“Nay,” said Ambrose, who could not bring himself to thank her, “I go with Stephen, mistress; I would mend my scholarship ere I teach.” “As you please,” said Mistress Maud, shrugging her shoulders, “only never say that a fair offer was not made to you.” “And,” said Stephen, “so please you, brother John, hand us over our portions, and the jewels as bequeathed to us, and we will be gone.” “Portions, quotha?” returned John. “Boy, they be not due to you till you be come to years of discretion.” The brothers looked at one another, and Stephen said, “Nay, now, brother, I know not how that may be, but I do know that you cannot drive us from our father’s house without maintenance, and detain what belongs to us.” And Ambrose muttered something about “my Lord of Beaulieu.” “Look you, now,” said John, “did I ever speak of driving you from home without maintenance? Hath not Ambrose had his choice of staying here, and Stephen of waiting till some office be found for him? As for putting forty crowns into the hands of striplings like you, it were mere throwing it to the robbers.” “That being so,” said Ambrose turning to Stephen, “we will to Beaulieu, and see what counsel my lord will give us.” “Yea, do, like the vipers ye are, and embroil us with my Lord of Beaulieu,” cried Maud from the fire. “See,” said John, in his more caressing fashion, “it is not well to carry family tales to strangers, and—and—” He was disconcerted by a laugh from the old nurse, “Ho! John Birkenholt, thou wast ever a lad of smooth tongue, but an thou, or madam here, think that thy brothers can be put forth from thy father’s door without their due before the good man be cold in his grave, and the Forest not ring with it, thou art mightily out in thy reckoning!” “Peace, thou old hag; what matter is’t of thine?” began Mistress Maud, but again came the harsh laugh. “Matter of mine! Why, whose matter should it be but mine, that have nursed all three of the lads, ay, and their father before them, besides four more that lie in the graveyard at Beaulieu? Rest their sweet souls! And I tell thee, Master John, an thou do not righteously by these thy brothers, thou mayst back to thy parchments at Southampton, for not a man or beast in the Forest will give thee good day.” They all felt the old woman’s authority. She was able and spirited in her homely way, and more mistress of the house than Mrs. Birkenholt herself; and such were the terms of domestic service, that there was no peril of losing her place. Even Maud knew that to turn her out was an impossibility, and that she must be accepted like the loneliness, damp, and other evils of Forest life. John had been under her dominion, and proceeded to persuade her. “Good now, Nurse Joan, what have I denied these rash striplings that my father would have granted them? Wouldst thou have them carry all their portion in their hands, to be cozened of it at the first ale-house, or robbed on the next heath?”