 One penny every week the good priest that teacheth me shall
have; mother, Nan, and Bet the other four. We be done with hunger and
rags, now, done with fears and frets and savage usage.”

In his dream he reached his sordid home all out of breath, but with
eyes dancing with grateful enthusiasm; cast four of his pennies into his
mother’s lap and cried out--

“They are for thee!--all of them, every one!--for thee and Nan and
Bet--and honestly come by, not begged nor stolen!”

The happy and astonished mother strained him to her breast and
exclaimed--

“It waxeth late--may it please your Majesty to rise?”

Ah! that was not the answer he was expecting.