“I pray you be seated, good masters, and you, too, comely dames,” said Adam, leading them to the table, and assigning each a place with his wand.  “Fall to, and spare not, for it is my honoured master’s desire you should sup well.  You will find that venison pasty worth a trial, and the baked red deer in the centre of the table is a noble dish.  The fellow to it was served at Sir Ralph’s own table at dinner, and was pronounced excellent.  I pray you try it, masters.—­Here, Ned Scargill, mind your office, good fellow, and break me that deer.  And you, Paul Pimlot, exercise your craft on the venison pasty.”

And as trencher after trencher was rapidly filled by the two carvers, who demeaned themselves in their task like men acquainted with the powers of rustic appetite, the old steward addressed himself to the dames.

“What can I do for you, fair mistresses?” he said.  “Here be sack possets, junkets and cream, for such as like them—­French puffs and Italian puddings, right good, I warrant you, and especially admired by my honourable good lady.  Indeed, I am not sure she hath not lent a hand herself in their preparation.  Then here be fritters in the court fashion, made with curds of sack posset, eggs and ale, and seasoned with nutmeg and pepper.  You will taste them, I am sure, for they are favourites with our sovereign lady, the queen.  Here, Gregory, Dickon—­bestir yourselves, knaves, and pour forth a cup of sack for each of these dames.  As you drink, mistresses, neglect not the health of our honourable good master Sir Ralph, and his lady.  It is well—­it is well.  I will convey to them both your dutiful good wishes.  But I must see all your wants supplied.  Good Dame Openshaw, you have nought before you.  Be prevailed upon to taste these dropt raisins or a fond pudding.  And you, too, sweet Dame Tetlow.  Squire Nicholas gave me special caution to take care of you, but the injunction was unneeded, as I should have done so without it.—­Another cup of canary to Dame Tetlow, Gregory.  Fill to the brim, knave—­to the very brim.  To the health of Squire Nicholas,” he added in a low tone, as he handed the brimming goblet to the blushing dame; “and be sure and tell him, if he questions you, that I obeyed his behests to the best of my ability.  I pray you taste this pippin jelly, dame.  It is as red as rubies, but not so red as your lips, or some leach of almonds, which, lily-white though it be, is not to be compared with the teeth that shall touch it.”

“Odd’s heart! mester steward, yo mun ha’ larnt that protty speech fro’ th’ squoire himself,” replied Dame Tetlow, laughing.

“It may be the recollection of something said to me by him, brought to mind by your presence,” replied Adam Whitworth, gallantly.  “If I can serve you in aught else, sign to me, dame.—­Now, knaves, fill the cups—­ale or bragget, at your pleasure, masters.  Drink and stint not, and you will the better please your liberal entertainer and my honoured master.”