"Eh, lo’ you now!" exclaimed the woman, resting a dirty hand against the stone wall. "Is’t so fine as that, trow? Well, Master Porter, or Sir Porter, or my Lord Porter, as it shall like your Bigness, I would see _Sir_ Lawrence Madison, if it should like you demean you to go and tell him so much, and him to come hither and behold his sister." "His what?" inquired the porter in an indescribable tone, reviewing the querist in a style which was scarcely flattering. "His sister," coolly returned the unabashed young woman. "His father’s daughter, and his mother’s belike, byname Emmot, and wife unto Will Sumpterman, that keepeth my Lord Le Despenser his baggage mules, and hath trapesed many a weary mile to speak with my said worshipful knight. Canst carry so much, thinkest?" The disgusted porter turned away without deigning a reply; but his wife, who had overheard the colloquy, came forward and in politic wise invited Emmot to enter the lodge. There Lawrence found her when the porter returned with him. His first idea had been one of great pleasure. But when he saw the dirty, untidy, miserable-looking creature who called him Brother, a mixed feeling of compassion and disgust took its place. To him she was another woman, and was very far from braving him as she had done the porter. "Give you good den, Sir Lawrence," said she, louting low: "Metrusteth you shall not have forgat your sister Emmot, that is your own flesh and blood, and right ill off, with eight childre that have scarce a rag to their backs, nor an handful of meal to put in their mouths, I do ensure you. We have heard you be come back a knight, worshipful Sir, with a fortune in broad gold pieces, and sure you would never forget your own flesh and blood. Mariot hath but five childre, and her man was better off than mine; and Joan hath but two. So you shall see, sweet Sir, I cast no doubt, that ’tis I have the most need of your bountifulness, good Sir Lawrence."