Our friends in Kepeharme Lane knew nothing of surnames otherwise than personal, apart from the great territorial families of Norman immigration, who brought their place-names with them. Manning Brown was so termed from his complexion; his elder son, not being specially remarkable, was known merely as Romund Fitz-Manning; but the younger, in his boyhood of a somewhat impetuous temper, had conferred on him the epithet of Haimet Escorceueille, or Burntown. The elder brother of Manning was dubbed Gilbert Cuntrevent, or Against-the-Wind; and his two sons, of whom one was the head porter, and another a watchman, at the Castle, were called Osbert le Porter and Stephen Esueillechien, or Watchdog,--the last term evidently a rendering of English into _dog-French_. Our forefathers were apt hands at giving nicknames. Their epithets were always direct and graphic, sometimes highly satirical, some very unpleasant, and some very picturesque. Isel, who was recognised as a woman of a complaining spirit, was commonly spoken of as Isel the Sweet; while her next neighbour, who lorded it over a very meek husband, received the pungent appellation of Franna Gillemichel. [Note 2.] The day after the arrival of the Germans, the porter's wife came down to see her kindred. "What, you've got some of those queer folks here?" she said in a loud whisper to Isel, though Gerhardt was not present, and his wife and sister could not understand a word she spoke. "Ay, they seem decentish folks," was the reply, as Isel washed her eel-like lampreys for a pie--the fish which had, according to tradition, proved the death of Henry the First. "Oh, do they so? You mind what you are after. Osbert says he makes no account of them. He believes they're Jews, if not worse." "Couldn't be worse," said Isel sententiously. "Nothing of the sort, Anania. They say their prayers oftener than we do." "Ay, but what to? Just tell me that. Old Turguia has some in her house, and she says they take never a bit of notice of our Lady nor Saint Helen, that she has upstairs and down; they just kneel down and fall a-praying anywhere. What sort of work do you call that?" "I don't know as I wish to call it anything in particular, without you're very anxious," replied Isel. "But I am anxious about it, Aunt. These folks are in your house, and if they are witches and such like, it's you and the girls who will suffer." "Well, do you think it's much matter?" asked Isel, putting aside the lampreys, and taking up a bushel basket of Kentish pearmains. "If our Lady could hear me in one corner, I reckon she could hear me in another." "But to turn their backs on them!" remonstrated Anania. "Well, I turn mine on her, when I'm at work, many a time of a day." "Work--ay. But not when you're at prayer, I suppose?" "Oh, it'll be all right at last, I hope," said Isel a little uneasily.