His present feeling was relief from the hideous load he had felt
while dwelling on the Dance of Death, and therewith general goodwill
to all men, which found its first issue in compassion for Giles
Headley, whom he found on his return seated on the steps--moody and
miserable.

"Would that you had been with us," said Ambrose, sitting down beside
him on the step. "Never have I heard such words as to-day."

"I would not be seen in the street with that scarecrow," murmured
Giles. "If my mother could have guessed that he was to be set over
me, I had never come here."

"Surely you knew that he was foreman."

"Yea, but not that I should be under him--I whom old Giles vowed
should be as his own son--I that am to wed yon little brown moppet,
and be master here! So, forsooth," he said, "now he treats me like
any common low-bred prentice."

"Nay," said Ambrose, "an if you were his son, he would still make
you serve. It's the way with all craftsmen--yea and with
gentlemen's sons also. They must be pages and squires ere they can
be knights."

"It never was the way at home. I was only bound prentice to my
father for the name of the thing, that I might have the freedom of
the city, and become head of our house."