*"For he had geten him yet no benefice."
--Prologue to Canterbury Tales.

Of course this referred to young Wilson, who stole a look to see how
Mary took the idea. He saw her assume the air of a young fury, and
to his next speech she answered not a word.

Mrs. Barton produced the key of the door from her pocket; and on
entering the house-place it seemed as if they were in total
darkness, except one bright spot, which might be a cat's eye, or
might be, what it was, a red-hot fire, smouldering under a large
piece of coal, which John Barton immediately applied himself to
break up, and the effect instantly produced was warm and glowing
light in every corner of the room. To add to this (although the
coarse yellow glare seemed lost in the ruddy glow from the fire),
Mrs. Barton lighted a dip by sticking it in the fire, and having
placed it satisfactorily in a tin candlestick, began to look further
about her, on hospitable thoughts intent. The room was tolerably
large, and possessed many conveniences. On the right of the door,
as you entered, was a longish window, with a broad ledge. On each
side of this, hung blue-and-white check curtains, which were now
drawn, to shut in the friends met to enjoy themselves. Two
geraniums, unpruned and leafy, which stood on the sill, formed a
further defence from out-door pryers. In the corner between the
window and the fireside was a cupboard, apparently full of plates
and dishes, cups and saucers, and some more nondescript articles,
for which one would have fancied their possessors could find no use--
such as triangular pieces of glass to save carving knives and forks
from dirtying table-cloths. However, it was evident Mrs. Barton was