Our Little Lady | Page 5

friends talking? It sounds very odd. It is
English, and yet it is not. Yes, it is what learned men call "Middle
English"--because it stands midway between the very oldest English, or
Anglo-saxon, and the modern English which we speak now. It is about
as much like our English as broad Scotch is. A few words and
expressions through the story will give an idea how different it is; but if
I were to write exactly as they would have spoken, nobody would
understand it now.

And how do they live inside this tiny house? Well, in some respects, in
a poorer and meaner way than the very poorest would live now. Look
up, and you will see that there is no chimney, but the smoke finds its
way out through a hole above the fire, and when it is wet the rain
comes in and puts the fire out. They know nothing about candles, but
burn long shafts of pine-wood instead. There are such things as wax
candles, indeed, but they are only used in church; nobody dreams of
burning them in houses. And there are lamps, but they are made of gold
and silver, and are never seen except in the big castles. There is no
crockery; and metal plates, as I said, are only for the grand people. The
middle classes use wooden trenchers--our friends have two--hollowed
out to keep the gravy in; and the poor have no plates at all beyond a
cake of bread. Their drinking-glasses are just cows' horns, with the tip
cut off and a wooden bottom put in. They have also a few wooden
bowls, and one precious brass pot; half a dozen knives, rough unwieldy
things, and four wooden spoons; one horn spoon is kept for best. Forks?
Oh dear, no; nobody knows anything about forks, except a pitchfork.
Table-linen? No, nor body-linen; those luxuries are only in the big
castles. Let us watch Avice's mother as she sets the table for four-hours,
remembering that they are going to have company, and therefore will
try to make things a little more comfortable than usual.
In the first place, there will be a table to set. If they were alone, they
would use one or two of the high stools. But Agnes goes out into the
little yard, and brings back two boards and a couple of trestles, which
she sets up in the middle of the room. This is the table--rather a rickety
affair, you may say; and it will be quite as well that nobody should lean
his elbow on it. Next, she puts on the boards four of the cows' horns,
and the two trenchers, with one bowl. She then serves out a knife and
spoon for each of four people, putting the horn spoon for the Bishop.
Her preparations are now complete, with the addition of one thing
which is never forgotten--a very large wooden salt-cellar, which she
puts almost at one end, for where that stands is a matter of importance.
Great people--and the Bishop is a very great person--must sit above the
salt, and small insignificant folks are put below. We may also notice
that the Bishop is honoured with a horn and a trencher to himself. This
is an unusual distinction. Husband and wife always share the same

plate, and other relatives very frequently. As to Avice, we see that
nothing is set for her. The child will share her mother's spoon and horn;
and if the Bishop brings his chaplain, he will have a spoon and horn for
himself, but will eat off the Grandmother's plate.
Our picture is finished, and now the story may begin.
CHAPTER TWO.
HOW THINGS CHANGED.
"Open the door, Avice, quick!" said Agnes, as a rap came upon it.
"Yonder, methinks, must be the holy Bishop."
Avice ran to the door, and opened it, to find two priests standing on the
threshold. They entered, the foremost with a smile to the child, after
which he held up his hand, saying, "Christ save all here!" Then he held
out his hand, which both Agnes and her mother kissed, and sat down on
one of the forms by the table. Every priest was then looked upon as a
most holy person. Some of them were a long way from holiness. But
there were some who really deserved the title, and few deserved it so
well as Robert Copley, Bishop of Lincoln, whom, according to the
fashion of that day, people called Grosteste, or Great-head.
For surnames were then only just beginning to grow, and very few
people had them--I mean, very few had received any from their fathers.
They had, therefore, to bear some name given to them. Sometimes a
man was named from his father--he was Robert John-son, or John
Wil-son. Sometimes