for the King.'

'I never knew kings went to chapel much,' said Mr Springett.
'But I always hold with a man - don't care who he be - seein'
about his own grave before he dies. 'Tidn't the sort of thing to
leave to your family after the will's read. I reckon 'twas a fine vault?'

'None finer in England. This Torrigiano had the contract for it,
as you'd say. He picked master craftsmen from all parts -
England, France, Italy, the Low Countries - no odds to him so
long as they knew their work, and he drove them like - like pigs at
Brightling Fair. He called us English all pigs. We suffered it
because he was a master in his craft. If he misliked any work that a
man had done, with his own great hands he'd rive it out, and tear
it down before us all. "Ah, you pig - you English pig!" he'd
scream in the dumb wretch's face. "You answer me? You look at
me? You think at me? Come out with me into the cloisters. I will
teach you carving myself. I will gild you all over!" But when his
passion had blown out, he'd slip his arm round the man's neck,
and impart knowledge worth gold. 'Twould have done your
heart good, Mus' Springett, to see the two hundred of us
masons, jewellers, carvers, gilders, iron-workers and the rest - all
toiling like cock-angels, and this mad Italian hornet fleeing one to
next up and down the chapel. Done your heart good, it would!'

'I believe you,' said Mr Springett. 'In Eighteen hundred Fifty-four,
I mind, the railway was bein' made into Hastin's. There was
two thousand navvies on it - all young - all strong - an' I was one
of 'em. Oh, dearie me! Excuse me, sir, but was your enemy
workin' with you?'