And at these words Lascelles feigned surprise, lifting his well-shapen and white hand in the air. 'How is this that ye say?' he uttered. 'Are ye all of this tale?' A deep 'Aye!' came from all these chests. There was one old man that could never keep still. He had huge limbs, a great ruffled poll of grizzling hair, and his legs that were in jerkins of red leather kicked continuously in little convulsions. He peered every minute at some new thing, very closely, holding first his tablets so near that he could see only with one eye, then the whistle that hung round his neck, then a little piece of paper that he took from his poke. He cried out in a deep voice--'Aye! aye! Not over well. Witchcraft and foul weather and rocks, my mates and masters all!' so that he appeared to be a seaman--and indeed he traded to the port of Antwerp, in the Low Countries, where he had learned of some of the Faith. 'Why,' Lascelles said, 'be ye not contented with our goodly King?' 'Never was a better since Solomon ruled in Jewry,' the shipman cried out. 'Is it, then, the Lords of the King's Council that ye are discontented with?' 'Nay, they are goodly men, for they are of the King's choosing,' one answered--a little man with a black pill-hat. 'Why, speak through your leader,' the stranger said heavily from the hearth-place. 'Here is too much skimble-skamble.' The old man beside him leaned over his chair-back and whispered in his ear. But the stranger shook his head heavily. He sat and gazed at the brands. His great hands were upon his knees, pressed down, but now and again they moved as if he were in some agony. 'It is well that ye do as the Lord commandeth,' Lascelles said; 'for in Almain, whence he cometh, there is wont to be a great order and observance.' He held his paper up again to the light. 'Master Printer, answer now to this question: Find ye aught amiss with the judges and justices of this realm?' 'Nay; they do judge indifferent well betwixt cause and cause,' the printer answered from his paper. 'Or with the serjeants, the apparitors, the collectors of taxes, or the Parliament men?' 'These, too, perform indifferent well their appointed tasks,' the printer said gloomily. 'Or is it with the Church of this realm that ye find fault?' 'Body of God!' the stranger said heavily. 'Nay!' the printer answered, 'for the supreme head of that Church is the King, a man learned before all others in the law of God; such a King as speaketh as though he were that mouthpiece of the Most High that the Antichrist at Rome claimeth to be.' 'Is it, then, with the worshipful the little Prince of Wales that ye are discontented?' Lascelles read, and the printer answered that there was not such another Prince of his years for promise and for performance, too, in all Christendom. The stranger said from the hearth-place-- 'Well! we are commended,' and his voice was bitter and ironical. 'How is it, then,' Lascelles read on, 'that ye say all is not over well in the land?'