d was made King of Sicily by the Lord Pope, and he
and the other lads were taken away; our little Lady and her cousin
Alianora de Montfort alone were left. The King thought to have made
money by Edmund his son; he was a fair boy in very truth, and he clad
him in Sicilian dress, which was graceful and comely, and showed him
before the Parliament, entreating them to find him money for all these
many expenses. But the Parliament did not seem disposed to pay for
seeing the young Lord. And, indeed, I heard Master Russell say that he
thought it strange the Lord King should make merchandise of his child's
beauty, as though he were some curious animal to be seen in a show. But
Bertha, my dear heart! we clean forgot to buy any honey--and only this
minute is it come to my mind. Tie on thine hood, I pray thee, and run
to the druggist for an half-dozen pounds."

When it is understood that honey held in Avice's cookery and diet the
place that sugar does in ours, the necessity of remedying this mistake
will be seen. Sugar was much too expensive to be used by any but
wealthy people.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note 1. The robes provided for Agnes and Avice are the sole imaginary
items in this account. Sendal was a very thin silk.

CHAPTER SIX.

SET FREE.

As Bertha came back, carefully carrying her jar of honey, she heard a
considerable tumult in a street on her left hand, which led to the Jews'
quarter of the city. In every town, the Jews were shut up in a
particular part of it; and after London itself, the towns in which the
greatest number of Jews lived were Lincoln, York, Norwich, Oxford, and
Northampton. Since the dreadful persecution arising from the (real or
supposed) murder of little Hugh, Lincoln had been comparatively quiet
from such tumults; and Bertha was too young to know anything about it
but from hearsay. Wondering if some fresh commotion was going to arise,
and anxious to be safe at home before it should begin, Bertha quickened
her steps. There were only three more streets to cross, one of which
was a dark, narrow alley leading directly to the Jews' quarter. As
Bertha crossed this, she heard a low, frightened call upon her name, and
a slight figure crept out and crouched at her feet.

"O Bertha!" said a girl's voice, broken by sobs and terrified catching
of the breath, "you are kind-hearted; I know you are. You saved a
little dog that the dreadful