I was but a plain 'prentice with no more than my share of brains. Yet, I had need to be slow-witted indeed, not to read a long, wonderful story in what I saw then. "Ay," said I, stepping forward, and answering the little's one's question, "and sometimes they find one another too." And, as in the old days, I kissed them both, and was very happy. When, presently, Master Walgrave returned and saw me there, he seemed not too well pleased. Yet, I suspected he was not altogether discontented to see me back, for he counted me a proper workman and handy at my craft. And when I set-to and told them a plain tale of what had befallen me, and how ill I had been slandered by my fellow 'prentice, and how ready I was to serve them now, he grew less sullen, and bade me abide where I was till he considered the matter. From my mistress in turn I learned something of their doings since I saw them last in the street of Kingston. The minister, she said, had pinched himself to shelter them for many a week, while they worked for him among the harvesters and in the dairy, in return. But at last when Autumn came, and they could do no more to serve him, they departed, and petitioned the Company to admit them back to the printing house; which, after much ado, was granted, and so they continued with much labour to subsist. But Peter, I was told afterwards, made himself master of everything, and, in return for his services, exacted all the profit, little as it was, they made by the printing. At last, after lying six months in gaol, Master Walgrave grew weary, and permitted his wife to sue for him to the Bishop; which she did, and so prettily, that his Grace allowed the prisoner to go free, on his submission. Since then, all had fared well. Peter Stoupe, who could hardly be parted with, was put back to his place and a new journeyman obtained. Business came back, winter went, springtime returned, and roses blossomed once more in sweet Jeannette's cheeks; and all went merrily. As for Mistress Jeannette's cheeks, it seemed to me, as I sat and watched her that evening, that the roses had not done blossoming yet. But I said little to her, for I guessed she would not talk. Only, when bed-time came, and I went, as of old, to carry her up the steep stairs, she looked up brightly and said: "I can walk now, Humphrey; _voila_. That was one good thing your going did for me." "I would it had been any other good," said I, "for it was pleasant to help you. But, see, you still want some help." "Well, sometimes I walk better. But to-night--no, I am not a baby, truly," said she, laughing as I offered to take her up. "Give me your arm, Humphrey; that is enough." So I helped her up the stairs, and at the top she thanked me, and said she was glad I was come back, for her father's sake--meaning Master Walgrave, her step-father. I asked was she glad for no reason else? and she said, perhaps for my sake 'twas good to be at work once more. "Anyone's sake besides?"