And darkness it is fled,
And the merry horn wakes up the morn
To leave his idle bed.

"Behold the skies with golden dyes
Are glowing all around,
The grass is green, and so are the treen,
All laughing at the sound."

The sisters sang well, and Agnes enjoyed the music. This song was
followed by others, and Mistress Flint, coming down, joined in; and the
eldest son, Ned, made his appearance and did the same, till there was
almost a concert. At last Mistress Flint stopped the harmony, by
declaring that she could not keep awake five minutes longer; and all
parties made the best of their way to bed.

Mistress Winter was found, on the following morning, to have recovered
as much of her temper as she was usually in the habit of recovering.
That Joan had lost hers was nothing new; it was rarely the case that
both mother and daughter were in an amiable mood together. The former
received Agnes with her customary amenities, merely suggesting, with
pleasantry of her own kind, that of course 'twould be too heavy a toil
for her gracious madamship to carry the water-pails to Horsepool--the
spring in West Smithfield which supplied Cow Lane--and that so soon as
she could hear tell of a gentlewoman lacking of a service, she would
engage her at ten pound by the month to wait of her worshipfulness.
Agnes made no answer in words; she only took up the pails quietly and
went out. As she came up to Horsepool, she spied her friend Mistress
Flint, bent on a similar errand, coming up Cock Lane.

"Dear heart, Agnes!" cried the latter. "Is there none save thee to bear
those heavy pails of water? Methinks yon lazy Joan might lift one, and
be none the worsen. She hath the strength of a horse, and thou barely
so much as a robin."

Agnes smiled her thanks for her friend's sympathy, as she let down the
water-pails.

"I am used to the same, Mistress Flint, I thank you."

"Go to,--wert thou at the Cross t' other morrow? Methought I saw thy
face in the throng."

A light broke over the face, but Agnes only said, "Ay."

"How liked thee yon Friar's discourse?"

"It liked me well."

"Marry, thus said Cicely Marvell, that dwelleth by me. But for me, I
saw none so much therein to make ado o'er. `God loveth men'--ay, to be
sure He doth so: and `we should love God'--why, of course we so should,
and do. Forsooth, what then, I pray you?"

"Why, then, much comfort, as meseemeth," answered Agnes.

"Comfort!" repeated Mrs Flint,