When the ship arrived in London, the welcome he received from his uncle and aunt and their family was all that could be desired. Thomas Noble was a good specimen of a fine class, the merchantmen of England, who were then beginning to be what they have been ever since, “the honourable men of the earth.” Like so many of their brethren in the Low Countries and elsewhere, they had espoused, almost universally, the cause of religious truth and freedom, and they maintained it often with great courage and liberality. There was not amongst them all a more zealous “Gospeller” than Master Noble, Warden of the Mercers’ Company, and some time Sheriff of London Town. He dwelt on London Bridge,—like the well-known cloth merchant, Master Hewit, whose young daughter the apprentice, Edward Osborne, saved by his celebrated leap from the kitchen window into the river below. All things had gone prosperously with Master Noble. He had the blessing that makes rich, and no sorrow added with it. His six brave sons were doing well, each in his own way. Gentle Lilias was a flower scarcely opened, fair and pure as a spring lily. At the time of Walter’s visit, it happened that all were at home, or within easy reach of it, and often gathered around the cheerful, plentiful board where their father presided. Walter was very happy amongst them. His days and weeks glided rapidly by amidst novel sights and exciting occupations. He saw the Queen ride in state to old St. Paul’s, amidst transports of the loyal ardour that was such a characteristic feature of the times. He saw St. Paul’s itself, and Westminster Abbey, and the Tower, and the shops, and the fields where the young men and apprentices played games, and practised archery; and he sent out his own cloth-yard arrow very creditably amongst the rest. What was better than all, he bore part in a healthy, kindly family life, where peace, order, and plenty reigned. It was strange enough that his most intimate friend amongst his cousins should be the one that he had come prepared almost to despise—“’prentice Will,” in his plain blue gown and close-cropped hair. One evening at supper George was vaunting the glories of the _Royal Tudor_, when Will (who was frequently permitted to join the family meal, his master being an old and valued friend of his father’s) looked up quietly from his trencher of powdered beef, and remarked, “She’s well enough, brother George; but call me knave and Papist if the _English Merchantman_ does not beat her as clean as Harry beat that great lubberly lout of a draper’s lad last Saturday at the butts in Finsbury fields.” “Speak of what you understand, my lad of watches and finger-rings,” George retorted contemptuously. “Would you wish a craft built for running to and fro in the Mediterranean to look like a cruiser for the Spanish main?” “Is the _Royal Merchantman_ to sail the Spanish main?” asked Walter in an eager, nervous whisper.