Lady Oxford turned with a smile to Temperance. "It seems to me, Mrs Temperance, that your words be something sharp." "Well, Madam, to tell truth, folks do put me out now and again more than a little. Many's the time I long to give Faith a good shaking; and I could have laid a stick on Aubrey's back middling often,--I'll not say I couldn't: but if the lad sees his blunders and is sorry for 'em, I'll put my stick in the corner." "I think I would leave it tarry there for the present," said Lady Oxford, with a soft little laugh. "God grant you a good even!" The coach had only just rolled away, and four youthful Abbotts, whom it had glued to the window, were still flattening their noses against the diamond panes, when a clear, strong, sweet voice rang out on the evening air in the back road which led by the palings of Saint James's Park. Both Edith and Temperance knew well whose voice it was. They heard it every night, lifted up in one of the Psalms of David, as Hans Floriszoon came home from his work with the mercer. Hans was no longer an apprentice. Mr Leigh had taken such a fancy to him, and entertained so complete a trust both in his skill and honesty, that six months before he had voluntarily cancelled his indentures, and made him his partner in the business. Nothing changed Hans Floriszoon. He had sung as cheerily in his humble apprenticeship, and would have done so had he been Lord Mayor of London, as now when he came down the back road, lantern in hand, every evening as regularly as the clock struck four, Mrs Abbott declared that she set her clock by Hans whenever it stopped, which it did frequently, for it was an ancient piece of goods, and suffered from an asthmatic affection. "There's Mestur 'Ans!" said Charity. "See thee, Rachel, I'll teem them eggs into th' pan; thou doesn't need to come." Rachel sat by the window, trying to finish making a new apron before supper. "That's a good lass," she said. "Eh, but it's a dark day; they'll none see a white horse a mile off to-night." [Note 1.] "They'd have better e'en nor me to see it any night," said Charity, breaking the eggs into the pan. "Hearken to th' lad!" said Rachel. "Eh, it's gradely [excellent, exactly right] music, is that!" "He sings well, does Mestur 'Ans." The words were audible now, as the singer unlatched the gate, and turned into the garden. "And in the presence of my foes My table Thou shalt spread: Thou shalt, O Lord, fill full my cup, And eke anoint mine head. "Through all my life Thy favour is So frankly showed to me, That in Thy house for evermore My dwelling-place shall be." Hans lifted the latch and came into the kitchen. "Here's a clean floor, Rachel! Tarry a minute, while I pluck off my shoes, and I will run across in my stocking-feet. It shall be `February Fill-dyke,' methinks, ere the day break." "He's as good as my Lady and Mrs Edith, for not making work," said Charity as Hans disappeared.