This was the lowest position that a boy could have in a noble household. Lawrence’s head went up in a style which would have amused most students of human nature. "Nay, Master Blumond," said he: "I am to be page of the chamber to my Lord’s son." "Gramercy, how grand we are!" laughed Blumond. "Prithee, good Master Lawrence, let me beseech thee to have a favour unto me." Lawrence had an uneasy perception that the fishmonger was laughing at him. He struggled for a moment with the new sense of dignity which sat so stiffly upon him, and then, speaking in his natural way, said,— "I shall never forget you, Master Blumond, nor Philippa, nor Beattie. But I wis not when I shall see you all again. The little Lord goeth to Ireland, and I withal." "Where’s Ireland?" asked Beattie, with wide-open eyes, "Ireland" having immediately presented to her imagination a large park with a castle in the middle of it. "That wis I not," answered ignorant Lawrence. "’Tis somewhere. I shall see when we be there." Blumond was a little wiser, but only a little. "Well, now, is’t not across seas?" suggested he. Lawrence’s eyes brightened, and Beatrice’s grew sorrowful. "Wilt thou ever be back, Lolly?" she said in a mournful tone. "To be sure!" quickly responded Blumond. "He shall come back a grand young gentleman, a-riding of a big black courser, with a scarlet saddle-cloth all broidered o’ gold and silver." There was a general laugh at this highly improbable suggestion, which was checked by Philippa’s query if Lawrence had taken leave of Dan Robesart. "Nay. Should I so?" asked the boy doubtfully. "Aye, for sure. Haste thee up the hill, for he went into the church but now." And with a hasty farewell at last Lawrence ran off. He found the priest pacing meditatively up and down the north aisle of the church, with folded arms and a very grave face. "Didst seek me, my son?" he inquired, pausing as Lawrence came up and stood rather timidly at a little distance. "An’t please you, good Father, I go hence as to-morrow, and Philippa would have me ask you of your blessing ere I went." "That shalt thou have, right heartily." And the thin white hand was laid on the child’s head. "Our Lord bless thee, and make thee a blessing. May He be thy Guide and Shield and Comforter; yea, may He cover thee with His wings all the day long, and be unto thee a buckler from the face of evil. Lawrence, my son, I would fain have thy promise to a thing." "What thing, Father?" "Pass thy word to me, and never forget it, that in all thy life thou wilt never go any whither without asking our Lord to go with thee." The priest had somewhat failed to realise the extreme youth and worse ignorance of the child to whom he was talking. The reply recalled him to these facts. "Where shall I find Him?—in the church? Must I hear mass every morning?"