LITMIR.BIZ

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up shop and join us? I do faithfully promise that thou shalt come back home again at the end of two brief years a wealthier man than ever the use of such trifling instruments as scissors and curling-irons can make thee."

      But Peter was already a married man, with a growing family of boys to keep and to clothe and to send out upon the world, and he chose the certainty of an easy livelihood rather than the promise of riches which were to be gained, if at all, by deserting his home and leaving his wife and children to shift for themselves. He had reflected, too, that if there were Spaniards to be fought abroad, there was also a threatened danger from the same dread enemy at home in England, and that Queen Elizabeth had as great need for landsmen to defend her coasts as for mariners to extend her power beyond the seas. And, indeed, when that danger arrived (as it did in the year 1588, when Timothy was a boy of twelve years old) Peter proved himself ready and willing to fight for his country, albeit the sum of his work on that glorious occasion was no more than to help to light the bonfire on Plymouth Hoe—the first of those beacon-fires which flashed along the coast to warn all England of the coming of King Philip's great armada.

      The memorable rout of the Spanish ships had taken place just two years before the opening of my story, and Timothy Trollope was now a well-grown lad of fourteen. He could remember all the events of the chase up the Channel, for he had heard the story repeated many times by men who had fought upon the Queen's ships. He was reminded of them every day; and even this morning as he strode through the town with his bag over his shoulders on his way to Modbury, he saw a group of the Spanish prisoners of war standing in the market-place—dark-visaged, evil-looking men, who seemed to be for ever plotting and scheming how they might escape from England and get back to their own orange groves in sunny Seville.

      Tim hated the Spaniards (as I suppose all English boys hated them at that time), and he was careful to pass the señors at a very safe distance, believing that there was danger in being close to them, and that under their long black cloaks each of them carried a rapier or a stiletto ready to his hand, to draw upon any unwary person who should happen to betray by look or sign the enmity that was in the hearts of all the townsfolk, young and old. For although the prisoners were out on their parole and were strictly forbidden to carry arms, yet Timothy always secretly mistrusted them, and suspected them, not without reason, of carrying weapons which they were only too ready to use.

      It was a long walk from Plymouth to Modbury Park; but the morning was fine, and Timothy, having left the town behind, tramped merrily along the shady country lanes, slashing with his stick at the rank weeds that grew at the wayside, and fancying that each nettle and foxglove that he laid low was a proud Spaniard whom he had slain.

      As he crossed the fields by a footpath leading towards Beddington Dingle, a covey of partridges, alarmed at his approach, rose with a noisy whirr of wings from the stubble. In the woods of the dingle he watched a squirrel running along the high branch of an oak-tree, and in a ditch at the farther border of the wood he startled a rat, and loitered there for a long, long time trying to discover the hole into which the animal had escaped.

      While he was searching he heard voices from behind him, mingled with the screaming of hawks, the yelping of dogs, and the tinkling of bells.

      "Well cast off aloft, ah!—well flown!" cried one voice.

      "Now she hath seized the fowl," cried another, "and 'gins to plume her—rebeck her not!—stand still and check her!"

      Timothy turned quickly round. High in the air he saw a heron flying, pursued by a couple of falcons, that whirled about their quarry, shunning its spear-like beak. At a moment of advantage one of the hawks mounted yet higher, and then, swooping down, struck like a thunderbolt upon her prey and seized the fowl within her talons. A shower of feathers floated down into the midst of the joyous crowd of men and women who were watching the sport from their horses' backs in the stubble-field.

      It was a very gay and courtly company. Here on their prancing horses were many elegant gentlemen wearing plumed hats and bright-coloured capes; ladies with their snow-white ruffs and their long velvet gowns that almost swept the daisies and dandelions at their horses' feet; and all were laughing and calling aloud in their excitement as they compared the merits of their birds, or made wagers on the success of their flights.

      Near to where Timothy stood, an old gentleman with a pointed white beard and a russet-coloured doublet rode on a very large chestnut horse. He carried a merlin hawk perched on his fist, but he seemed to take less interest in the sport than did his younger companions. Timothy had seen him many times before, both in Plymouth and at Modbury Park, and knew him to be the great Baron Champernoun, the lord of the manor of Modbury, a noted soldier and courtier. A very beautiful lady rode by his side, wearing a sombre black gown and a wide black hat with black feathers. She looked strangely out of place among her gaily-dressed friends, and Timothy wondered why she should wear this habit of gloom, until he saw her face, when he at once recognized her as the Lady Elisabeth Oglander, and knew that her reason for shunning bright colours in her apparel was the death of her most noble husband, the honourable Edmund Oglander, who had fallen in battle in the Netherlands while fighting against the Spaniards.

      She drew rein, and the master falconer approached her with his square frame round his waist, on which were perched some half-dozen hawks with their hoods and bells and their scarlet tufts. The lady leaned over on her saddle and took a hawk from the falconer's hand. The bird flapped its wings in great commotion until it was fairly perched on the fingers that held it. Then the Lady Elizabeth, holding her hand aloft, rode off across the field, followed presently by the rest of the hawking party, while Tim Trollope watched them disappear round a corner of the wood.

      As he turned to continue his way he came face to face with a boy of about his own age, who was carrying some dead partridges—spoils of the chase.

      "Helloh, Will!" cried Timothy, recognizing the lad. "I had thought you were at work on Modbury farm. Hast had a rise in the world that you are out here at the heels of the gentlefolks?"

      "A rise, do you call it?" returned Will. "That is as it may be. For my own part I do call it but a change of labour. I get no more pay for't, I promise you; and 'tis a vast deal harder work than the herding of cattle or the tending of sheep. I like it not, Tim; and 'tis certain I shall not stand it much longer." He dropped his burden on the grass at his feet and gazed idly about him with a dreamy look in his eyes. Presently he added, "I am for the sea, if peradventure I can get a ship to take me. I'd leave to-morrow an I could get someone to take my place."

      Timothy glanced quickly at his young friend.

      "I'll take it!" he cried eagerly. "I'll take your place, and gladly. For I have been wanting these many months past to go to work, and, since my father will not suffer me to go to sea, why, there is nothing I'd like better than to be in the service of my Lord Champernoun."

      And with this new idea in his head he went on his way, inwardly resolving that on the very next day he would go up to Modbury Manor and apply to his lordship's bailiff, entreating him to give him work, either on the farm or else in the mews where the hawks were kept. And he had little doubt that when once he had got promise of employment there would be no possible opposition from his father.

      This thought of his father reminded him that he had not yet begun to gather the herbs for which he had been sent out, so he went on over the fields until he came to the fir plantation in Modbury Park, and there in a quiet hollow he began to fill his wallet with such roots and berries as the barber-surgeon had bidden him bring home.

      He had walked round by the lake, and was unearthing the root of a rare herb which he knew that his father would set great store by, when, without the warning of any previous sound or movement he felt himself suddenly seized from behind and held firmly by his leather belt.

      Now, although the hand which held him was a very tiny one, yet it gripped him with surprising tenacity, and the suddenness of the assault was such that the lad, knowing that he was a trespasser on private ground, was greatly alarmed. He thought at once of my lord's gamekeeper, and he dreaded the consequences. He struggled to wrench himself away, and turned to confront his assailant. Instead of the man that he had expected, he beheld a little maid whose large blue eyes regarded him

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