of mine to
bid me hold a tongue that had spoken sooth to her betters. Thereupon,
what think you, boy? The grooms came and soundly flogged me for
uncomely speech of my Lady Anne! I that was eighteen years with my Lord
Cardinal, and none laid hand on me! Yea, I was beaten; and then shut up
in a dog-hole for three days on bread and water, with none to speak to,
but the other fools jeering at me like a rogue in a pillory."

Ambrose could hardly speak for hot grief and indignation, but he wrung
his uncle's hand, and whispered that he had hid the loose gown behind
the arras of his chamber, but he could do no more, for he was summoned
to attend his master, and a servant further thrust in to say, "Concern
yourself not for that rogue, sir, he hath been saucy, and must mend his
manners, or he will have worse."

"Away, kind sir," said Hal, "you can do the poor fool no further good!
but only bring the pack about the ears of the mangy hound." And he sang
a stave appropriated by a greater man than he--

"Then let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play."

The only hope that Ambrose or his good master could devise for poor
Randall was that Sir Thomas should watch his opportunity and beg the
fool from the King, who might part with him as a child gives away the
once coveted toy that has failed in its hands; but the request would
need circumspection, for all had already felt the change that had taken
place in the temper of the King since Henry had resolutely undertaken
that the wrong should be the right; and Ambrose could not but dread the
effect of desperation on a man whose nature had in it a vein of
impatient recklessness.

It was after dinner, and Dennet, with her little boy and girl, was on
the steps dispensing the salt fish, broken bread, and pottage of the
Lenten meal to the daily troop who came for her alms, when, among them,
she saw, somewhat to her alarm, a gipsy man, who was talking to little
Giles. The boy, a stout fellow of six, was astride on the balustrade,
looking up eagerly into the face of the man, who began imitating the
note of a blackbird. Dennet, remembering the evil propensities of the
gipsy race, called hastily to her little son to come down and return to
her side; but little Giles was unwilling to move, and called to her, "O
mother, come! He hath a bird-call!" In some perturbation lest the man
might be calling her bird away, Dennet descended the steps. She was
about to utter a sharp