Though Christianish, he woulde not eat Pig's Face; and sayd Swine's Flesh was forbidden by the Hebrew Law for its unwholesomenesse in hot Countries and hot Weather, rather than by way of arbitrarie Prohibition. _Daisy_ took a great Dislike to this Man, and woulde not sit next him. In the Hay-field alle the Evening. Swathed _Father_ in a Hay-rope, and made him pay the Fine, which he pretended to resist. _Cecy_ was just about to cast one round _Erasmus_, when her Heart failed and she ran away, colouring to the Eyes. He sayd, he never saw such pretty Shame. _Father_ reclining on the Hay, with his Head on my Lap and his Eyes shut, _Bess_ asked if he were asleep. He made answer, "Yes, and dreaming." I askt, "Of what?" "Of a far-off future Daye, _Meg_; when thou and I shall looke back on this Hour, and this Hay-field, and my Head on thy Lap." "Nay, but what a stupid Dream, Mr. _More_," says _Mother_. "Why, what woulde _you_ dreame of, Mrs. _Alice_?" "Forsooth, if I dreamed at alle, when I was wide awake, it shoulde be of being _Lord Chancellor_ at the leaste." "Well, Wife, I forgive thee for not saying at the _most_. Lord Chancellor, quotha! And you woulde be Dame _Alice_, I trow, and ride in a Whirlecote, and keep a Spanish Jennet, and a Couple of Greyhounds, and wear a Train before and behind, and carry a Jerfalcon on your Fist." "On my Wrist." "No, that's not such a pretty Word as t'other! Go to, go!" Straying from the others, to a remote Corner of the Meadow, or ever I was aware, I came close upon _Gammer Gurney_, holding Somewhat with much Care. "Give ye good den, Mistress _Meg_," quoth she, "I cannot abear to rob the Birds of theire Nests; but I knows you and yours be kind to dumb Creatures, soe here's a Nest o' young Owzels for ye--and I can't call 'em dumb nowther, for they'll sing bravelie some o' these Days." "How hast fared, of late, _Gammer_?" quoth I. "Why, well enow for such as I," she made Answer; "since I lost the Use o' my right Hand, I can nowther spin, nor nurse sick Folk, but I pulls Rushes, and that brings me a few Pence, and I be a good Herbalist; onlie, because I says one or two English Prayers, and hates the Priests, some Folks thinks me a Witch." "But why dost hate the Priests?" quoth I. "Never you mind," she gave Answer, "I've Reasons manie; and for my English Prayers, they were taught me by a Gentleman I nursed, that's now a Saint in Heaven, along with poor _Joan_." And soe she hobbled off, and I felt kindlie towards her, I scarce knew why--perhaps because she spake soe lovingly of her dead Sister, and because of that Sister's Name. _My_ Mother's Name was _Joan_. _July 2nd._ _Erasmus_ is gone. His last Saying to _Father_ was, "They will have you at Court yet;" and _Father's_ Answer, "When _Plato's_ Year comes round."