The two families previously alluded to lived at the southern end of Cow Lane, and their respective names were Flint and Marvell. Mistress Flint was a cheerful, good-tempered woman, with whom life went easily, and who had a large family of sons and daughters, the youngest but one, little Will, being a special favourite with Agnes. The Marvells were very quiet people, who kept their opinions and feelings to themselves; though their son Christie, a mischievous lad of some twelve years, was renowned in Cow Lane for the exact opposite. The day was drawing towards evening, when Agnes, as she turned round from emptying a pail of dirty water into the common sewer of Cow Lane, detected the burly figure of Father Dan, the Cordelier Friar, who was Mistress Winter's family confessor, coming up from Seacoal Lane. Not without some fears of his errand, she waited till he came near, and then humbly louted--the ancient English reverence, now conventionally supposed to be restricted to charity children. "Christ save all here!" said the priest, holding up three fingers in the style of benediction peculiar to his Order. Taking no further notice of Agnes, he marched within, to be cordially welcomed, and his blessing begged, by Mistress Winter and Dorothy; for Joan was gone to see the bear-baiting in Southwark. Father Dan was a priest of the popular type--florid, fat, and jovial. His penances were light and easy to those who had it in their power to ask him to dinner, or to make gifts to his Order. It might be that they were all the harder to those from whom such favours were not expected. The Cordelier took his seat at the supper-table just laid by Dorothy, this being an easy and dainty style of work in which that young lady condescended to employ her delicate hands. Mistress Winter was busily occupied with a skillet containing some savoury compound, and the Friar's eyes twinkled with expectant gastronomic delight as he watched the proceedings of his hostess. Supper being at last ready, the three prepared to do justice to it, while Agnes waited upon them. A golden flood of buttered eggs was poured upon the dish in front of the Friar, a cherry pie stood before Dorothy, while Mistress Winter, her sleeves rolled up, and her widow's barb [Note 2] laid aside because of the heat, was energetically attacking some ribs of beef. "Had Joan no purpose to be back for supper, Doll?" demanded her mother. "Nay," said Dorothy; "Mall Whitelock bade her to supper in Long Lane. I heard them discoursing of the same." "And what news abroad, Father?" asked Mistress Winter. "Pray you, give me leave to help you to another shive of the beef. Agnes, thou lither [wicked] jade, whither hast set the mustard?"