eadiness and the impudence of the Londoner in his manner, when he
turned to answer the question. He knew many in my Lord of York's
house--as many as a man was like to know where there was a matter of two
hundred folk between clerks and soldiers, he had often crushed a pottle
with them. No; he had never heard of one called Randall, neither in hat
nor cowl, but he knew more of them by face than by name, and more by by
name than surname or christened name. He was certainly not the archer
who had brought a token for Mistress Birkenholt, and his comrades all
avouched equal ignorance on the subject. Nothing could be gained there,
and while Father Shoveller rubbed his bald head in consideration,
Stephen rose to take leave.

"Look you here, my fair son," said the monk. "Starting at this hour,
though the days be long, you will not reach any safe halting place with
daylight, whereas by lying a night in this good city, you might reach
Alton to-morrow, and there is a home where the name of Brother Shoveller
will win you free lodging and entertainment."

"And to-night, good Father?" inquired Ambrose.

"That will I see to, if ye will follow me."

Stephen was devoured with impatience during the farewells in the Castle,
but Ambrose represented that the good man was giving them much of his
time, and that it would be unseemly and ungrateful to break from him.

"What matter is it of his? And why should he make us lose a whole day?"
grumbled Stephen.

"What special gain would a day be to us?" sighed Ambrose. "I am
thankful that any should take heed for us."

"Ay, you love leading-strings," returned Stephen. "Where is he going
now? All out of our way!"

Father Shoveller, however, as he went down the Castle hill, explained
that the Warden of Saint Elizabeth's Hospital was his friend, and
knowing him to have acquaintance among the clergy of Saint Paul's, it
would be well to obtain a letter of commendation from him, which might
serve them in good stead in case they were disappointed of finding their
uncle at once.

"It would be better for Spring to have a little more rest," thought
Stephen, thus mitigating his own longing to escape from the monks and
friars, of whom Winchester seemed to be full.

They had a kindly welcome in the pretty little college of Saint
Elizabeth of Hungary, lying in the meadows between William of Wykeham's
College and the round hill of Saint Catherine. The Warden was a more
scholarly and ecclesiast