Ned's honest face kindled with smiles as he exclaimed,-- 'Well-a-day, Mistress Lucy, you are more like an angel than ever. Did I ever see the like?' 'Have you heard the good news, Ned?' Lucy asked. 'Mistress Gifford has her boy safe and sound at Arnhem.' Ned opened eyes and mouth with astonishment which deprived him of the power of speech. 'Yes,' Lucy continued, 'and she is a free woman now, Ned, for her husband is dead.' 'And right good news that is, anyhow,' Ned gasped out at last. 'Dead; then there's one rogue the less in the world. But to think of the boy. What is he like, I wonder? He was a young torment sometimes, and I've had many a chase after him when he was meddling with the chicks. The old hen nearly scratched his eyes out one day when he tapped the end of an egg to see if he could get the chick out. Lord, he was a jackanapes, surely; but we all made much of him.' 'He has been very sick with fever,' Lucy said, 'and, I dare say, marvellously changed in four years. You are changed, Ned,' Lucy said; 'you are grown a big man.' 'Ay,' Ned said, tugging at the mouth of the calf, which showed a strong inclination to kick out, and butt with his pretty head against Ned's ribs. 'Ay; and I _am_ a man, Mistress Lucy. I have courted Avice; and--well--we were asked in church last Sunday.' 'I am right glad to hear it, Ned; and I wish you happiness. I must go forward now to the house.' 'I say!--hold! Mistress Lucy!' Ned said, with shamefaced earnestness. 'Don't think me too free and bold--but are you never going to wed? You are a bit cruel to one I could name.' This was said with such fervour, mingled with fear lest Lucy should be offended, that she could not help smiling as she turned away, saying,-- 'The poor calf will kick itself wild if you stay here much longer. So, good-day to you, good Ned; and I will send Avice a wedding gift. I have a pretty blue kerchief that will suit her of which I have no need; for we are all in sombre mourning garments for the great and good lord and lady of Penshurst.' Lucy found her stepmother seated in the old place on the settle, but not alone. 'Her master,' as she called him with great truth, was with her, and two of 'the chosen ones,' who were drinking mead and munching cakes from a pile on the board. He invited Lucy to partake of the fare, but she declined, and, having told her stepmother the news about Mary, she did not feel much disposed to remain. 'The boy found, do you say?' snarled her stepmother's husband. 'It would have been a cause of thankfulness if that young limb of the Evil One had never been found. You may tell your sister, Mistress Lucy, that neither her boy nor herself will ever darken these doors. We want no Papists here.' 'Nay, nay, no Papists,' echoed one of the brethren, with his mouth full of cake. 'Nay, nay,' chimed in another, as he set down the huge cup of mead after a prolonged pull. 'No Papists here to bring a curse upon the house.'