was.

Kate, for one, enjoyed it keenly, for little Gerard was put in her
lap, and she doted on him; and it was like a cherub carried by a little
angel, or a rosebud lying in the cup of a lily.

So the vulgar jeered; and asked Luke how a thistle tasted, and if his
mistress could not afford one with four legs, etc.

Luke did not mind these jeers; but Kate minded them for him.

"Thou hast made the cart for me, good Luke," said she, "'Twas much. I
did ill to let thee draw me too; we can afford to pay some poor soul for
that. I love my rides, and to carry little Gerard; but I'd liever ride
no more than thou be mocked fort."

"Much I care for their tongues," said Luke; "if I did care I'd knock
their heads together. I shall draw you till my mistress says give over.

"Luke, if you obey Kate, you will oblige me."

"Then I will obey Kate."

An honourable exception to popular humour was Jorian Ketel's wife. "That
is strength well laid out, to draw the weak. And her prayers will be
your guerdon; she is not long for this world; she smileth in pain."
These were the words of Joan.

Single-minded Luke answered that he did not want the poor lass's prayers
he did it to please his mistress, Margaret.

After that Luke often pressed Margaret to give him something to
do--without success.

But one day, as if tired with his importuning, she turned on him, and
said with a look and accent I should in vain try to convey:

"Find me my boy's father."

CHAPTER LXXXII

"Mistress, they all say he is dead."

"Not so. They feed me still with hopes."

"Ay, to your face, but behind your back they all say he is dead."

At this revelation Margaret's tears began to flow'.

Luke whimpered for company. He had the body of a man but the heart of a
girl.

"Prithee, weep not so, sweet mistress," said he. "I'd bring him back to
life an I could, rather than see thee weed so sore."

Margaret said she thought she was weeping because they were so
double-tongued with her.

She recovered herself, and laying her hand on his shoulder, said
solemnly, "Luke, he is not dead. Dying men are known to have a strange
sight. And listen, Luke! My poor father, when he was a-dying, and I,
simple fool, was so happy, thinking he was going to get well altogether,
he said to mother and me--he was sitting in that very chair where you
are now, and mother was as might be here, and I was yonder making a
sleeve--said he, 'I see him!' I see him! Just so. Not like