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can levy taxes without the consent of Parliament?” cried Mr. Thorpe.
    â€œWhat else can he do if Parliament refuse to make a proper grant?” said Mr. Ferrand crossly. “It is you Puritans who want us to fight for the Protestants abroad; very well then, you must pay for it.”
    â€œParliament did not refuse, they were dissolved before they could open their mouths,” grumbled Mr. Thorpe.
    â€œThey wove out delays,” contended Mr. Ferrand. “It was enough to anger any man. And the King, God bless him, is a very kingly man.”
    At this Mr. Thorpe snorted, and my father’s gentle face grew cold.
    â€œThe greater the office, the greater the duty,” he said.
    â€œAnd the greater the privilege. You can’t deny that, Robert Clarkson,” said Mr. Ferrand more cheerfully.
    â€œYou approve of these forced loans and illegal taxes, then?” demanded my father.
    Mr. Ferrand’s face clouded again. “If Parliament won’t grant the King money, he is driven to such expedients,” he answered testily. “I tell you ’tis the fault of Parliament.”
    â€œAnd I suppose it’s the fault of Parliament too that those who refuse these pretended gifts are thrown into prison?” went on my father.
    â€œNot many refuse,” said Mr. Ferrand.
    â€œYou are mistaken, Giles,” my father told him. “There are so many noblemen and gentry in prison now that it’s said the prisons are the only merry places in London.”
    â€œTalk, idle talk,” said Mr. Ferrand testily.
    â€œThat’s a good tale about old Lord Fairfax,” put in Mr. Thorpe, laughing. We all listened attentively; for old Lord Fairfax, whose estates lay in Wharfedale nearby, was respected by my father because his family had suffered disinheritance in the old days for their revolt against their ancestors’ Catholic religion, while the Ferrands admired him for his breed of horses, which were justly famous in the West Riding—Snowball, I remembered, came from the Fairfax stables. It seemed now that the old lord, being commanded by the King’s Council to summon all the gentry of his division and require them to make a free gift to the King, had assembled them as ordered; but when they neither would make the gift nor dared deny it, he wrote such a skilful letter to the Council, mixing such bemoanings of hard times with such extravagant expressions of loyalty, that the Council knew not whether he meant to express refusal or submission, and so were uncertain what to do in the case. This tale of Mr. Thorpe’s was the first intimation I had that taxes and such had to be paid by ordinary Yorkshire folk, and I was frightened by it.
    â€œThat’s all very well,” objected Mr. Ferrand, vexed at being obliged to disagree either with the King or Lord Fairfax: “But how do you expect His Majesty to carry on a war abroad without money? Tell me that.”
    â€œWar!” exclaimed Mr. Thorpe. “It’s neither peace nor war, as far as I can see. We declare war on these foreign lands, so that they are vexed and don’t buy our cloth, but all the war we make is to send out puny expeditions under Buckingham, who does nowt as far as I can see but sit still and let his men rot.”
    â€œIf they are puny, it’s because Parliament will not grant any money to pay for bigger ones,” shouted Mr. Ferrand, crimson. “Surely even you can see that! Cloth! Cloth! You think of nothing but your cloth and your pocket. If you thought of your trade less and England’s good name more, it would be better for all of us, let me tell you, Thomas.”
    â€œReligion must take first place in all our thoughts,” said my father austerely.
    â€œAye! It’s a pity Will can’t get himself a pulpit,” said Mr. Ferrand with some malice. “Well, I shall pay the gift His Majesty asks for, very gladly.”
    â€œI am assessed for only ten