LITMIR.BIZ

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of the children.  Servants in those days were allowed to speak more freely to their masters and mistresses than at present, so that Deborah had more opportunity of making such speeches, and it was Rose’s continual work to try to keep her temper from being fretted, or Lady Woodley from being teased with her complaints.  Rose was very forbearing, and but for this there would have been little peace in the house.

      Walter was thirteen, an age when it is not easy to keep boys in order, unless they will do so for themselves.  Though a brave generous boy, he was often unruly and inconsiderate, apt not to obey, and to do what he knew to be unkind or wrong, just for the sake of present amusement.  He was thus his mother’s great anxiety, for she knew that she was not fit either to teach or to restrain him, and she feared that his present wild disobedient ways might hurt his character for ever, and lead to dispositions which would in time swallow up all the good about him, and make him what he would now tremble to think of.

      She used to talk of her anxieties to Doctor Bathurst, the good old clergyman who had been driven away from his parish, but used to come in secret to help, teach, and use his ministry for the faithful ones of his flock.  He would tell her that while she did her best for her son, she must trust the rest to his Father above, and she might do so hopefully, since it had been in His own cause that the boy had been made fatherless.  Then he would speak to Walter, showing him how wrong and how cruel were his overbearing, disobedient ways.  Walter was grieved, and resolved to improve and become steadier, that he might be a comfort and blessing to his mother; but in his love of fun and mischief he was apt to forget himself, and then drove away what might have been in time repentance and improvement, by fancying he did no harm.  Teasing Deborah served her right, he would tell himself, she was so ill-tempered and foolish; Diggory was a clod, and would do nothing without scolding; it was a good joke to tease Charlie; Eleanor was a vexatious little thing, and he would not be ordered by her; so he went his own way, and taught the merry chattering Lucy to be very nearly as bad as himself, neglected his duties, set a bad example, tormented a faithful servant, and seriously distressed his mother.  Give him some great cause, he thought, and he would be the first and the best, bring back the King, protect his mother and sisters, and perform glorious deeds, such as would make his name be remembered for ever.  Then it would be seen what he was worth; in the meantime he lived a dull life, with nothing to do, and he must have some fun.  It did not signify if he was not particular about little things, they were women’s affairs, and all very well for Rose, but when some really important matter came, that would be his time for distinguishing himself.

      In the meantime Charles II. had been invited to Scotland, and had brought with him, as an attendant, Edmund Woodley, the eldest son.  As soon as he was known to have entered England, some of the loyal gentlemen of the neighbourhood of Forest Lea went to join the King, and among their followers went Farmer Ewins, who had fought bravely in the former war under Edmund Mowbray, several other of the men of the village, and lastly, Diggory Stokes, Lady Woodley’s serving man, who had lately shown symptoms of discontent with his place, and fancied that as a soldier he might fare better, make his fortune, and come home prosperously to marry his sweetheart, Deborah.

      CHAPTER II

      Walter ran down to the village at full speed.  He first bent his steps towards the “Half-Moon,” the little public-house, where news was sure to be met with.  As he came towards it, however, he heard the loud sound of a man’s voice going steadily on as if with some discourse.  “Some preachment,” said he to himself: “they’ve got a thorough-going Roundhead, I can hear his twang through his nose!  Shall I go in or not?”

      While he was asking himself this question, an old peasant in a round frock came towards him.

      “Hollo, Will!” shouted Walter, “what prick-eared rogue have you got there?”

      “Hush, hush, Master Walter!” said the old man, taking off his hat very respectfully.  “Best take care what you say, there be plenty of red-coats about.  There’s one of them now preaching away in marvellous pied words.  It is downright shocking to hear the Bible hollaed out after that sort, so I came away.  Don’t you go nigh him, sir, ’specially with your hat set on in that—”

      “Never mind my hat,” said Walter, impatiently, “it is no business of yours, and I’ll wear it as I please in spite of old Noll and all his crew.”

      For his forefathers’ sake, and for the love of his mother and sister, the good village people bore with Walter’s haughtiness and discourtesy far more than was good for him, and the old man did not show how much he was hurt by his rough reception of his good advice.  Walter was not reminded that he ought to rise up before the hoary head, and reverence the old man, and went on hastily, “But tell me, Will, what do you hear of the battle?”

      “The battle, sir! why, they say it is lost.  That’s what the fellow there is preaching about.”

      “And where was it?  Did you hear?  Don’t you know?”

      “Don’t be so hasty, don’t ye, sir!” said the old slow-spoken man, growing confused.  “Where was it?  At some town—some town, they said, but I don’t know rightly the name of it.”

      “And the King?  Who was it?  Not Cromwell?  Had Lord Derby joined?” cried Walter, hurrying on his questions so as to puzzle and confuse the old man more and more, till at last he grew angry at getting no explanation, and vowed it was no use to talk to such an old fool.  At that moment a sound as of feet and horses came along the road.  “’Tis the soldiers!” said Walter.

      “Ay, sir, best get out of sight.”

      Walter thought so too, and, springing over a hedge, ran off into a neighbouring wood, resolving to take a turn, and come back by the longer way to the house, so as to avoid the road.  He walked across the wood, looking up at the ripening nuts, and now and then springing up to reach one, telling himself all the time that it was untrue, and that the King could not, and should not be defeated.  The wood grew less thick after a time, and ended in low brushwood, upon an open common.  Just as Walter was coming to this place, he saw an unusual sight: a man and a horse crossing the down.  Slowly and wearily they came, the horse drooping its head and stumbling in its pace, as though worn out with fatigue, but he saw that it was a war-horse, and the saddle and other equipments were such as he well remembered in the royal army long ago.  The rider wore buff coat, cuirass, gauntlets guarded with steel, sword, and pistols, and Walter’s first impulse was to avoid him; but on giving a second glance, he changed his mind, for though there was neither scarf, plume, nor any badge of party, the long locks, the set of the hat, and the general air of the soldier were not those of a rebel.  He must be a cavalier, but, alas! far unlike the triumphant cavaliers whom Walter had hoped to receive, for he was covered with dust and blood, as if he had fought and ridden hard.  Walter sprung forward to meet him, and saw that he was a young man, with dark eyes and hair, looking very pale and exhausted, and both he and his horse seemed hardly able to stir a step further.

      “Young sir,” said the stranger, “what place is this?  Am I near Forest Lea?”

      A flash of joy crossed Walter.  “Edmund! are you Edmund?” he exclaimed, colouring deeply, and looking up in his face with one quick glance, then casting down his eyes.

      “And you are little Walter,” returned the cavalier, instantly dismounting, and flinging his arm around his brother; “why, what a fine fellow you are grown!  How are my mother and all?”

      “Well, quite well!” cried Walter, in a transport of joy.  “Oh! how happy she will be!  Come, make haste home!”

      “Alas!  I dare not as yet.  I must not enter the house till nightfall, or I should bring danger on you all.  Are there any troopers near?”

      “Yes, the village is full of the rascals.  But what has happened?  It is not true that—”  He could not bear to say the rest.

      “Too true!” said Edmund, leading his tired horse within the shelter of the bushes.  “It is all over with us!”

      “The battle lost!” said Walter, in a stifled tone; and in all the bitterness of the first disappointment of his youth, he turned away, overcome by a gush of tears and sobs, stamping as he walked

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