_ Hall, and the contemptible
things that inhabit there. And then?"

"Come, I will make an end," saith _Milly_, laughing. "I reckon I should
be a bit wearied by then, and fain to bide at home and take mine ease."

"And pray, what hindereth that your Grace should do that now?" saith
Aunt _Joyce_, looking up with a comical face.

"Well, but I am not aweary, and have no aventures to tell," _Milly_
makes answer.

"Go into the garden and jump five hundred times, _Milly_, and I will
warrant thee to be aweary and thankful for rest. And as to aventures,--
eh, my maid, my maid!" And Aunt _Joyce_ and _Mother_ smiled one upon
the other.

"Now, _Mother_ and _Aunt_, may I say what I think?" cries Milly.

"Prithee, so do, my maid."

"Then, why do you folks that be no longer young, ever damp and chill
young folks that would fain see the world and have some jollity?"

"By reason, _Milly_, that we have been through the world, and we know it
to be a damp place and a cold."

"But all folks do not find it so?"

"God have mercy on them that do not!"

"Now, _Aunt_, what mean you?"

"Dear heart, the brighter the colour of the poisoned sweetmeat, the more
like is the babe to put in his mouth."

"Your parable is above me, Aunt _Joyce_."

"_Milly_, a maiden must give her heart to something. The Lord's word
unto us all is, Give Me thine heart. But most of us will try every
thing else first. And every thing else doth chill and disappoint us.
Yet thou never sawest man nor Woman that had given the heart to God,