In no pleasant mood I walked, ragged and travel-stained as I was, into the shop. Sure enough, it was Peter Stoupe, my late fellow-apprentice, who was whining, and beside him a new journeyman lugged at the press. Peter knew me not at first, so changed and unkempt was I with my long journeyings. "Come," said he, surlily, "bustle hence, thou varlet. We keep nought here but sticks for rogues like thee to taste. Get you gone!" And he advanced on me with the stick. Just to remind him of old days, I whipped it from his hand and gave him a crack on the skull, which brought him to himself at once. "Why," said he, dropping his jaw, and gaping at me as if I had been a ghost, "if it be not Humphrey Dexter, as I'm a sinner!" "As certain as thou art a sinner," said I, "it is none other. What of that, Peter Stoupe?" "Why," said he, "I warn thee to pack hence. For Master Walgrave hath had enough of thee, I warrant; and there is none else here wanteth thee." "Then Master Walgrave is out of gaol?" I asked. "No thanks to thee; he hath made his peace with the Company, and is restored to his own." "And my mistress, and Jeannette, and the lad?" I asked. "They are naught to thee," answered he, curtly. "Are they here?" I asked again. "I tell thee that is naught to thee, Humphrey Dexter. I marvel, after what is past, you dare name them." "By heavens, you shall have something to marvel at," said I, laying hold of him by the collar, and shaking him till his bones rattled. "Answer me, are they here?" "To be sure, to be sure," gasped he. "I pray you unhand me, Humphrey; my old friend, you are too rough." I flung him off, to the mirth of the new journeyman (who, it was plain, loved him no more than I), and walked through the shop to the parlour behind. There in a nook beside the window, which was open to let in the sweet scent of the spring and the merry chirping of the birds, sat my sweet young mistress, Jeannette, reading out of a book to the little sister who sat on her knee; and ever and anon looking out at the swift, shining river, as it washed past the garden wall. I remember the very words she was reading as I entered unheeded. "'So it fell, that knight returned, and none knew him; no, not even the dog in the outer court. But when he spake, there was a certain little maid knew his voice, whom, as a child, he was wont to make sport with. But now, because she was grown from child to woman, and her mirth was turned to love, did she say never a word when he appeared, but ran away and hid herself.'" "And do tall knights and ladies play at hide-and-go-seek, like boys and girls?" asked the little sister. Jeannette laughed at the question, and as she did so, she looked up and saw me standing there. She, at least, knew me! For a moment the colour left her cheeks, in fear and doubt. Next, it rushed back in a crimson flood; then she uttered my name, and hid her face in the bosom of the little child.