Straying from y^e others, to a remote corner of the meadow, or ever I was aware, I came close upon Gammer Gurney, holding somewhat with much care. "Give ye good den, Mistress Meg," quoth she, "I cannot abear to rob y^e birds of theire nests; but I knows you and yours be kind to dumb creatures, soe here's a nest o' young owzels for ye--and I can't call 'em dumb nowther, for they'll sing bravelie some o' these days." "How hast fared, of late, Gammer?" quoth I. "Why, well enow for such as I," she made answer; "since I lost y^e use o' my right hand, I can nowther spin, nor nurse sick folk, but I pulls rushes, and that brings me a few pence, and I be a good herbalist; and, because I says one or two English prayers and hates y^e priests, some folks thinks me a witch." "But why dost hate y^e priests?" quoth I. "Never you mind," she gave answer, "I've reasons manie; and for my English prayers, they were taught me by a gentleman I nursed, that's now a saint in heaven, along with poor Joan." And soe she hobbled off, and I felt kindlie towards her, I scarce knew why--perhaps because she spake soe lovingly of her dead sister, and because of that sister's name. _My_ mother's name was Joan. * * * * * Erasmus is gone. His last saying to father was, "They will have you at court yet;" and father's answer, "When Plato's year comes round." To me he gave a copy, how precious! of his Testament. "You are an elegant Latinist, Margaret," he was pleased to say, "but, if you woulde drink deeplie of y^e well-springs of wisdom, applie to Greek. The Latins have onlie shallow rivulets; the Greeks, copious rivers, running over sands of gold. Read Plato; he wrote on marble, with a diamond; but above alle, read y^e New Testament. 'Tis the key to the kingdom of heaven." To Mr. Gunnel, he said, smiling, "Have a care of thyself, dear Gonellus, and take a little wine for thy stomach's sake. The wages of most scholars nowadays, are weak eyes, ill-health, an empty purse, and shorte commons. I neede only bid thee beware of the two first." To Bess, "Farewell, Bessy; thank you for mending my bad Latin. When I write to you, I will be sure to signe myselfe 'Roterodamius.' Farewell, sweete, Cecil; let me always continue your 'desired amiable.' And you, Jacky,--love your book a little more." "Jack's deare mother, not content with her girls," sayth father, "was alwaies wishing for a boy, and at last she had one that means to remain a boy alle his life."