the place."

"I know not, mistress," said Hymn-of-Praise, "that thou wast over-fond
of domestic pets ... 'Tis sinful to ..."

"La! Master Busy, you ... hem ... thou mistakest my meaning. I have no
love for such creatures--but without so much as a kitten about the
house, prithee how am I to account to my mistress for the pasties and
... and comfits ... not to speak of breakages."

"There is always Master Courage," suggested Hymn-of-Praise, with a
movement of the left eyelid which in the case of any one less saintly
might have been described as a sly wink.

"That there is not," interrupted the lad decisively; "my stomach rebels
against comfits, and sack-posset could never be laid to my door."

"I give thee assurance, Master Busy," concluded the young girl, "that
the county of Kent no longer suits my constitution. 'Tis London for me,
and thither will I go next year."

"'Tis a den of wickedness," commented Busy sententiously, "in spite of
my Lord Protector, who of a truth doth turn his back on the Saints and
hath even allowed the great George Fox and some of the Friends to
languish in prison, whilst profligacy holds undisputed sway. Master
Courage, meseems those mugs need washing a second time," he added, with
sudden irrelevance. "Take them to the kitchen, and do not let me set
eyes on thee until they shine like pieces of new silver."

Master Courage would have either resisted the order altogether, or at