The study of the garden wall now became sensationally interesting; likewise of sundry old trees within the enclosure. The alternatives seemed to have equal chances of adoption, when a little hole was discovered in the wall, at the further end of the garden, delightfully hidden by a small loose stone which just fitted nicely into the crevice. The key was safely concealed, and Roger, with the most angelic innocence of face, returned to the house to repeat his Latin lesson to Sir Gerard. Roger had been taught that to hide any thing from his confessor was a sin of the most deadly type. Conveniently for him, his confessor was not his tutor Sir Gerard, but the Earl’s family chaplain, Friar Thomas Ashbourne, a fat sleepy old priest, who never inflicted a penance that he could help, and was more frequently than not employed in mental wool-gathering during the process of confession, merely waking up to pronounce the absolution at the close. It was not at all difficult to get on the blind side of this comfortable official, especially if a morning could be selected when his thoughts were likely to be preoccupied with some subject interesting to himself. Roger, having a very good idea what interested Dan Thomas, laid a trap to catch him for the next occasion of shrift. In order to do this, he had first to catch the cook: and for that purpose, he must angle with the master of the household, who happily for his object was a good-natured man, and liked children. Running through a gallery with the hope of discovering him, he nearly fell over the person for whom he was searching. "Nay, now! what make you here, my Lord?" "O Master Wynkfeld! I was a-looking for you. Pray you, let us have a capon endored[#] this even for supper, with _sauce Madame_." [#] Larded. The master of the household laughed. "At your Lordship’s pleasure. I wist not you loved capon so dear." Nor did he: but Dan Thomas did. Little Roger stood on tiptoe, and pulled down the master to whisper in his ear. "Look you, Dan Thomas loveth a capon thus dressed, and I would have him do a thing for me that I wot of." "Oho! is that it?" laughed the master. "Then be your Lordship assured Dan Thomas shall have the capon." "With _sauce Madame_, look you!" "With _sauce Madame_: good." "But don’t you tell!" "Tell! Not I," responded the amused and good-humoured master: and little Roger scampered off. An hour later, my Lord of March was summoned to be shriven. Having knelt down in the confessional, and gabbled over the formal prelude to the effect that he confessed his sins, not only to God, but to the most blessed Lady St. Mary, to my Lord St. John the Baptist, my Lords Saints Peter and Paul, and all the saints and saintesses in Heaven, little Roger added at the conclusion, all in a breath, as if it were part of the _Confiteor_,— "Father, I begged Master Wynkfeld to have for supper a capon endored, with _sauce Madame_, by reason I knew you loved it thus."