The two Padleys, at least, were theirs, besides
their principal house at Norbury; and now that Sir Thomas was in the
Fleet Prison for his religion, young Mr. Thomas, his heir, was of more
account than ever.
He was at his dinner when the two came in, and he rose and saluted them.
He was a smallish kind of man, with a little brown beard, and his short
hair, when he lifted his flapped cap to them, showed upright on his
head; he smiled pleasantly enough, and made space for them to sit down,
one at each side.
"We shall do very well now, Mrs. Merton," he said, "if you will bring in
that goose once more for these gentlemen."
Then he made excuses for beginning his dinner before them: he was on
his way home and must be off again presently.
It was a well-furnished table for a yeoman's house. There was a linen
napkin for each guest, one corner of which he tucked into his throat,
while the other corner lay beneath his wooden plate. The twelve silver
spoons were laid out on the smooth elm-table, and a silver salt stood
before Mr. Thomas. There was, of course, an abundance to eat and drink,
even though no more than two had been expected; and John Merton himself
stood hatless on the further side of the table and took the dishes from
the bare-armed maids to place them before the gentlemen. There was a
jack of metheglin for each to drink, and a huge loaf of miscelin (or
bread made of mingled corn) stood in the midst and beyond the salt.
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