"We hoped to receive counsel from our uncle at Hyde," added Ambrose.

"Have ye no purpose now?" inquired the Father, his jolly good-
humoured face showing much concern.

"Yea," manfully returned Stephen. "'Twas what I ever hoped to do,
to fare on and seek our fortune in London."

"Ha! To pick up gold and silver like Dick Whittington. Poor old
Spring here will scarce do you the part of his cat," and the monk's
hearty laugh angered Stephen into muttering, "We are no fools," but
Father Shoveller only laughed the more, saying, "Fair and softly, my
son, ye'll never pick up the gold if ye cannot brook a kindly quip.
Have you friends or kindred in London?"

"Yea, that have we, sir," cried Stephen; "our mother's own brother,
Master Randall, hath come to preferment there in my Lord Archbishop
of York's household, and hath sent us tokens from time to time,
which we will show you."

"Not while we be feasting," said Father Shoveller, hastily checking
Ambrose, who was feeling in his bosom. "See, the knaves be bringing
their grampus across the court. Here, we'll clean our hands, and be
ready for the meal;" and he showed them, under a projecting gallery
in the inn yard a stone trough, through which flowed a stream of
water, in which he proceeded to wash his hands and face, and to wipe
them in a coarse towel suspended nigh at hand. Certainly after
handling sheep freely there was need, though such ablutions were a
refinement not indulged in by all the company who assembled round