and forthwith she had me up to her room and into this scarlet petticoat in a twinkling, and mine uncle brought the white cloak and hood himself and fastened it on me, and Jacob came with the shoes and said he had had them made strong for the muddy streets, but smart with the buckles on the top.  And here I be the happiest girl in all London town!  Nay, Cuthbert, but I feel as if my feet could dance of themselves all the way!”

Her happiness was infectious.  Cuthbert felt more like a light-hearted boy than ever he had done in his life before.  His lively little companion, clinging to his arm and chattering like a magpie, effectually drove away all grave thoughts.  The sun shone brightly in the steely-blue sky; the frost had made the streets absolutely clean and dry.  Walking, even in the most trodden places, was easy and pleasant, and everybody seemed in excellent good humour.

Many admiring glances were levelled at the pair as they passed along—­the charming blushing damsel in the white hood, and the distinguished-looking youth with the grave dark face.  Cuthbert gratified the little girl’s curiosity by taking her up and down Paul’s Walk as they passed through St. Paul’s Churchyard, and by the time they gained Fleet Street and Temple Bar she had reached the limit of her farthest walk westward.

They spent several minutes before the clock of St. Dunstan’s in the West, and watched the bronze figures striking on their bells as the hour of midday sounded forth from many steeples.  Then Cherry must needs go down to the river banks between the gentlemen’s gardens and see how the river looked from here.  She was a little awed by the grandeur of the houses all along the Strand, and wondered mightily what it could feel like to be one of the fine Court dames who drove in and out of the great gates in gilded coaches, or ambled forth upon snow-white palfreys, attended by lackeys afoot and on horseback.

Another hour had passed in delighted watching of the street sights and the fine folks who dwelt in these parts, before Cuthbert led her under the archway of the great courtyard, and told her that this was Lord Andover’s house.  It was one of the finest in the Strand, and it was plain that some gay festivity was in foot or in preparation; for there was such a to-ing and fro-ing of serving men, lackeys and scullions, such a clatter of voices, such an air of hurry and jollity on every face, that Cherry could have looked and listened for ever, but that Cuthbert hurried her through the crowd towards a big door opening into the courtyard, and whispered in her ear: 

“They all be too busy to heed me here.  Come to the house, and see what hap we have there.  I may deliver this letter to none other save Lord Culverhouse himself.”

The great door which stood wide open proved to be that of the kitchen—­a vast hall in itself, along the farther side of which were no less than six huge fireplaces.  Cooks and scullions stood at each of these, shouting out orders and moving to and fro; while a perfect crowd of menials and servants, messengers and idlers, stood or sat about, chatting, laughing, and even gaming in corners.  Huge tankards of ale, hot and strongly spiced, stood upon the table, and every one who passed by appeared permitted to help himself at will.