me to be sport for his foes! I think of
it day and night, and I've not a gibe left under my belt!"

"Nay," said Ambrose, "it may have been that the Cardinal hoped to secure
a true friend at the King's ear, as well as to provide for thee."

"Had he but said so--"

"Nay, perchance he trusted to thy sharp wit."

A gleam came into Hal's eyes. "It might be so. Thou always wast a
toward lad, Ambrose, and if so, I was cur and fool indeed to baulk him."

Therewith one of the other fools danced back exhibiting a silver crown
that had just been flung to him, mopping and mowing, and demanding when
Patch would have wit to gain the like. Whereto Hal replied by pointing
to Ambrose and declaring that that gentleman had given him better than
fifty crowns. And that night, Sir Thomas told Ambrose that the Quipsome
one had recovered himself, had been more brilliant than ever and had
quite eclipsed the other fools.

On the next opportunity, Ambrose contrived to pack in his cloak-bag, the
cap and loose garment in which his uncle was wont to cover his motley.
The Court was still at Windsor; but nearly the whole of Sir Thomas's
stay elapsed without Ambrose being able to find his uncle. Wolsey had
been very ill, and the King had relented enough to send his own
physician to attend him. Ambrose began to wonder if Hal could have
found any plea for rejoining his old master; but in the last hour of his
stay, he found Hal curled up listlessly on a window seat of a gallery,
his head resting on his hand.

"Uncle, good uncle! At last! Thou art sick?"

"Sick at heart, lad," said Hal, looking up. "Yea, I took thy counsel.
I plucked up a spirit, I made Harry laugh as of old, though my heart
smote me, as I thought how he was wont to be answered by my master. I
even brooked to jest with the night-crow, as my own poor lord called
this Nan Boleyn. And lo you now, when his Grace was touched at my
lord's sickness, I durst say there was one sure elixir for such as he,
to wit a gold Harry; and that a King's touch was a sovereign cure for
other disorders than the King's evil. Harry smiled, and in ten minutes
more would have taken horse for Esher, had not Madam Nan claimed his
word to ride out hawking with her. And next, she sendeth me a warning
by one of her pert maids, that I should be whipped, if I spoke to his
Grace of unfitting matters. My flesh could brook no more, and like a
born natural, I made answer that Nan Boleyn was no mistress