We have not hitherto explained fully the social position of Giles Hodge. Well, he was a yeoman, having no lands of his own; only he had a farm of three or four pounds a year,[22] and hereupon he tilled as much as kept five or six men. He had walk for a hundred sheep, and his wife milked thirty kine. He was able and bound to provide one man and horse, with “harness” for both, when the king had need of him; for this species of feudal tenure yet lingered, and supplied the want of a standing army. In short, he was an English yeoman, “all of the olden time.” The fire was burning brightly on the hearth in old Giles’ cottage, which looked as pleasant as in days of yore; he and his old dame occupied their chairs on either side, for the day’s work was over, and they were resting after its fatigues, whilst they anxiously awaited the arrival of their foster son, their Cuthbert. It was only just dark, not yet seven o’clock; the evening meal was already prepared, and set forth with many a tempting dish upon a comely white cloth, to tempt the appetite of the darling of their old age. A knock at the door--the hearts of the old couple beat with anticipation--yet the knock! Would Cuthbert stop to knock? “Come in,” they cried. The latch lifted, and their parish priest entered, Doctor Adam Tonstal. “Good even to you, my worthy friends; I have come for a chat with you about a matter of importance.” “Nothing amiss about Cuthbert, I hope,” said the old dame, anxiously. “No, there is naught amiss, _yet_ still my errand is about him. Are you not expecting him home?” “Yes, thank God, this very night; we thought when you knocked that it was he.” “Well, I know you will be glad to see him again, for he is a worthy lad, and there are few who have not a good word for him, but it will be just as well not to let anyone know of his arrival, and to get him away again as soon as possible. My object was to warn you against allowing him to return, and also to advise you not to tell anyone where he may be found.” “But why,” inquired Giles, aghast, as soon as he could get a word in; “what harm hath the poor lad done?” “Harm, forsooth!” then lowering his voice, “what harm had Richard Whiting done?” “But Cuthbert is too young to be answerable for such weighty matters.” “I know _that_, but not too young to be an object of interest just now. You see it is reported that he was deep in the Abbot’s secrets.” “They would indeed be weighty secrets, which the Abbot would entrust to a mere boy.”