now goes to the palace of the Tower, to mutter good spells in King
Edward's ear,--spells to defeat the malignant ones, and to lower the
price of beer. Wax wobiscum!"

With that salutation, more benevolent than accurate, the friar
vanished from the room; the chief of the tymbesteres leaped lightly on
the table, put one foot on the soldier's shoulder, and sprang through
the open lattice. She found the friar in the act of mounting a sturdy
mule, which had been tied to a post by the door.

"Fie, Graul Skellet! Fie, Graul!" said the conjurer "Respect for my
serge. We must not be noted together out of door in the daylight.
There's a groat for thee. Vade, execrabilis,--that is, good-day to
thee, pretty rogue!"

"A word, friar, a word. Wouldst thou have the old man burned,
drowned, or torn piecemeal? He hath a daughter too, who once sought
to mar our trade with her gittern; a daughter, then in a kirtle that I
would not have nimmed from a hedge, but whom I last saw in sarcenet
and lawn, with a great lord for her fere." The tymbestere's eyes
shone with malignant envy, as she added, "Graul Skellet loves not to
see those who have worn worsted and say walk in sarcenet and lawn.
Graul Skellet loves not wenches who have lords for their feres, and
yet who shrink from Graul and her sisters as the sound from the
leper."

"Fegs," answered the friar, impatiently, "I know naught against the
daughter,--a pretty lass, but too high for my kisses. And as for the
father, I want not the man's life,--that is, not very specially,--but
his model, his mechanical. He may go free, if that can be compassed;