Dennet was astir early to see them off, and she had a little gift for each. She began with her oldest friend. “See here, Kit,” she said, “here’s a wallet to hold thy nails and rivets. What wilt thou say to me for such a piece of stitchery?” “Say, pretty mistress? Why this!” quoth the giant, and he picked her up by the slim waist in his great hands, and kissed her on the forehead. He had done the like many a time nine or ten years ago, and though Master Headley laughed, Dennet was not one bit embarrassed, and turned to the next traveller. “Thou art no more a prentice, Giles, and canst wear this in thy bonnet,” she said, holding out to him a short silver chain and medal of St. George and the Dragon. “Thanks, gentle maid,” said Giles, taking the handsome gift a little sheepishly. “My bonnet will make a fair show,” and he bent down as she stood on the step, and saluted her lips, then began eagerly fastening the chain round his cap, as one delighted with the ornament. Stephen was some distance off. He had turned aside when she spoke to Giles, and was asking of Tibble last instructions about the restoration of enamel, when he felt a touch on his arm, and saw Dennet standing by him. She looked up in his face, and held up a crimson silken purse, with S. B embroidered on it with a wreath of oak and holly leaves. With the air that ever showed his gentle blood, Stephen put a knee to the ground, and kissed the fingers that held it to him, whereupon Dennet, a sudden burning blush overspreading her face under her little pointed hood, turned suddenly round and ran into the house. She was out again on the steps when the waggon finally got under weigh, and as her eyes met Stephen’s, he doffed his flat cap with one hand, and laid the other on his heart, so that she knew where her purse had taken up its abode.