Mistress _Fraunces_ was used to accompany my Master to the Hall Dinners; indeed, being a Sister of the Company, she was liable to a Fine if she did not, except by Reason of Illness. However, now and then, she stayed away; and then, when my Master returned, she would ask him with great Interest what had been served up; and, being a shrewd Marketer, would price each Item as he went along: thus,— "Well, Brother, and what did you have to-day?" "Why," saith he, "there was a Porpoise, to begin with." "A Porpoise!" then cries she, "oh! what a nasty coarse Fish! They are seldom or never now seen at Table. Well, what else?" "Two Congers and two Turbot." "Ah! of course, Nobody would touch the Porpoise. Congers, the largest in _Wetfishmongersrow_, six Shillings each, this Morning. Turbots, three—eighteen. Well?" "Sirloin of Beef—Half a Veal—a standing Coney with a blue Ribbon round his Neck." "Hold, Brother, not so fast. Beef, we all know, is a Penny a Pound—we thank King _Harry_ for that. I saw Half a Veal to-day at Half-a-crown." "Two dozens Pigeons." "Two Shillings." "Some of your _French_ Kickshaws—'_Pettiz Birds rostez_.' ... And '_pain-puffe avec un cold bakemeat_.'" "We have that every Sabbath," quod she, dryly, "without its fine Name. I suppose you had Sweets." "Oh, yes; _Leche Lombard_; Pears _en serop_; Fritters, Doucettes, and _une grande Custard_." "Come," saith she, "that was pretty well—enough, and no Profusion. But the Porpoise spoiled all. And they might have given you a Swan instead of a Coney. But stay; had you no _Mortreuse_?" "No _Mortreuse_." "Out on it!" quod she, "then I would not have given a Fig for your Feast. There's nothing you had, that we can't have at Home, save Mortreuse: I shall not rest till I know how to make it." At this Time, every one in their House seemed, according to their several Dispositions, peaceful and happy; e'en _Tib_, after her Manner, whether eating a plentiful Meal, setting the House afloat, stretching forth of the Kitchen Window in the full Tide of Gossip with the Maid next Door, or hemming a Lockram Pinner. She and _Miles_ were Friends to-day, Foes to-morrow. One Minute, she would be giving him a Sop-in-the-pan; the next, basting him with the Ladle. One Day, because he had soiled her fresh-scoured Floor with his muddy Shoes, she protested he should clean it; they had a real, earnest Fight, which a Man should be above having with a Woman;—and he pulled out a Lock of her red Hair, a small one,—which she snatched up from the Floor and pocketed, saying she would shew it to Mistress _Fraunces_. Howbeit, she did not.