The booths along the main streets were filled with goods, and at these the apprentices shouted loudly to all passer-by, “What d’ye lack?  What d’ye lack?” Here was a mercer exhibiting dark cloths to a grave-looking citizen; there an armorer was showing the temper of his wares to an officer.  Citizens’ wives were shopping and gossiping; groups of men, in high steeple hats and dark cloak, were moving along the streets.  Pack horses carried goods from the ships at the wharves below the bridge to the merchants, and Harry was jostled hither and thither by the moving crowd.  Ascending the hill of Ludgate to the great cathedral of St. Paul’s, he saw a crowd gathered round a person on an elevated stand in the yard, and approaching to see what was going on, found that a preacher was pouring forth anathemas against the king and the Royal party, and inciting the citizens to throw themselves heart and soul into the cause.  Especially severe was he upon waverers, who, he said, were worse than downright enemies, as, while the one withstood the Parliament openly in fair fight, the others were shifted to and fro with each breeze, and none could say whether they were friends or enemies.  Passing through the cathedral, where regular services were no longer held, but where, in different corners, preachers were holding forth against the king, and where groups of men strolled up and down, talking of the troubles of the times, he issued at the eastern door, and entering Cheapside, saw the sign of the merchant to whom he had been directed.

This was Nicholas Fleming, a man of Dutch descent, and well spoken of among his fellows.  He dealt in silks and velvets from Genoa.  His shop presented less outward appearance than did those of his neighbors, the goods being too rich and rare to be exposed to the weather, and he himself dealing rather with smaller traders than with the general public.  The merchant—­a grave-looking man—­was sitting at his desk when Harry entered.  A clerk was in the shop, engaged in writing, and an apprentice was rolling up a piece of silk.  Harry removed his hat, and went up to the merchant’s table, and laying a letter upon it, said: 

“I have come, sir, from Dame Marjory, my aunt, who was your honor’s nurse, with a letter from her, praying you to take me as an apprentice.”

The merchant glanced for a moment at the boy.  He was expecting a message from the Royalist camp, and his keen wit at once led him to suspect that the bearer stood before him, although his appearance in nowise justified such a thought, for Harry had assumed with his peasant clothes a look of stolid stupidity which certainly gave no warrant for the thought that a keen spirit lay behind it.  Without a word the merchant opened the letter, which, in truth, contained nearly the same words which Harry had spoken, but whose signature was sufficient to the merchant to indicate that his suspicions were correct.

“Sit down,” he said to the lad.  “I am busy now; but will talk with you anon.”