. He will purvey me to a
page's place in some noble household, and get thee a clerk's or
scholar's place in my Lord of York's house. Mayhap there will be room
for us both there, for my Lord of York hath a goodly following of armed
men."

"Which way lies the road to London?"

"We must back into the town and ask, as well as fill our stomachs and
our wallets," said Ambrose. "Talk of their rule! The entertaining of
strangers is better understood at Silkstede than at Hyde."

"Tush! A grudged crust sticks in the gullet," returned Stephen. "Come
on, Ambrose, I marked the sign of the White Hart by the market-place.
There will be a welcome there for foresters."

They returned on their steps past the dilapidated buildings of the old
Jewry, and presently saw the market in full activity; but the sounds and
sights of busy life where they were utter strangers, gave Ambrose a
sense of loneliness and desertion, and his heart sank as the bolder
Stephen threaded the way in the direction of a broad entry over which
stood a slender-bodied hart with gold hoofs, horns, collar, and chain.

"How now, my sons?" said a full cheery voice, and to their joy, they
found themselves pushed up against Father Shoveller.

"Returned already! Did you get scant welcome at Hyde? Here, come where
we can get a free breath, and tell me."

They passed through the open gateway of the White Hart, into the court,
but before listening to them, the monk exchanged greetings with the
hostess, who stood at the door in a broad hat and velvet bodice, and
demanded what cheer there was for noon-meat.

"A jack, reverend sir, eels and a grampus fresh sent up from Hampton;
also fresh-killed mutton for such lay folk as are not curious of the
Wednesday fast. They are laying the board even now."

"Lay platters for me and these two young gentlemen," said the
Augustinian. "Ye be my guests, ye wot," he added, "since ye tarried not
for meat at Hyde."

"Nor did they ask us," exclaimed Stephen; "lubbers and idlers were the
best words they had for us."

"Ho! ho! That's the way with the brethren of Saint Grimbald! And your
uncle?"

"Alas, sir, he doteth with age," said Ambrose. "He took Stephen for his
own brother, dead under King Harry of Windsor."

"So! I had heard somewhat of his age and sickness. Who was it who
thrust you out?"

"A lean brother with a thin red beard, and a shrewd, puckered visage."

"Ha! By that token 'twas Segrim the bursar. He wo