Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The King's Daughters, How Two Girls Kept the Faith, by Emily Sarah Holt. ________________________________________________________________________ You will enjoy this book about the time when Mary was Queen of England, following the rise of Protestantism during Henry the Eighth's and Edward the Sixth's reigns. Mary was a Catholic, and during her reign there was a time when people with the Protestant faith were apt to be tortured and burnt at the stake. So the King of the title is the King of Heaven, and his daughters are those women who retain their faith even up to the moment when they die in the flames. The subtitle is "How Two Girls Kept The Faith". The problem with killing saintly mothers is that they may leave young children behind them, and a great deal of this book deals with the three young children of one such woman. The edition used was not registered in the Copyright Library, but it appears to have been a rather badly printed pirated version. It was not an easy job to create this e-book, but I believe the author would approve of what we have done for you. ________________________________________________________________________ THE KING'S DAUGHTERS, HOW TWO GIRLS KEPT THE FAITH, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT. CHAPTER ONE. CHOOSING A NEW GOWN. "Give you good den, Master Clere!" said a rosy-faced countrywoman with a basket on her arm, as she came into one of the largest clothier's shops in Colchester. It was an odd way of saying "Good Evening," but this was the way in which they said it in 1556. The rosy-faced woman set down her basket on the counter, and looked round the shop in the leisurely way of somebody who was in no particular hurry. They did not dash and rush and scurry through their lives in those days, as we do in these. She was looking to see if any acquaintance of hers was there. As she found nobody she went to business. "Could you let a body see a piece of kersey, think you? I'd fain have a brown or a good dark murrey 'd serve me--somewhat that should not show dirt, and may be trusted to wear well.--Good den, Mistress Clere!--Have you e'er a piece o' kersey like that?" Master Nicholas Clere, who stood behind the counter, did not move a finger. He was a tall, big man, and he rested both hands on his counter, and looked his customer in the face. He was not a man whom people liked much, for he was rather queer-tempered, and as Mistress Clere was wont to remark, "a bit easier put out than in." A man of few words, but those were often pungent, was Nicholas Clere. "What price?" said he. "Well! you mustn't ask me five shillings a yard," said the rosy-faced woman, with a little laugh. That was the price of the very best and finest kersey. "Shouldn't think o' doing," answered the clothier. "Come, you know the sort as 'ill serve me. Shilling a yard at best. If you've any at eightpence--" "Haven't." "Well, then I reckon I must go a bit higher."