CHAPTER XX. NOT FOR SALE
But when I had fed my good horse that evening, and bedded him comfortably as he deserved, returning with a hock of cold bacon to my den, and a jug of ale which I needed sorely, there I found my white deal table, just where I was going to lay the cloth, covered with a canopy and tissue-fringing of gold too bright for the candle-light.
"Who has brought this beehive here and stuck it on my table?" I asked with a tone of wonder and vexation; for I had quite enough to do with my own affairs just now.
"Did you ever see a beehive of this colour? Then I should like to know where they got the straw from?"
Grace had lifted her head, and was passing both hands through the curls of which she was so proud that she cared not what we called them, and her cheeks had a rich,
