Of course, he did not explain his state of mind to his aunt, but she gathered enough to be well content, and tried to encourage Aldonza, when at length they landed near Chelsea Church, and Ambrose led the way to an extensive pleasaunce or park, full of elms and oaks, whose yellow leaves were floating like golden rain in the sunshine. Presently children’s voices guided them to a large chestnut tree. “Lo you now, I hear Mistress Meg’s voice, and where she is, his honour will ever be,” said Ambrose. And sure enough, among a group of five girls and one boy, all between fourteen and nine years old, was the great lawyer, knocking down the chestnuts with a long pole, while the young ones flew about picking up the burrs from the grass, exclaiming joyously when they found a full one. Ambrose explained that of the young ladies, one was Mistress Middleton, Lady More’s daughter by a former marriage, another a kinswoman. Perronel was for passing by unnoticed; but Ambrose knew better; and Sir Thomas, leaning on the pole, called out, “Ha, my Birkenholt, a forester born, knowst thou any mode of bringing down yonder chestnuts, which being the least within reach, seem in course the meetest of all.” “I would I were my brother, your honour,” said Ambrose, “then would I climb the thee.” “Thou shouldst bring him one of these days,” said Sir Thomas. “But thou hast instead brought in a fair maid. See, Meg, yonder is the poor young girl who lost her father on Ill May day. Lead her on and make her good cheer, while I speak to this good dame.” Margaret More, a slender, dark-eyed girl of thirteen, went forward with a peculiar gentle grace to the stranger, saying, “Welcome, sweet maid! I hope we shall make thee happy,” and seeing the mournful countenance, she not only took Aldonza’s hand, but kissed her cheek. Sir Thomas had exchanged a word or two with Perronel, when there was a cry from the younger children, who had detected the wicker cage which Perronel was trying to keep in the background. “A daw! a daw!” was the cry. “Is’t for us?” “Oh, mistress,” faltered Aldonza, “’tis mine—there was one who tamed it for me, and I promised ever to keep it, but if the good knight and lady forbid it, we will send it back.” “Nay now, John, Cicely,” was Margaret saying, “’tis her own bird! Wot ye not our father will let us take nought of them that come to him? Yea, Al-don-za—is not that thy name?—I am sure my father will have thee keep it.” She led up Aldonza, making the request for her. Sir Thomas smiled. “Keep thy bird? Nay, that thou shalt. Look at him, Meg, is he not in fit livery for a lawyer’s house? Mark his trim legs, sable doublet and hose, and grey hood—and see, he hath the very eye of a councillor seeking for suits, as he looketh at the chestnuts John holdeth to him. I warrant he hath a tongue likewise. Canst plead for thy dinner, bird?” “I love Giles!” uttered the black beak, to the confusion and indignation of Perronel.