all England some day, surely."

"Heaven ordains a fair life for some new-born things, 'twould seem,"
said Bush, "and a black one for others; and the good can no more be
escaped than the bad. There goes my Matthew in his ploughboy's smock
across the fields. 'Tis a good lad and a handsome. Why was he not a
great lord's son?"

Neighbour Watt laughed.

"Because thou wert an honest woman and not a beauty," quoth she.

The small black eyes set deep in Bush's broad red face twinkled
somewhat at the rough jest, but not in hearty mirth. She rubbed her
hand across her mouth with an awkward gesture.

"Ay," answered she, "but 'twas not that I meant. I thought of all this
child is born to--love and wealth and learning--and that others are
born to naught but ill."

"Lawk! let us not even speak of ill on such a day," said her neighbour.
"Look at the sky's blueness and the spring bursting forth in every
branch and clod--and the very skylarks singing hard as if for joy."

"Ay," said Joan Bush, "and look up village street to the Plough Horse,
and see thy Gregory and my Will and their mates pouring down ale to
drink a health to it--and to her Grace and to my lord Duke, and to the
fine Court doctors, and to the nurses, and to the Chaplain, and to old
Rowe who waits about to be ready to ring a peal on the church bells.
They'll find toasts enough, I warrant."