We do hear of old _Nanny_, that cometh by nows and thens for waste victuals, that daft _Madge_ is something sick. Her grandmother reckons she caught an ill rheum that even of _Christmas_ Day when she were here: but _Madge_ herself will strongly deny the same, saying (poor maid!) that she never could take nought ill at _Selwick_ Hall, for never nought but good (saith she) came to her there. _Mother_ would go to visit her, but she hath an evil rheum herself, and _Father_ saith she must tarry at home this sharp frost: so Aunt _Joyce_ and I be to go this afternoon, and carry her a basket of comfortable things. SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE X. A rare basket that was _Mother_ packed yester-morrow for daft _Madge_. First went in a piece of beef, and then a goodly string of salt ling (for _Lent_ is nigh at hand [Note 1]), a little bottle of cinnamon water, divers pots of conserves and honey, a roll of butter, a half-dozen of eggs (which at this present are ill to come by, for the hens will scarce lay this frost weather); and two of the new foreign fruit called oranges [first introduced in 1568], which have been of late brought from abroad, and _Ned_ did bring unto _Mother_ a little basket of them. We had an ill walk, for there hath been frost after snow, and the roads be slippy as they were greased with butter. Howbeit, we come at last safe to _Madge's_ door, and there found daft _Madge_ in a great chair afore the fire, propped up of pillows, and old _Madge_ her grandmother sat a-sewing, with her horn-glasses across her nose, and by her old _Isaac Crewdson_, that is daft _Madge_ her grandfather of the other side. She smiled all o'er her face when she saw us, and did feebly clap her hands, as she is wont to do when rare pleased. "Good morrow, _Madge_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "See thou, my Lady _Lettice_ hath sent thee a basket of good things, to strengthen thee up a bit." _Madge_ took Aunt _Joyce's_ hand, and kissed it. "They'll be good, but your faces be better," saith she. Old _Madge_ gat her up, and bustled about, unpacking of the basket, and crying out o' pleasure as she came to each thing and told what it were. But daft _Madge_ seemed not much to care what were therein, though she was ever wont dearly to love sweets, there being (I reckon) so few pleasures she had wit for. Only she sat still, gazing from Aunt _Joyce_ to me, and smiling on us. "What art thinking, _Madge_?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. For, natural [idiot] though she be, _Madge_ is alway thinking. 'Tis very nigh as though there were a soul within her which tried hard to see through the smoked glass of her poor brains. Nay, I take it, so there is. "I were thinking," saith she, "a-looking on your faces, what like it'll be to see His Face." _Madge_ hath rarely any name for God. It is mostly "He." "Wouldst love to see it, _Madge_?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "Shall," quoth she, "right soon. He sent me word, Mistress _Joyce_, yestereven."