"Yes, my sister wrote me that His Grace of Suffolk gives some chaplaincy or the like to a young man—a secular priest—who hath come up from the west country expressly to study the Hebrew," said Mistress Davis. "I dare say that might be the same young priest who was in our shop yesterday," observed Margaret. "He was a fair Grecian for one of his years, and was asking for some one with whom to learn Hebrew." "I wish I might learn Greek!" said Amyas. "All in good time!" returned his mother. "And you, Hal?" "Not I!" answered Hal, the younger boy. "I would rather be a sailor, and sail away to the Indies, like Columbus, than to be poring over little crooked letters, all dots and spots, like those you showed us the other day, sister." "Why that may be in good time, too," said Margaret. "Who knows what new lands you may discover?" "We shall all discover rheums and quacks, * if we sit here much longer," said Mistress Davis. "Do you not perceive how the east wind hath come up? Let us go into the house." * "Colds in the head" as we call them, were rather new at that time, and were called quacks, hence the term of quack doctors. Old fashioned folks laid them to the introduction of chimneys. We had several guests to supper. Young Master Davis and his wife, a pretty, lively little body; two or three grave merchants, and an elderly priest, with one of the finest faces I ever saw—full of sweetness and gravity. I was presented to him, and learned that his name was Hooper. The talk at table was cheerful and pleasant, at times falling into a serious vein, and again full of jest and humor. When the meal was done, the great Bible was again produced, but this time Master Davis handed it to Dr. Hooper. He chose out the twenty-third Psalm, and made an exposition thereon, so sweet and tender, yet vigorous withal, as I think nothing could be better, unless it were the very Word itself. I remember, he specially insisted on that little word my. "That is the way throughout Scripture," said he. "And so it must ever be with those who are called into the kingdom. It is and must be my Shepherd, my King, our Father, our Saviour. He may be what he is to all the rest of the world, but till I can say He is mine, I am nothing the better." After he had finished speaking, he prayed—not in any form that I had ever heard, but in his own words, and such a prayer I never heard. It was as though his very eyes saw the one to whom he spoke with the freedom of a loving and dutiful child. Then we all repeated the Paternoster in English, and our guests went away, the ladies giving me many kind and pressing invitations to visit them. As I went to my room I met Philippa, who asked me if I had a book of Hours, such us they used in the convent. I told her I had, whereat she asked me to lend it to her—adding, with her usual bitterness: "I suppose you will not care for it, now that you have taken up with the new lights."