regarding them wistfully, had little in common with the lithe
tumbler full of absurdities whom they had left at York House.

"Even so, my good lad. Thou art right in that," said he gravely.
"Harder than I trust will ever be the lot of you two, my sweet
Moll's sons. She never guessed that I was come to this."

"O no," said Stephen. "She always thought thou--thou hadst some
high preferment in--"

"And so I have," said Randall with something of his ordinary humour.
"There's no man dares to speak such plain truth to my lord--or for
that matter to King Harry himself, save his own Jack-a-Lee--and he,
being a fool of nature's own making, cannot use his chances, poor
rogue! And so the poor lads came up to London hoping to find a
gallant captain who could bring them to high preferment, and found
nought but--Tom Fool! I could find it in my heart to weep for them!
And so thou mindest clutching the mistletoe on nunk Hal's shoulder.
I warrant it groweth still on the crooked May bush? And is old
Bobbin alive?"

They answered his questions, but still as if under a great shock,
and presently he said, as they paced up and down the garden walks,
"Ay, I have been sore bestead, and I'll tell you how it came about,
boys, and mayhap ye will pardon the poor fool, who would not own you
sooner, lest ye should come in for mockery ye have not learnt to
brook." There was a sadness and pleading in his tone that touched
Ambrose, and he drew nearer to his uncle, who laid a hand on his
shoulder, and presently the other on that of Stephen, who shrank a
little at first, but submitted. "Lads, I need not tell you why I