"Set down nothing because it should go in a chronicle, but only those matters wherein thyself was interested." "But that, Jack," said I, laughing as I looked up on him, "shall be the `Annals of Cicely' over again; wherewith I thought thou wert not compatient." [Pleased, satisfied; the adjective of compassion.] "Nay, the Annals of Cicely were Cicely's fancies and feelings," he made answer: "this should be what Cicely heard and saw." I sat and meditated thereon. "And afore thou wear thy fingers to the bone with thy much scribing," saith he, with that manner of smile of his eyes which Jack hath, "call thou Father Philip to write at thy mouth, good wife." "Nay, verily!" quoth I. "I would be loth to call off Father Philip from his godly meditations, though I cast no doubt he were both fairer scribe and better chronicler than I." To speak sooth, it was Father Philip learned me to write, and the master should be better than the scholar. I marvel more that have leisure learn not to write. Jack cannot, nor my mother, and this it was that made my said mother desirous to have me taught, for she said, had she wist the same, she could have kept a rare chronicle when she dwelt at the Court, and sith my life was like to be there also, she would fain have me able to do so. I prayed Father Philip to learn my discreet Alice, for I could trust her not to make an ill use thereof; but I feared to trust my giddy little Vivien with such edged tools as Jack saith pen and ink be. And in very sooth it were a dread thing if any amongst us should be entrapped into intelligence with the King's enemies, or such treasonable matter; and of this are wise men ever afeared, when their wives or daughters learn to write. For me, I were little feared of such matter as that: and should rather have feared (for such as Vivien) the secret scribing of love-letters to unworthy persons. Howbeit, Jack is wiser than I, and he saith it were dangerous to put such power into the hands of most men and women. Lo! here again am I falling into the Annals of Cicely. Have back, Dame Cicely, an' it like you. Methinks I had best win back: yet how shall I get out of the said Annals, and forward on my journey, when the very next thing that standeth to be writ is mine own marriage?