Sir Mark had accepted an invitation the previous day, after much protesting that he was still too weak and could hardly get about, and had gone to dine with Sir Thomas at the Moat, and stay the next day over, so that Mace felt herself free and forgetful of her troubles. She set aside the haunting thoughts of the fate of the weapons her father made, and devoted herself to domestic duties that had of late fallen to Janet's lot. "Morning, mistress!" cried Tom, coming smiling in at the kitchen door, through which he could see Mace with her sleeves rolled above her white elbows busily trying the new cakes that had been baked for breakfast. "Good morning, Tom," cried Mace. "Quick, Janet, get out the cold bacon and draw a mug of ale." Tom smiled broadly, as he took his place at the white, well-scrubbed table, for it was an understood thing that whenever Tom Croftly had a whole holiday, that is to say, had a cessation from foundry-work to go in the garden, he had his meals at the house. The founder's breakfast was ready, but he was called away, so Mace remained busy about the kitchen, going in and out of the dairy where the golden butter lay in rolls, and the yellow cream was so thick in the broad pans that it went into wrinkles and crinkles, like an old woman's face when it was skimmed. The glorious sunshine came in at the open door, with the scent of the flowers, and the bees buzzed about the blossoms as they journeyed to and from their round-topped hives, while Tom Croftly took a long draught of ale, sighed, and then began work upon the new loaf and bacon. "This be a fine cut o' bacon, mistress," said he, as Mace came near. "I am glad you like it, Tom." "Ay, I like the bacon, mistress, but this here knife's a wonder." "What, isn't it sharp, Tom?" "Sharp, mistress, bean't nothing to it. It be terrifying sharp, and it be as keen at the back as it be at the front, and that's what I don't like, for it's risky like at the corners o' your mouth, and when a man's mouth is already two sizes too large, it's a pity to cut it bigger." "Take another, Tom," said Mace, placing one for him. "Thanky, mistress, that's kindy of you," said Tom. "Eh, but you be grown into a flower. Here, only t'other day, and I see thee balancing thyself on thy two pretty little pink legs, and couldn't get on wi' my work for watching thee--lest thou should fall." "You always were very kind to me, Tom," said Mace, smiling. "And always will be," said Tom Croftly; "for, mistress, it did my heart good to see thee stick up for the master again that old Mother Goodhugh." "Poor weak woman!" said Mace, sadly. "Ay, poor weak old woman; but she's got a sore heart, mistress, like as--as--some one else have as I knows on." "Who's that, Tom?" said Mace. "Captain Culverin Carr," said Tom, striking the table with the haft of the knife. "Ah, I don't like dressed-up jay-birds from London."