"What's this?" demanded Ambrose. "'Tis a noble house."

"That's the Bishop's palace, sir--a man that hath much to answer
for."

"Liveth he so ill a life then?"

"Not so. He is no scandalous liver, but he would fain stifle all
the voices that call for better things. Ay, you look back at yon
ballad-monger! Great folk despise the like of him, never guessing
at the power there may be in such ribald stuff; while they would
fain silence that which might turn men from their evil ways while
yet there is time."

Tibble muttered this to himself, unheeded by Ambrose, and then
presently crossing the church-yard, where a grave was being filled
up, with numerous idle children around it, he conducted the youth
into a curious little chapel, empty now, but with the Host enthroned
above the altar, and the trestles on which the bier had rested still
standing in the narrow nave.

It was intensely still and cool, a fit place indeed for Ambrose's
filial devotions, while Tibble settled himself on the step, took out
a little black book, and became absorbed. Ambrose's Latin
scholarship enabled him to comprehend the language of the round of
devotions he was rehearsing for the benefit of his father's soul;
but there was much repetition in them, and he had been so trained as
to believe their correct recital was much more important than
attention to their spirit, and thus, while his hands held his