The girl showed that her confidence became warmer by keeping nearer to his side, and presently she said, “I must beg for Stephen first, for ’tis his whistle.” “Blessings on thee, fair wench, for that, yet seest thou, ’tis the other springald who is in the greater peril, and he is closer to thy father and to thee.” “He fled, when Stephen made in to the rescue of my father,” said Dennet. “The saints grant we may so work with the King that he may spare them both,” ejaculated Randall. By this time the strange pair were reaching the precincts of the great dwelling-house, where about the wide-open door loitered gentlemen, grooms, lacqueys, and attendants of all kinds. Randall reconnoitred. “An we go up among all these,” he said, “they might make their sport of us both, so that we might have time. Let us see whether the little garden postern be open.” Henry VIII. had no fears of his people, and kept his dwellings more accessible than were the castles of many a subject. The door in the wall proved to be open, and with an exclamation of joy, Randall pointed out two figures, one in a white silken doublet and hose, with a short crimson cloak over his shoulder, the other in scarlet and purple robes, pacing the walk under the wall—Henry’s way of holding a cabinet council with his prime minister on a summer’s morning. “Come on, mistress, put a brave face on it!” the jester encouraged the girl, as he led her forward, while the king, catching sight of them, exclaimed, “Ha! there’s old Patch. What doth he there?” But the Cardinal, impatient of interruption, spoke imperiously, “What dost thou here, Merriman? Away, this is no time for thy fooleries and frolics.” But the King, with some pleasure in teasing, and some of the enjoyment of a schoolboy at a break in his tasks, called out, “Nay, come hither, quipsome one! What new puppet hast brought hither to play off on us?” “Yea, brother Hal,” said the jester, “I have brought one to let thee know how Tom of Norfolk and his crew are playing the fool in the Guildhall, and to ask who will be the fool to let them wreak their spite on the best blood in London, and leave a sore that will take many a day to heal.” “How is this, my Lord Cardinal?” said Henry; “I bade them make an example of a few worthless hinds, such as might teach the lusty burghers to hold their lads in bounds and prove to our neighbours that their churlishness was by no consent of ours.” “I trow,” returned the Cardinal, “that one of these same hinds is a boon companion of the fool’s—_hinc illæ lachrymæ_, and a speech that would have befitted a wise man’s mouth.” “There is work that may well make even a fool grave, friend Thomas,” replied the jester.