Ambrose to bide on here, so he would leave his portion for me to
deal with, and teach little Will his primer and accidence. You are
a quiet lad, Ambrose, and can rule your tongue better than Stephen."

"Thanks, brother John," said Ambrose, somewhat sarcastically, "but
where Stephen goes I go."

"I would--I would have found Stephen a place among the prickers or
rangers, if--" hesitated John. "In sooth, I would yet do it, if he
would make it up with the housewife."

"My father looked higher for his son than a pricker's office,"
returned Ambrose.

"That do I wot," said John, "and therefore, 'tis for his own good
that I would send him forth. His godfather, our uncle Birkenholt,
he will assuredly provide for him, and set him forth--"

The door of the house was opened, and a shrewish voice cried, "Mr.
Birkenholt--here, husband! You are wanted. Here's little Kate
crying to have yonder smooth pouch to stroke, and I cannot reach it
for her."

"Father set store by that otter-skin pouch, for poor Prince Arthur
slew the otter," cried Stephen. "Surely, John, you'll not let the
babes make a toy of that?"

John made a helpless gesture, and at a renewed call, went indoors.

"You are right, Ambrose," said Stephen, "this is no place for us.