"Mayhap I'll weave it on a pillow into lace, as the maids in fair Holland are used to do." "Dost know their art?" "Ay. Jeanne De la Noye to whom I writ a letter by thy hand, John, she taught me, and I overpassed my teacher ere I was done. What thinkst thou, John, would be said or done should I weave some ells of spanwide lace and trim my Sunday kirtle therewith? Mistress White, nay, Mistress Winslow that is now, would rend it away with her own fingers." "And yet Master Winslow weareth cambric ruffs on occasion, and his dame hath a paduasoy kirtle and mantle, and so had Mistress Carver, and some others of our company." "Marry come up! How wise the lad hath grown! Hast been pondering women's clothes instead of the books the Captain gives thee to study, John?" A change passed over the young man's face. The careless allusion had recalled his errand, and moreover linked itself with a memory Priscilla had willfully evoked. He was silent for a moment, and then pushing his seat a little farther from the wheel he quietly said,-- "Well do I like thy merry mood, Priscilla, and care not though thou flout me ever so sharply, but mine errand to-day is somewhat of importance, and I pray thee to listen seriously." "Nay, good lad, waste not such solemnities on me. 'T will be Sunday in three days, and thou canst take the elder's place, and let him learn of thee how soberly and seriously to exhort a sinner." "Priscilla, wilt thou be serious?" "As death, John. What is it?" "I writ a letter for thee to thy friend Jeanne De la Noye"-- "'T is a sad truth, John." "And methought there was in it some word that pointed to--to"-- "Yes; good youth, that pointed to--to--and what then?" "That pointed to some contract, or mayhap naught more than some understanding"-- "If 't was a word that pointed to any understanding of thee and thy stammerings, John Alden, I pray thee speak it without more ado. Say out what is in thy mind if indeed there is aught there." "Well then, art thou promised to Jacques De la Noye, and is he coming here to wed thee?" The rich color of Priscilla's cheek deepened to crimson and the slender thread in her hand snapped sharply, but in an instant she recovered herself, and deftly joining the thread exclaimed.-- "See now what mischief thy folly hath wrought! Of a truth there's no call to complain of blindness in thy speech now, Master Alden. But still I have noted that if thou canst drive a bashful youth out of his bashfulness, there are no bounds to his forwardness." "Loth were I to offend thee, Priscilla, and that thou knowest right well, but I fain would have an answer to my query. If 't is a secret, thou knowest I will keep it." "Nay, I'll keep it myself, and not trouble thee with what proved too burdensome for myself." "But Priscilla, I am sent to thee with a proffer of marriage, and if thou 'rt already bespoke 't is not fitting that thou shouldst hear it."