not, therefore, a large circle of friends.

It wanted only an hour of noon, and the noble Count had not
descended. The men were waiting for him, and spent much of the
Queen's money (earned by the sale of their bodies overnight) while
thus expecting him. Perhaps Mrs. Catherine expected him too, for
she had offered many times to run up--with my Lord's boots--with the
hot water--to show Mr. Brock the way; who sometimes condescended to
officiate as barber. But on all these occasions Mrs. Score had
prevented her; not scolding, but with much gentleness and smiling.
At last, more gentle and smiling than ever, she came downstairs and
said, "Catherine darling, his honour the Count is mighty hungry this
morning, and vows he could pick the wing of a fowl. Run down,
child, to Farmer Brigg's and get one: pluck it before you bring it,
you know, and we will make his Lordship a pretty breakfast."

Catherine took up her basket, and away she went by the back-yard,
through the stables. There she heard the little horse-boy whistling
and hissing after the manner of horseboys; and there she learned
that Mrs. Score had been inventing an ingenious story to have her
out of the way. The ostler said he was just going to lead the two
horses round to the door. The Corporal had been, and they were
about to start on the instant for Stratford.

The fact was that Count Gustavus Adolphus, far from wishing to pick
the wing of a fowl, had risen with a horror and loathing for
everything in the shape of food, and for any liquor stronger than
small beer. Of this he had drunk a cup, and said he should ride
immediately to Stratford; and when, on ordering his horses, he had
asked politely of the landlady "why the d---- SHE always came up,