"That shall scantly be amongst thy sins, my son," answered Friar Thomas, jovially. "I thank thee: but keep thee now to the matter in hand." Roger was doing that much more strictly than was ever supposed by Friar Thomas, who was the most unsuspicious of men. He proceeded at once to the catalogue of his sins, satisfied that they would now receive small attention from the confessor. In silence, with as much rapidity and in as low a voice as he dared without exciting suspicion, Roger accused himself of having taken a key from the table and hidden it in the wall. What key it was, he was not careful to state; if the confessor wished to know that, he could ask him the question. But at this point Roger’s heart gave a bound, for he was asked a question. "Thou hiddest _what_ in the wall?" "A key," mumbled Roger. "A pea!" repeated the Friar, misunderstanding him, and not having much care to investigate. "No need to confess such like small matter, my son. Didst thou name _sauce Madame_ to Master Wynkfeld?" "Oh yes, Father, twice over!" answered Roger eagerly. "Good lad. Now keep thee to thy confession." Which Roger diligently did for the rest of the time, and then, absolved and "clean shriven," ran back to Lawrence in the highest glee. "Now, Lolly, my sins be all clean gone. Go thou to shrift, and get rid of thine; and then, as soon as ever we can, we’ll have yon big book." It was about a week later that the desired opportunity at last occurred. The Earl had carried away Sir Gerard—for what purpose Roger neither knew nor cared—and he and Lawrence had been bidden to play in the press-chamber, and be good boys till they were called to supper. No sooner were they safely shut in than Roger indulged in a gleeful chuckle. "Look, Lolly!" said he, holding up the key. "I heard my Lord say to my Lady that he should not be home ere supper-time, and I thought we might have luck, so I ran and fetched the key. Now for it! Set me that settle under the press." "But your Lordship cannot climb up yonder!" responded Lawrence, as he obeyed. "I can do what I will!" said Roger stubbornly. "Nay, but look how the press boweth outward! How shall you pass the same?" The press, which was itself of wood, was built into the wall, in such a manner that the upper half projected further than the lower. "Dost think a wooden press shall master _me_? I’ll show him I’m his master!" Roger sprang upon the settle, set one foot upon a carved boss, and climbed up with sufficient agility till he was stopped by the projection. No efforts could get him any higher. He returned to the settle, looking considerably discomfited. "I’ll have it yet!" said he. "See, Lolly—if I could catch yonder great brass rod that sticketh out, I am sicker[#] I could climb up by that I shall jump for it." [#] Certain. "Eh, good lack! do not so, my Lord! you shall hurt yourself greatly, if you have not a care."