 8 Edward put the pony to a trot, and in two hours was on the other side of the new forest. The directions given to him by Jacob were not forgotten, and before it was noon he found himself at the gate of the keeper's house, dismounting and hanging the bridle of the pony over the rail. He walked through a small garden, neatly kept, but so early in the year, not over gay, except that the crocus and snowdrops were peeping. He rapped at the door with his knuckles, and a girl of about fourteen, very neatly dressed, answered the summons. His uswell-partridge at home, maiden, said Edward, No young man, he is not, he is in the forest. When will he return? Toward the evening is his time, unless he is more than usually successful. I have come some distance to find him, replied Edward, and it would vex me to return without saying him. Has he a wife, or anyone that I could speak to? He has no wife, but I am willing to deliver a message. I have come about some dogs which he promised to Jacob Armitage, my relation, but the old man is too unwell, and has been for some time to come himself for them, and he has sent me. There are dogs, young and old, large and small, in the kennels, so far do I know, and no more. I fear, then, I must wait till his return, replied Edward. I will speak to my father, replied the young girl, if you await one moment. In a minute or two the girl returned, saying that her father begged that he would walk in, and he would speak with him. Edward bowed and followed the young girl, who led the way to a room, in which was seated a man dressed after the fashion of the round heads of the day. His steeple-crowned hat lay on the chair, with his sword beneath it. He was sitting at a table covered with papers. Here is the youth, father, said the girl, and having said this, she crossed the room and took a seat by the side of the fire. The man, or we should rather say gentleman, for he had the appearance of one, not withstanding the somber and peculiar dress he wore, continued to read a letter, which he had just opened. And Edward, who feared himself the prisoner of a round head, when he only expected to meet a keeper, was further irritated by the neglect shown toward him by the party. Saying that he was, by his own assertion, not Edward Beverly, but the relative of one Jacob Armitage, he colored up with anger as he stood at the door. Fortunately the time that it took the other party to read through the letter gave Edward also time for recollecting the disguise under which he appeared. The color subsided from his cheeks, and he remained in silence, occasionally meeting the look of the little girl, who, when their eyes met, immediately withdrew her glance. What is your business, young man? At last the gentleman at the table. I came, sir, on private business with the keeper, Oswell Partridge, to obtain two young hounds, which he promised to my grandfather, Jacob Armitage. Armitage, said the other party, referring to a list on the table, Armitage, Jacob, Yes, I see he is one of the verterers. Why has he not been here to call upon me? For what reason should he call upon you, sir? replied Edward. Simply, young man, because the new forest is, by the parliament, committed to my charge. Notice has been given for all those who were employed to come here, that they might be permitted to remain, or be discharged, as I deem most advisable. Jacob Armitage has heard nothing of this, sir, replied Edward. He was a keeper, appointed under the king, for two or three years his allowance have never been paid, and he has lived on his own cottage, which was left to him by his father, being his own property. And pray, may I ask, young man, do you live with Jacob Armitage? I have done so for more than a year. And as your relation has received no pay and allowances, as you state, pray by what means has he maintained himself. How have the other keepers maintained themselves? replied Edward. Do not put questions to me, sir, replied the gentleman. But be pleased to reply to mine. What has been the means of subsistence of Jacob Armitage? If you think he has no means of subsistence, sir, you are mistaken, replied Edward. We have land of our own which we cultivate. We have our pony and our cart. We have our pigs and our cows. And they have been sufficient. Had the patriarchs more? replied Edward. You are pithy at reply, young man. But I know something of Jacob Armitage, and we know, continued he, putting his finger close to some writing opposite the name on the list, with whom he has associated, and with whom he has served. Now allow me to put one question. You have come, you say, for two young hounds. Are their services required for your pigs and cows? And to what uses are they to be put? We have as good a dog as there is in the forest, replied Edward. But we wish to have others in case we should lose him. As good a dog as in the forest, good for what? For hunting. Then you acknowledge that you do hunt? I acknowledge nothing for Jacob Armitage. He may answer for himself, replied Edward. But allow me to assure you that if he has killed Venison, no one can blame him. Perhaps you will explain why. Nothing is more easy. Jacob Armitage served King Charles, who employed him as a murderer in the forest, and paid him his wages. Those who should not have done so rebelled against the king, took his authority from him, and the means of paying those he employed. They were still servants of the king, for they were not dismissed, and having no other means of support, they considered that their good master would be but too happy that they should support themselves by killing, for their subsistence, that Venison which they could no longer preserve for him without eating some themselves. Then you admit that Jacob Armitage has killed the deer in the forest? I admit nothing for Jacob Armitage. You admit that you have killed it yourself? I shall not answer that question, sir. In the first place I am not here to discriminate myself, and in the next I must know by what authority you have the right to inquire. Young man, replied the other in a severe tone, if you wish to know my authority, Malapurte, as you are, at this remark Edward started, yet recollecting himself he compressed his lips and stood still. This is my commission, appointing me the agent of parliament, to take charge and superintend the new forest, with power to appoint and dismiss those whom I please. I presume you must take my word for it, as you cannot read and write. Edward stepped up to the table, and very quietly took up the paper and read it. You have stated what is correct, sir, said he, laying it down, and the date of it is, I perceive, on the twentieth of the last month, December. It is, therefore, but eighteen days old. And what inference would you draw from that young man? replied the gentleman, looking up to him with some astonishment. Simply this, sir, that Jacob Armitage has been laid up with the rheumatism for three months, during which time he certainly has not killed any venison. Now, sir, until the parliament took the forest into their hands it undoubtedly belonged to his majesty, if it does not now. For Jacob Armitage, for whatever slaughter he may have committed, is, up to the present, only answerable to his sovereign King Charles. It is easy to perceive the school in which you have been brought up, young man, even if there was not evidence on this paper, that your forefather nerved under the cavalier Colonel Beverly, and has been brought up to his way of thinking. Sir, it is a base dog that bites the hand that feeds him, replied Edward with warmth. Jacob Armitage, and his father before him, were retainers in the family of Colonel Beverly. They were indebted to him for the situation they held in the forest. Indbted to him for everything, they revert his name, they uphold the cause for which he fell, as I do. Young man, if you do not speak advisedly, at all events you speak gratefully. Neither have I a word of disrespect to offer to the memory of Colonel Beverly, who was a gallant man, and true to the cause which he espoused, although it was not a holy one. But in my position I cannot, injustice to those whom I serve, give places and emolument to those who have been, and still are, as I may judge by your expressions, adverse to the present government. Sir, replied Edward, your language with respect to Colonel Beverly has made me feel respect for you, which I confess I did not at first. What you say is very just. Not that I think you harm Jacob Armitage, as, in the first place, I know that he would not serve under you, and in the next, that he is too old and infirm to hold the situation. Neither has he occasioned for it, as his cottage and land or his own, and you cannot remove him. He has the title, I presume, replied the gentleman. He has the title given to his grandfather long before King Charles was born, and I presume the Parliament do not intend to invalidate the acts of former kings. May I inquire what relation you are to Jacob Armitage? I believe I have said before, his grandson. You live with him? I do. And if the old man dies, will inherit his property? Edward smiled, and looking at the young girl said, Now I ask you, maiden, if your father does not presume upon his office. The young girl laughed, and said, He is in authority. Not over me, certainly, and not over my grandfather, for he has dismissed him. Were you brought up with the cottage, young men? No, sir. I was brought up at Arnwood. I was playmate of the children of Colonel Beverly. Educated with them? Yes, for as far as my willfulness would permit. The chaplain was always ready to give me instruction. Where were you when Arnwood was burned down? I was at the cottage at the time, replied Edward, grinding his teeth and looking wildly. Nay, nay, I can forgive any expression of failing on your part, young man, when that dreadful and disgraceful deed is brought to your memory. It was a stain that can never be aface, a deed most diabolical, and what we thought would call down the vengeance of heaven. If prayers could avert or did avert it, they were not wanting on our side. Edward remained silent. This admission on the part of the roundhead prevented an explosion on his part. He felt that all were not so bad as he had imagined. After a long pause he said, When I came here, sir, it was to seek Oswell Partridge and obtain the hounds which he had promised us, but I presume that my journey is now useless. Why so? Because you have the control of the forest and will not permit dogs for the chase to be given away to those who are not employed by the powers that now govern. You have judged correctly in so far that my duty is to prevent it, but as the promise was made previous to the date of my commission, I presume, said he smiling, you think I have no right to interfere, as it would be an ex post facto case if I do. I shall not, therefore, interfere. Only I must point out to you that the laws are still the same relative to those who take the deer in the forest by stealth. You understand me? Yes, sir, I do, and if you will not be offended I will give you a candid reply. Speak, then. I consider that the deer in this forest belonged to King Charles, who is my lawful sovereign, and I own no authority but from him. I hold myself answerable to him alone for any deer I may kill, and I feel sure of his permission and full forgiveness for what I may do. That may be your opinion, my good sir, but it will not be the opinion of the ruling powers. But if caught, you will be punished, and that by me, in pursuance of the authority vested in me. Well, sir, if so, so be it. You have dismissed the armatiges on account of their upholding the king, and you cannot, therefore, be surprised that they uphold him more than ever. Nor can you be surprised if a dismissed verterer becomes a poacher. Nor can you be surprised if a poacher is caught that he incurs the penalty, replied the round head. So now there's an end of our argument. If you go into the kitchen you will find wherewithal to refresh the outward man, and if you wish to remain till Oswald Partridge comes home you are welcome. Edward, who felt indignant at being dismissed to the kitchen, knotted his head and smiled upon the little girl and left the room. Well, thought he, as he went along the passage, I came here for two puppies, and I have found a round head. I don't know how it is, but I am not angry with him as I thought I should be. That little girl had a nice smile. She was quite handsome when she smiled. Oh, this is the kitchen to which, thought he, the lord of Arnwood, is dismissed by a coven-enter, and round head, probably a tradesman or outlaw who has served the cause. Well, be it so, as Humphrey says, I'll bide my time, but there is no one here, so I'll try if there is a stable for White Billy who is tired, I presume, of being at the gate. Edward returned by the way he came, went out of the front door and threw the garden to where the pony was made fast, and led him away in search of a stable. He found one behind the house, and, filling the rack with hay, returned to the house and seated himself at a porch, which was at the door which led to the back-premises, for the keeper's house was large and commodious. Edward was in deep thought when he was roused by the little girl, the daughter of the newly appointed Intendant of the Forest, you said. I am afraid, young sir, you have had but sorry welcome in the kitchen, as there was no one to receive you. I was not aware that Phoebe had gone out. If you will come with me, I may perhaps find you refreshment. Thanks, maiden, you are kind and considerate to an avowed poacher, replied Edward. Oh, but you will not poach, I'm sure, and if you do, I'll beg you off if I can," replied the girl, laughing. Edward followed her into the kitchen, and she soon produced a cold fowl and a venison pasty which she placed on the table. She then went out and returned with a jug of ale. There, said she, putting it on the table, that is all that I can find. Your father's name is Heatherstone, I believe, it was so on the warrant. Yes, it is. And yours? The same as my father's, I should presume. Yes, but your baptismal name? You ask strange questions, young sir, but still I will answer you that. My baptismal name is Patience. I thank you for your condescension, replied Edward. You live here? For the present good, sir, and now I leave you. That's a nice little girl, thought Edward, although she is the daughter of a roundhead, and she calls me sir, I cannot therefore look like Jacob's grandson, and must be careful. Edward then set to, with a good appetite at the vians which had been placed before him, and had just finished a hearty meal when Patience Heatherstone again came in and said, Oswell, Partridge is now coming home. I thank you, maiden, replied Edward. May I ask a question of you? Where is the king now? I have heard that he resides at her's castle, replied the girl, but, added she in a low tone, all attempts to see him would be useless, and only heard him and those who made the attempt. Having said this, she left the room. CHAPTER IX Edward, having finished his meal, and had a good pull at the jove ale, which was a liquor he had not tasted for a long while, rose from the table, and went out of the back door and found their Oswell Partridge. He accosted him, stating the reason for his coming over to him. I did not know that Jacob had a grandson. Indeed I never knew that he had a son. Have you been living with him long? More than a year, replied Edward. Before that I was in the household at Arnwood. When you are of the king's side, I presume, replied Oswald. To death, replied Edward, when the time comes. And I also that you may suppose, for never would I give a hound to anyone that was not, but we had better go to the kennels. Dogs may hear, but they can't repeat. I little thought that I have met any one but you here when I came, said Edward, and I will now tell you all that passed between me and the new intendant. Edward then related the conversation. You have been bold, said Oswald, but perhaps it is all the better. I am to retain my situation, and so are two others, but there are many new hands coming in as rangers. I know nothing of them, but that they are a little fitted for their places and rail against the king all day long, which I suppose is their chief merit in the eyes of those who appoint them. However, one thing is certain, that if those fellows cannot stock a deer themselves, they will do all they can to prevent others, so you must be on the alert, for the punishment is severe. I fear them not. The only difficulty is that we shall not be able to find a sale for the venison now, replied Edward. Oh, never fear that. I will give you the names of those who will take all your venison off your hands without any risk on your part, except in the killing of it. They will meet you in the park, lay down ready money, and take it away. I don't know, but I have an idea that this new intendant, or what you may call him, is not so severe as he pretends to be. Indeed, his permitting you to say what he did, and his own words relative to the colonel, convinced me that I am right in the opinion that I formed. Do you know who he is? Not much about him, but he is a great friend of General Cromwell, and they say has done good service to the parliamentary cause. But we shall meet again, for the forest is free at all events. If you come here, continued Oswald, do not carry your gun, and see that you are not watched home. There are the dogs for your grandfather. Why, how old must you be, for Jacob is not more than sixty or there about? I am fifteen, past, nevertheless. I should have put you down for eighteen or nineteen at least. You are well grown indeed for that age. Well, nothing like a forest life to turn a boy into a man. Can you stock a deer? I seldom go out without bringing one down. Indeed, that Jacob is a master of his craft, is certain, but you are young to have learned it so soon. Can you tell the slot of a brocket from a stag? Yes, and the slot of a brocket from a doe. Better still, we must go out together, and besides I must know where the old man's cottage is, for I do not exactly, in the first place, because I may want to come to you, and in the next, then I may put others on a false scent. Do you know the clump of large oaks which they call the clump royal? Yes, I do. Will you meet me there the day after to-morrow at early dawn? If I live and do well, that's enough. Take the dogs in the leashes and go away now. Many thanks, but I must not leave the pony, he is in the stable. The keeper nodded adieu to Edward, who left him to go to the stable for the pony. Edward saddled white Billy, and rode away across the forest with the dogs trotting at the pony's heels. Edward had much to reflect upon as he rode back to the cottage. He felt that his position was one of more difficulty than before. That old Jacob Armitage would not last much longer he was convinced. Even now the poor old man was shrunk away to a skeleton with pain and disease, that the livelihood to be procured from the forest would be attended with peril, now that order had been restored, and the forest was no longer neglected, was certain. And he rejoiced that Humphrey had, by his aciduity and intelligence, made the farm so profitable as it promised to be. Indeed he felt that, if necessary, they could live upon the proceeds of the farm and not run the risk of imprisonment by stocking the deer. But he had told the intendant that he considered the game as the king's property, and he was resolved that he would at all events run the risk, although he would no longer permit Humphrey so to do. If anything happens to me, thought Edward, Humphrey will still be at the cottage to take care of my sisters, and if I am obliged to fly the country it will suit well my feelings, as I can then offer my services to those who still support the king. With these thoughts and many others he amused himself until, late in the evening, he arrived at the cottage. He found all in bed except Humphrey, who had waited for him, and to whom he narrated all that had passed. Humphrey said little in reply. He wished to think it over before he gave any opinion. He told Edward that Jacob had been very ill the whole of the day, and had requested Alice to read the Bible to him during the evening. The next morning Edward went to Jacob, who for the last ten days had altogether kept his bed, and gave him the detail of what had happened at the Keeper's Lodge. You have been more bold than prudent, Edward, replied Jacob, but I could not expect you to have spoken otherwise. You are too proud and too manly to tell a lie, and I am glad that it is so. As for your upholding the king, although he is now a prisoner in their hands, they cannot blame you or punish you for that, as long as you have not weapons in your hands. But now that they have taken the forest under their jurisdiction, you must be careful, for they are the ruling powers at present, and must be obeyed, or the forfeit must be paid. Still, I do not ask you to promise me this or that. I only point out to you that your sisters will suffer by any imprudence on your part, and for their sakes be careful. I say this, Edward, because I feel that my days are numbered, and that in a short time I shall be called away. You will then have all the load on your shoulders which has been laterally on mine. I have no fear for the result if you are prudent. These few months past, during which I have only been a burden to you, have proved that you and Humphrey can find a living here for yourselves and your sisters. And it is fortunate, now that the forest laws are about to be put in force, that you have made the farm so profitable. If I might advise, let your hunting in the forest be confined to the wild cattle. They are not game, and the forest laws do not extend to them. And the meat is as valuable as venison. That is to say, it does not sell so dear, but there is more of it. But stick to the farm as much as you can. For you see, Edward, you do not look like a lowborn forester, nor ought you to do so, and the more quiet you keep the better. As for Oswell Partridge, you may trust him. I know him well, and he will prove your friend for my sake, as soon as he hears that I am dead. Leave me now. I will talk to you again in the evening. Send Alice to me, my dear boy. Edward was much distressed to perceive the change which had taken place in old Jacob. He was evidently much worse, but Edward had no idea how much worse he was. Edward assisted Humphrey in the farm, and in the evening again went to Jacob, and then told him of the arrangement he had made to meet Oswell Partridge on the following morning. Go, my boy, said Jacob, be as intimate with him as you can, and make a friend of him. Nay, if it should be necessary, you may tell him who you are. I did think of telling him myself, as it might be important to you one day as evidence. I think you had better bring him here tomorrow night, Edward. Tell him I am dying, and wish to speak to him before I go. Alice will read the Bible to me now, and I will talk with you another time. Early the next morning Edward set off to the appointed rendezvous with Oswell Partridge. The clump-royal, as it was called, from the peculiar size and beauty of the oaks, was about seven miles from the cottage, and at the hour and time indicated Edward with his gun in his hand and smoker lying beside him was leaning against one of those monarchs of the forest. He did not wait long. Oswald Partridge, similarly provided, made his appearance and Edward advanced to meet him. Welcome, Oswald, said Edward. And welcome to you also, my fine lad, replied Oswald. I have been hard-questioned about you since we parted, first by the round-head Heatherstone, who plied me in all manner of ways to find out whether you are, what you assert, the grandson of Jacob or some other person. I really believe that he fancies you are the Duke of York, but he could not get any more from me than what I knew. I told him that your grandfather's cottage was his own property and a grant to his forefathers, that you were brought up at Arnwood and enjoined your grandfather after the death of the Colonel, and the murderous burning of the house and all within it by his party. But the pretty little daughter was more curious still. She cross-questioned me in every way when her father was not present, and at last begged me as a favor to tell you not to take the deer, as her father was very strict at his duty, and if caught you would be imprisoned. Many thanks to her for her caution. But I hope to take one today, nevertheless, replied Edward. A heart-royal is not meat for round-heads, although the king's servants may feast on them. That's truly said. Well, now I must see your wood-craft. You shall be the leader of the chase. Thank you, we can harbor a stag about here? Yes, in this month, no doubt. Let us walk on, said Edward. The wind is fresh from the eastern quarter. We will face it, if you please, or rather keep it blowing on our right cheek for the present. Tis will, replied Oswald, and they walked for about half an hour. This is the slot of a doe, said Edward in a low voice, pointing to the marks. Under thicket is a likely harbor for the stag. They proceeded, and Edward pointed out to Oswald the slot of the stag into the thicket. They then walked round and found no marks of the animal having left his lair. He is here, whispered Edward, and Oswald made a sign for Edward to enter the thicket while he walked to the other side. Edward entered the thicket cautiously. In the center he perceived, through the trees, a small cleared spot covered with high fern, and felt certain that the stag was lying there. He forced his way on his knees till he had a better view of the place, and then cocked his gun. The noise induced the stag to move his antlers and discover his lair. Edward could just perceive the eye of the animal through the heath. He waited till the beast settled again, took steady aim, and fired. At the report of the gun another stag sprung up and burst away. Oswald fired and wounded it, but the animal made off, followed by the dogs. Edward, who hardly knew whether he had missed or not, but felt almost certain that he had not, hastened out of the thicket to join in the chase, and as he passed through the fern patch, perceived that his quarry lay dead. He then followed the chase, and being very fleet of foot, soon came up with Oswald and passed him without speaking. The stag made for a swampy ground, and finally took to the water beyond it, and stood at bay. Edward then waited for Oswald, who came up with him. "'He has soiled,' said Edward, and now you may go in and kill him.' Oswald, eager in the chase, hastened up to where the dogs and stag were in the water, and put a bullet through the animal's head. Edward went to him, assisted him to drag the stag out of the water, and then Oswald cut its throat, and proceeded to perform the usual offices. "'How did you happen to miss him?' said Oswald. "'For these are my shots.' "'Because I never fired at him,' said Edward. "'My quarry lies dead in the fern, and a fine fellow he is.' "'This is a warrantable stag,' said Oswald. "'Yes, but mine is a heart royal, as you will see when we go back.' As soon as Oswald had done his work, he hung the quarters of the animal on an oak tree, and went back with Edward. "'Where did you hit him, Edward?' said Oswald as they walked along. "'I could only see his eye through the fern, and I must have hit him thereabouts.' On their arrival at the spot, Oswald found that Edward had put the ball right into the eye of the stag. "'Well,' said he, "'you made me suppose that you knew something of our craft, but I did not believe that you were so apt as you thought yourself to be. I now confess that you are a master, as far as I can see in all branches of the craft. This is indeed a heart royal. Twenty-five antlers, as I live! Come, out with your knife, and let us finish. For if we are to go to the cottage, we have no time to lose. It will be dark in half an hour.' They hung all the quarters of the stag as before, and then set off for Jacob's cottage, Edward proposing that Oswald should take the cart and pony to carry the meat home next morning, and that he would accompany him to bring it back. "'That will do capitalily,' said Oswald, and here we are. If I recollect right, and I hope there is something to eat.' No fear of that, Alice will be prepared for us,' replied Edward. Their dinner was ready for them, and Oswald praised the cooking. He was much surprised to see that Jacob had four grandchildren. After dinner he went into Jacob's room and remained with him more than an hour. During this conference Jacob confided to Oswald that the four children were the sons and daughters of Colonel Beverly, supposed to have been burned in the firing of Arnwood. Oswald came out, much surprised as well as pleased with the information, and with the confidence reposed in him. He saluted Edward and Humphrey respectfully and said, "'I was not aware with whom I was in company, sir, as you may well imagine, but the knowledge of it has made my heart glad.' "'Nay, Oswald,' replied Edward, remembered that I am still Edward Armitage, and that we are the grandchildren of old Jacob. "'Certainly, sir, I will, for your sake, not forget that such is to be supposed to be the case. I assure you, I think it very fortunate that Jacob has confided the secret to me, as it may be in my power to be useful. I little thought that I should ever have had my dinner cooked by the daughter of Colonel Beverly.' They then entered into a long conversation during which Oswald expressed his opinion that the old man was sinking fast and would not last more than three or four days. Oswald had a bed made up for him on the floor of the room where Edward and Humphrey slept, and the next morning they set off at an early hour with the pony and cart, loaded it with venison and took it across the forest to the Keeper's Lodge. It was so late when they arrived that Edward consented to pass the night there and return home on the following morning. Oswald went into the sitting-room to speak with the attendant of the forest, leaving Edward in the kitchen with Phoebe, the maid-servant. He told the attendant that he had brought home some fine venison and wished his orders about it. He also stated that he had been assisted by Edward Armitage, who had brought the venison home for him in his cart, and who was now in the kitchen, as he would be obliged to pass the night there. And on being questioned, he was lavish in his praises of Edward's skill and knowledge of woodcraft, which he declared to be superior to his own. It proves that the young man has had much practice at all events, replied Mr. Heather Stone-smiling. He has been living at the king's expense, but he must not follow it up at the cost of the parliament. It would be well to take this young man as a ranger if we could, for although he has opposed us, yet if he once took our service he would be faithful, I am sure. You can propose it to him, Oswald. The haunches of that heart-royal must be sent up to General Cromwell to-morrow. The remainder we will give directions for as soon as I have made up my mind how to dispose of it. Oswald left the room and came back to Edward. General Cromwell is to have the haunches of your stag, said he to Edward, smiling, and the attendant proposes that you should take service as one of the rangers. I thank you, replied Edward, but I have no fancy to find venison for General Cromwell and his round heads, and so you may tell the attendant with many thanks for his goodwill toward me, nevertheless. I thought as much, but the man meant kindly, that I really think. Now, Phoebe, what can you give us to eat, for we are hungry? You should be served directly, replied Phoebe. I have some steaks on the fire. And you must find a bed for my young friend here. I have none in the house, but there is plenty of good straw over the stables. That will do, replied Edward. I'm not particular. I suppose not. Why should you be? replied Phoebe, who is rather old and rather cross. If you mount the ladder that you will see against the wall, you will find a good bed when you are at the top of it. Oswald was about to remonstrate, but Edward held up his finger and no more was said. As soon as they finished their supper, Phoebe proposed that they should go to bed. It was late, and she would sit up no longer. Edward rose and went out, followed by Oswald, who had given up the keeper's house to the attendant and his daughter, and slept in the cottage of one of the rangers, about a quarter of a mile off. After some conversation, they shook hands and parted, as Edward intended returning very early the next morning, being anxious about Old Jacob. Edward went up the ladder into the loft. There was no door to shut out the wind, which blew piercingly cold, and after a time he found himself so chilled that he could not sleep. He rose to see if he could not find some protection from the wind by getting more into a corner. For although Phoebe had told him there was plenty of straw, it proved that there was very little indeed in the loft, barely enough to lie down upon. Edward, after a time, descended the ladder to walk in the yard, that by exercise he might recover the use of his limbs. At last, turning to and fro, he cast his eyes up to the window of the bedroom above the kitchen, where he perceived a light was still burning. He thought it was Phoebe, the maid, going to bed, and with no very gracious feelings toward her for having deprived him of his own night's rest. He was wishing that she might have a toothache or something else to keep her awake, when suddenly through the white window curtain he perceived a broad light in the room. It increased every moment, and he saw the figure of a female rush past it and attempt to open the window. The drawing of the curtain showed him that the room was on fire. A moment's thought, and he ran for the ladder by which he had ascended to the loft, and placed it against the window. The flames were less bright, and he could not see the female who had been at the window when he went for the ladder. He ascended quickly and burst open the casement. The smoke poured out in such volumes that it nearly suffocated him, but he went in, and as soon as he was inside he stumbled against the body of the person who had attempted to open the window, but who had fallen down senseless. As he raised the body, the fire, which had been smothered from want of air, when all the windows and doors were closed, now burst out, and he was scorched before he could get on the ladder again, with the body in his arms, but he succeeded in getting it down safe. Perceiving that the clothes were on fire he held them till they were extinguished, and then for the first time discovered that he had brought down the daughter of the attendant of the forest. There was no time to be lost, so Edward carried her into the stable and left her there, still insensible, upon the straw in a spare stall, while he hastened to alarm the house. The watering-but for the horses was outside the stable. Edward cut up the pail, filled it, and hastened up the ladder, threw it into the room, and then descended for more. By this time Edward's continual calls of "'Fire, fire!' had aroused the people of the house, and also of the cottages adjacent. Mr. Heatherstone came out half dressed, and with horror on his countenance. Phoebe followed screaming, and the other people now hastened from the cottages. "'Save her! My daughter is in that room!' exclaimed Mr. Heatherstone. "'Oh, save her! Or let me do so!' cried the poor man in agony, but the fire burst out of the window in such force that any attempt would have been in vain. "'Ozwald!' cried Edward to him. "'Let the people pass the water up to me as fast as possible. They can do no good looking on!' Ozwald set the men to work, and Edward was now supplied with water so fast that the fire began to diminish. The window was now approachable, and a few more buckets enabled him to put one foot into the room, and then every moment the flames and smoke decreased. Meanwhile, it would be impossible to describe the agony of the intendant, who would have rushed up the ladder into the flames had he not been held by some of the men. "'My daughter, my child, burned! Burn to death!' exclaimed he, clasping his hands. At that moment a voice in the crowd called out. "'There were four burned at Arnwood!' "'God of heaven!' exclaimed Mr. Heatherstone, falling down in a swoon, in which state he was carried to a neighboring cottage. Meanwhile, the supply of water enabled Edward to put out the fire altogether. The furniture of the room was burned, but the fire had extended no farther, and when Edward was satisfied that there was no more danger, he descended the ladder and left it to others to see that all was safe. He then called Oswald to him, and desired that he would accompany him to the stable. "'Oh, sir!' replied Oswald, this is dreadful, and such a sweet young lady, too. "'She is safe and well,' replied Edward. "'I think so, at least. I brought her down the ladder, and put her in the stable before I attempted to put out the fire. "'See, there she is. She has not recovered yet from her swoon. Bring some water. She breathes. Thank God! There, that will do, Oswald. She is recovering. Now, let us cover her up in your cloak, and carry her to your cottage. We will recover her there.' Oswald folded up the still unconscious girl in his cloak, and earned her away in his arms, followed by Edward. As soon as they arrived at the cottage, the inmates of which were all busy at the Keeper's Lodge, they put her on a bed, and very soon restored her to consciousness. "'Where is my father?' cried Patience, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered. "'He is safe and well, Miss,' replied Oswald. "'Is the house burned down?' "'No. The fire is all out again.' "'Who saved me? Tell me.' "'Young Armitage, Miss.' "'Who is he?' "'Oh! I recollect now. But I must go to my father. Where is he?' "'In the other cottage, Miss.' Patience attempted to stand, but found that she was too much exhausted, and she fell back again on the bed. "'I can't stand,' said she. "'Bring my father to me.' "'I will, Miss,' replied Oswald. "'Will you stay here, Edward?' "'Yes,' replied Edward. He went out of the cottage door and remained there while Oswald went to Mr. Heatherstone. Oswald found him sensible, but in deep distresses may be imagined. "'The fire is all out, sir,' said Oswald. "'I care not for that. My poor, poor child!' "'Your child is safe, sir,' replied Oswald. "'Safe? Did you say?' cried Mr. Heatherstone, starting up. "'Safe? Where?' "'In my cottage. She has sent me for you.' Mr. Heatherstone rushed out, passed by Edward, who was standing at the door of the other cottage, and was in his daughter's arms. Oswald came out to Edward, who then detailed to him the way in which he had saved the girl. Had it not been for the ill nature of that woman Phoebe in sending me to sleep where there was no straw, they would have all been burned,' observed Edward. "'She gave you the opportunity of rewarding good for evil,' observed Oswald. "'Yes, but I am burned very much in my arm,' said Edward. "'Have you anything that would be good for it?' "'Yes, I think I have. Wait a moment.' Oswald went into the cottage, and returned with some sab, with which he dressed Edward's arm, which proved to be very severely burned. "'How grateful the intended ought to be, and will be I have no doubt,' observed Oswald. "'And for that reason I shall saddle my pony and ride home as fast as I can. And do you hear, Oswald, do not show him where I live. I hardly know how I can refuse him if he requires it. But you must not. He will be offering me a situation in the forest, by way of showing his gratitude, and I will accept of none. I have no objection to save his daughter, as I would save the daughter of my worst enemy, or my worst enemy himself, from such a dreadful death. But I do not want their thanks or offers of service. I will accept nothing from around head. And as for the venison in the forest, it belongs to the king, and I shall help myself whenever I think proper. Good-bye, Oswald. You will call and see us when you have time.' "'I will be with you before the week is out. Depend upon it,' replied Oswald.' Edward then asked Oswald to saddle his pony for him, as his arm prevented him from doing it himself. And as soon as it was done he rode away from the cottage. Edward rode fast, for he was anxious to get home and ascertain the state of poor old Jacob, and moreover his burned arm was very painful. He was met by Humphrey about a mile from the cottage, who told him that he did not think that the old man could last many hours, and that he was very anxious to see him. As the pony was quite tired with the fast pace that Edward had ridden, Edward pulled up to a walk, and as they went along acquainted Humphrey with what had passed. "'Is your arm very painful?' "'Yes, it is indeed,' replied Edward, but it can't be helped.' "'No, of course not, but it may be made more easy. I know what will do it some good, for I recollect when Benjamin burned his hand at Arnwood what they applied to it, and it gave him great relief. "'Yes, very likely, but I am not aware that we have any drugs or medicine in the cottage. But here we are. Will you take Billy to the stable while I go on to old Jacob?' "'Thank God that you have come, Edward,' said the old forester, for I was anxious to see you before I die, and something tells me that I have but a short time to remain here.' "'Why should you say so? Do you feel very ill?' "'No, not ill, but I feel that I am sinking fast. "'That I am an old man, Edward.' "'Not so very old, Jacob. Oswald said that you were not more than sixty years old. Oswald knows nothing about it. I am past seventy-six, Edward. And you know, Edward, the Bible says that the days of man are three score years and ten, so that I am beyond the mark. And now, Edward, I have but few words to say. Be careful, if not for your own sake, at least for your little sisters. You are young, but you are strong and powerful above your years, and can better protect them than I could. I see darker days yet coming. But it is his will, and who shall doubt that there is right? I pray you not to make your birth and lineage known as yet. It can do no good, and it may do harm. And if you can be persuaded to live in the cottage and to live on the farm, which will now support you all, it will be better. Do not get into trouble about the venison, which they now claim is their own. You will find some money in the bag in my chest, sufficient to buy all you want for a long while. But take care of it, for there is no saying what you may require it. And now, Edward, call your brother and sisters to me, that I may bid them farewell. I am, as we all are, sinful. But I trust in the mercy of God through Jesus Christ. Edward, I have done my duty toward you, as well as I have been able, but promise me one thing, that you will read the Bible and prayers every morning and evening, as I have always done after I am gone. Promise me that, Edward. I promise you that it shall be done, Jacob, replied Edward, and I will not forget your other advice. God bless you, Edward. Now call the children. Edward summoned his sisters in Humphrey. Humphrey, my good boy, said Jacob, recollect that in the midst of life we are in death and there is no security for young or old. You or your brother may be cut off in your youth. One may be taken and the other left. Recollect, your sisters depend upon you and do not therefore be rash. I fear that you will run too much risk after the wild cattle, for you are always scheming after taking them. Be careful, Humphrey, for you can ill be spared, hold to the farm as it is now. It will support you all. My dear Alice and Edith, I am dying. Very soon I shall be laid by your brothers in my grave. Be good children and look up to your brothers for everything. And now, kiss me, Alice, you have been a great comfort to me, for you have read the Bible to me when I could no longer read myself. May your deathbed be as well attended as mine has been, and may you live happily and die the death of a Christian. Goodbye and may God bless you. Bless you, Edith, may you grow up as good and as innocent as you are now. Farewell, Humphrey, farewell, Edward. My eyes are dim. Pray for me, children. Oh God of mercy, pardon my many sins and receive my soul through Jesus Christ. Amen, amen. These were the last words spoken by the old forester. The children, who were kneeling by the side of the bed, praying as he had requested, when they rose up, found that he was dead. They all wept bitterly, for they dearly loved the good old man. Alice remained sobbing in Edward's arms and Edith and Humphrey's, and it was long before the brothers could console them. Humphrey at last said to Alice, you hurt poor Edward's arm, you don't know how painful it is. Come, dears, let us go into the other room and get something to take the pain away. These requests diverted the attention at the same time that it roused fresh sympathy in the little girls. They all went into the sitting room. Humphrey gave his sisters some potatoes to scrape upon a piece of linen while he took off Edward's coat and turned up his shirt sleeved. The scraped potatoes were then laid on the burn and Edward said they gave him great relief. Some more were then scraped by the little girls who could not, however, repress their occasional sobs. Humphrey then told him that Edward had had nothing to eat and that they must get him some supper. This again occupied them for some time. And when the supper was ready, they all sat down to it. They went to bed early, but not before Edward had read a chapter out of the Bible and the prayers as old Jacob had always done and this again caused their tears to flow afresh. Come, Alice dear, you and Edith must go to bed. Said Humphrey, the little girls threw themselves into their brother's arms and, having wept for some time, Alice raised herself and, taking Edith by the hand, led her away to her bedroom. End of chapter nine. Chapter 10 The Children of the New Forest This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. The Children of the New Forest by Frederick Marriott. Chapter 10. Humphrey said, Edward, the sooner all this is over, the better. As long as poor Jacob's body remains in the cottage, there will be nothing but distress with the poor girls. I agree with you, replied Humphrey. Where shall we bury him? Under the great oak tree, at the back of the cottage, replied Edward. One day the old man said to me that he should like to be buried under one of the oaks of the forest. Well then, I will go and dig his grave tonight, replied Humphrey. The moon is bright and I shall have it finished before morning. I am sorry that I cannot help you, Humphrey. I am sorry that you are hurt, but I want no help, Edward. If you will lie down a little, perhaps you will be able to sleep. Let us change the potato poultice before you go on. Humphrey put the fresh dressing on Edward's arm, and Edward, who was very much exhausted, lay down in his clothes on the bed. Humphrey went out, and having found his tools set to his task, he worked hard, and before morning had finished. He then went in and took his place on the bed by the side of Edward, who was in a sound sleep. At daylight, Humphrey rose and waked Edward. All is ready, Edward, but I fear you must help me to put poor Jacob in the cart. Do you think you can? Oh yes, my arm is much easier, and I feel very different from what I did last night. If you will go and get the cart, I will see what I can do in the meantime. When Humphrey returned, he found Edward had selected a sheet to wind the body in, but could not do more till Humphrey came to help him. They then wrapped it round the body and earned it out of the cottage and put it in the cart. Now, Edward, shall we call our sisters? No, not yet. Let us have the body laid in the grave first, and then we will call them. They dragged the body on the cart to the grave and laid it in it, and then returned back and put the pony in the stable again. Are there no preys proper for reading over the dead? said Humphrey. I believe that there are, but they are not in the Bible, so we must read some portion of the Bible, said Edward. Yes, I think there is one of the Psalms, which it would be right to read, Edward, said Humphrey, turning over the leaves. Here it is, the 19th, in which you recollect it says that the days of man are three school years and ten. Yes, replied Edward, and we will read this one also, the 146th. Are our sisters risen, do you think? I'm sure that they are, replied Humphrey, and I will go to them. Humphrey went to the door and said, Alice, Alice, and Edith, come out immediately. They were both ready dressed. Edward took the Bible under his arm, and Alice by the hand. Humphrey led Edith until they arrived at the grave. When the two little girls saw the covered body of Jacob lying in it, kneel down, said Edward, opening the Bible, and they all knelt down by the grave. Edward read the two Psalms and then closed the book. The little girls took one last look at the body and then turned away, weeping to the cottage. Edward and Humphrey filled up the grave and then followed their sisters home. I'm glad it's over, said Humphrey, wiping his eyes, poor old Jacob. I'll put a pailing round his grave. Come in, Humphrey, said Edward. Edward sat down upon old Jacob's chair and took Alice and Edith to him. Putting his arm round each, he said, Alice and Edith, my dear little sisters, we have lost a good friend and one to whose memory we cannot be too grateful. He saved us from perishing in the flames which burned down our father's house and has protected us here ever since. He is gone, for it has pleased God to summon him to him. And we must bow to the will of heaven. And here we are, brother and sisters, orphans, and with no one to look to for protection but heaven. Here we are away from the rest of the world, living for one another. What then must we do? We must love one another dearly and help one another. I will do my part if my life is fair and so will Humphrey and so will you, my dear sisters. I can answer for all. Now, it is no use to lament, we must all work and work cheerfully. And we will pray every morning and every night that God will bless our endeavours and enable us to provide for ourselves and live here in peace and safety. Kiss me, dear Alice and Edith, and kiss Humphrey and kiss one another. Let these kisses be the seals to our bond and let us put our trust in him who only is a father to the widow and the orphan. And now let us pray. Edward and the children repeated the Lord's prayer and then rose up. They went to their respective employments and the labour of the days soon made them composed. Although then, for many days afterward, it was but occasionally that a smile was seen upon their lips. Thus passed a week by which time Edward's arm was so far well that it gave him no pain and he was able to assist Humphrey in the work on the farm. The snow had disappeared and the spring, although it had been checked for a time, now made rapid advances. Constant occupation and the return of fine weather both had the effect of returning the serenity of their minds. And while Humphrey was preparing the pailing to fix round the grave of old Jacob, Alice and Edith collected the wild violets which now peeped forth on sheltered spots and planted the roots over the grave. Edward also procured all the early flowers he could collect and assisted his sisters in their task. And thus, in planting it and putting up the pailing, the grave of the old man became the constant work ground and when their labour was done, they would still remain there and talk over his worth. The Sunday following the burial, the weather being fine and warm, Ed would propose that they should read the usual service, which had been selected by old Jacob. At the grave and not in the cottage as formerly and this they continued afterward to do whenever the weather would permit. Thus did old Jacob's resting place become their church and overpower them with those feelings of love and devotion which gave efficacy to prayer. As soon as the pailing was finished, Humphrey put up a board against the oak tree with the simple words carved on it, Jacob Armitage. Edward had every day expected that Oswald Partridge would have called upon him as he had promised to do before the week was out that Oswald had not made his appearance much to Edward's surprise. A month passed away, Edward's arm was now quite well and still Oswald came not. One morning Humphrey and Edward was conversing upon many points, the principle of which was upon Edward going to Limington, but they were now in want of flour and meal. When Edward thought of what old Jacob had told him relative to the money that he would find in his chest, he went into Jacob's room and opened the chest. At the bottom of which, under the clothes, he found a leather bag which he brought out to Humphrey. On opening it, they were much surprised to find in it more than 60 gold pieces, besides a great deal of silver coin. Surely this is a great sum of money, observed Humphrey. I don't know what is the price of things, but it appears to me that it ought to last us a long while. I think so too, replied Edward. I wish Oswald Partridge would come, for I want to ask him many questions. I don't know the price of flour or anything else we have to purchase, nor do I know what I ought to be paid for venison. I don't like to go to Limington till I see him for that reason. If he does not come soon, I shall ride over and see what is the matter. Edward then replaced the money in the chest, and he and Humphrey then went out to the farm yard to go on with their work. It was not until six weeks after the death of old Jacob that Oswald Partridge made his appearance. How was the old man, sir? Was his first question. He was buried a few days after you left, replied Edward. I expected as much, said the forester. Peace be with him, he was a good man. And how is your arm? Nearly well, replied Edward. Now sit down, Oswald, for I have a great deal to say to you. And first, let me ask you what has detained you from coming here according to your promise. Simply, and in few words, murder. Murder, exclaimed Edward. Yes, deliberate murder, sir. In short, they had beheaded King Charles, our sovereign. Have they dead to do it? They have, replied Oswald. We in the forest know little that is going on. But when I saw you last, I heard that he was then in London and was to be tried. Tried, exclaimed Edward. How could they try a king? By the laws of our country, a man must be tried by his equals. And where were his equals? Majesty becomes naught, I suppose, replied Oswald. But still it is as I say, two days after you left, the intendant hastened up to London. And from what I have understood, he was strongly opposed to the deed and did all he could to prevent it. But it was of no use. When he left, he gave me strict injunctions, not to go away from the cottage for an hour, as his daughter was left alone. And as I promised, I could not come to you. But nevertheless, patients received letters from him and told me what I tell you. You have not dined, Oswald, said Edward? No, that I have not. Alice, dear, get some dinner, will you? And Oswald, while you dine, excuse me if I leave you for a while. Your intelligence has so astounded me that I can listen to nothing else till I have had a little while to commune with myself and subdue my feelings. Edward was indeed in a state of mind which required calming down. He quitted the cottage and walked out from some distance into the forest in deep thought. Murdered at last, exclaimed he. Yes, well, may it be called murder. And no one to save him, not a blow struck in his defence, not an arm raised. How much gallant blood has been shed in vain. Spirit of my fathers, did they leave none of thy metal and thy honour behind thee? Or has all England become cragen? Well, the time will come and if I can no longer hope to fight for my king, at all events I can fight against those who have murdered him. Such were Edward's thoughts as he wandered through the forest and more than an hour elapsed before his impetuous blood could return to its usual flow. At last, his mind having partially resumed its wanted calmness, he returned to the cottage and listened to the details which Oswald now gave to him of what he had heard. When Oswald had finished, Edward asked him whether the intendant had returned. Yes, or I should not have been here, replied Oswald. He came back yesterday, looking most disconsolate and grave and I hear that he returns to London in a few days. Indeed, he told me so himself for I requested permission to come over to see your grandfather. He said that I might go but must return soon as he must go back to London. I believe from what Miss Patience told me and what I have seen myself that he is sincerely amazed and vexed at what has taken place. And so indeed are many more who, although opposed to the King's method of government, never had an idea that things should have turned out as they have done. I have a message from him to you which is that he begs you will come to see him, that he may thank you for the preservation of his child. I will take his thanks from you, Oswald, that will do as well as if he gave them me in person. Yes, perhaps so, but I have another message from another party which is the young lady herself. She desires me to tell you that she will never be happy till she has seen you and thanked you for your courage and kindness and that you have no right to put her under such an obligation and not give her an opportunity of expressing what she feels. Now, Mr. Edward, I am certain that she is earnest in what she says, and she made me promise that I would persuade you to come. I could not refuse her, for she is a dear little creature. As her father will go to London in a few days, you may ride over and see her without any fear of being affronted by any offers which he may make to you. Well, replied Edward, I have no great objection to see her again, and as you say, that the intendant will not be there, I perhaps may come, but now I must talk to you about other matters. Edward then put many questions to Oswald relative to the value of various articles and to the best method of disposing of his venison. Oswald answered all his questions and Edward took down notes and directions on paper. Oswald remained with them for two days and then bade them farewell, exacting a promise from Edward that he would come to the rangers cottage as soon as he could. Should the intendant come back before he is expected, I will come over and let you know, but I think from what I heard him say, he expected to be at least a month in London. Edward promised that Oswald should see him in less than 10 days and Oswald set out on his journey. Humphrey said Edward, as soon as Oswald was gone, I have made up my mind to go to Lamington tomorrow. We must have some flour and many other articles which Alice says she can no longer do without. Why should we not both go? Edward replied Humphrey. No, not this time, replied Edward. I have to find out many things and many people and I had rather go by myself. Besides, I cannot allow my sisters to be left alone. I do not consider there is any danger, I admit, but should anything happen to them, I should never forgive myself. Still, it is necessary that you should go to Lamington with me some time or another that you may know where to purchase and sell, if required. What I propose is that I will ask Oswald to come and stay here a couple of days. We will then leave him in charge of our sisters and go to Lamington together. You are right, Edward. That will be the best plan. As Humphrey made this remark, Oswald re-entered the cottage. I will tell you why I have returned, Mr. Edward, said Oswald. It is of no consequence whether I return now or tomorrow. It is now early and as you intend going to Lamington, it occurred to me that I had better go with you. I can then show you all you want, which will be much better than going by yourself. Thank you, Oswald. I am much obliged to you, said Edward. Humphrey, we will get the cart out immediately or we shall be late. Will you get it, Humphrey, for I must go for some money and speak to Alice. Humphrey went immediately to put the pony in the cart when Edward said, Oswald, you must not call me Mr. Edward, even when we are alone. If you do, you will be calling me so before other people and therefore recollect in future. It must be plain, Edward. Since you wish it, certainly, replied Oswald. Indeed it would be better for a slip of the tongue before other people might create suspicion. The pony and cart were soon at the door and Edward, having received further instructions from Alice, set off for Lamington, accompanied by Oswald. End of chapter 10, chapter 11, The Children of the Forest. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Bergoyne. The Children of the New Forest, by Frederick Marriott. Chapter 11. Would you have found your way to Lamington, said Oswald, as the pony trotted along? Yes, I think so, replied Edward. But I must have first gone to Arnwood. Indeed, had I been alone, I should have done so. But we have made a much shorter cut. I did not think that you would have liked to have seen the ruins of Arnwood, replied Oswald. Not a day passes without my thinking of them, replied Edward. I should like to see them. I should like to see if anyone has taken possession of the property, for they say it is confiscated. I heard that it was to be, but not that it was yet, said Oswald. But we shall know more when we get to Lamington. I have not seen it for more than a year. I hardly think that anyone will recognize you. I should think not, but I care little if they do. Indeed, who is thee to know me? Well, my introduction of you will save some surmises, probably, and I shall not take you among those who may be inclined to ask questions. See, there is the steeple. We have not more than a quarter of an hour's drive. As soon as they arrived at Lamington, Oswald directed the way to a small hostelory to which the keepers and murderers usually resorted. In fact, the landlord was the party who took all the venison off their hands and disposed of it. They drove into the yard and giving the pony and the cart in charge of the hostler went into the inn where they found the landlord and one or two other people who were drinking. Well, Master Andrew, how fare you, said Oswald. Let me see, said the corpulent landlord, throwing back his head and putting out his stomach as he peered at Oswald. Why, Oswald Partridge, as I am a born man, where have you been this many a day? In the forest, Master Andrew, where there are no few chops and changers. Yes, you have a sort of parliamentary keeper, I'm told. And who is this with you? The grandson of an old friend of yours, now dead, poor old Jacob Armitage. Jacob dead, poor fellow. As true as Clint was Jacob Armitage, as I'm a born man. And so he is dead. Well, we all owe heaven a death. Foresters and landlords, as well as kings, all must die. I have brought Edward Armitage over here to introduce him to you, Master Andrew. Now that the old man is dead, you must look to him for forest meat. Oh, well, well, it is scarce now. I have not had any for some time. Old Jacob brought me the last. You are not one of the parliamentary foresters. Then, I presume, continued the landlord, turning to Edward. No, replied Edward. I kill no venison for round heads. Right, my sapling, right and well said. The Armitages were all good men and true, and followed the fortunes of the bevelies. But there are no bevelies to follow now. Cut off root and branch, more's the pity. That was a sad business. But come in. We must not talk here. For wolves have ears, they say. And one never knows who one dares to speak before now. Oswald and Edward then entered with the landlord. And arrangements were made between Master Andrew and the latter for a regular supply of venison during the season at a certain price. But as it would now be dangerous to bring it into the town, it was agreed that when there was any ready, Edward should come to Lamington and give notice. And the landlord would send out people to bring it in during the night. This bargain concluded. They took a glass with the landlord and then went into the town to make the necessary purchases. Oswald took Edward to all the shops where the articles he required were to be purchased. Some they carried away with them. Others, which were too heavy, they left to be called for with the cart as they went away. Among other articles, Edward required powder and lead. And they went to a gunsmith's where it was to be procured. While making his purchases, Edward perceived a sword, which he thought he had seen before, hanging up against the wall among other weapons. What sword is that? Said he, to the man who was measuring out the powder. It's not my sword exactly, replied the man. And yet I cannot return it to its owner or to the family. It was brought me to be cleaned by one of Colonel Beverly's people. And before it was called for the house was burned and every soul perished. It was one of the Colonel's swords, I am sure, as there is, e.g. on a silver plate engraved on it. I have a bill owing me for work done at Arnwood and I have no chance of it being paid now. So whether I am to sell the sword or what to do, I hardly know. Edward remained silent for some little while. For he could not trust himself to speak. At last, he replied, to be candid with you, I am and all my family had been followers of the Beverly family. And I should be sorry if the Colonel's sword was to fall into any other hands. I think therefore, if I pay the bill, which is due, you may safely let me hold the sword as security for the money. With the expressed understanding that if it is ever claimed by the Beverly family, I am to give it up. Certainly, said Oswald, nothing can be fairer or more clearly put. I think so too, young man, replied the shopkeeper. Of course, you will leave your name and address. Yes, and my friend here will vouch for its being correct, replied Edward. The shopkeeper then produced the account, which Edward paid, and giving on the paper the name of Edward Armitage, he took possession of the sword. He then paid for the powder and lead, which Oswald took charge of, and hardly able to conceal his joy hastened out at the shop. Oswald, cried Edward, I would not part with it for thousands of pounds. I never will part with it, but with my life. I believe so, replied Oswald, and I believe more that it will never be disgraced in your hands. But do not talk so loud, for there are listeners and spies everywhere. Is there anything else that you require? No, I think not. The fact is that this sword has put everything out of my head. If there was anything else, I have forgotten it. Let us go back to the inn and we will harness the pony and call for the flower and oatmeal. When they arrived at the inn, Oswald went out to the yard to get the cart ready. While Edward went into the landlord's room to make inquiries as to the quantity of venison, he would be able to take off his hands at a time. Oswald had taken the sword from Edward and had put it in the cart while he was fastening the harness when a man came up to the cart and looked earnestly at the sword. He then examined it and said to Oswald, Why, that was Colonel Beverly's, my old master's sword. I know it again directly. I took it to Phillips, the gunmaker, to be cleaned. Indeed, replied Oswald, I pray, what may be your name? Benjamin White replied the man. I served at Ironwood till the night it was burned down and I've been here ever since. And what are you doing now? I'm a tapster at the Commonwealth in Fish Street, not much of a place. Well, well, you stand by the pony and look that nobody takes anything out of the cart while I go in for some parcels. Yes, to be sure I will, but I say, Forrester, how come you buy that sword? I will tell you when I come out again, replied Oswald. Oswald then went into Edward and told him what had occurred. He will certainly know you, sir, and you must not come out till I can get him away, said he. You are right, Oswald, but before he goes, ask him what became of my aunt and where she was buried and also ask him where the other servants are. Perhaps they are at Lamington as well as he. I will find it all out, replied Oswald, who then left Edward and returned to the landlord and recommenced conversation. Oswald, on his return, told Benjamin in what manner the sword had been procured from the shopman by the grandson of old Armitage. I never knew that he had one, replied Benjamin, nor did I know that old Jacob was dead. What became of all the women who were at Arnwood, inquired Oswald, why Agatha married one of the troopers and went away to London? And the others? Why, Cook went home to her friends who live about 10 miles from here and I've never heard of her since. But there were three of them, said Oswald. Oh, yes, there was Phoebe, relied Benjamin, looking rather confused. She married a trooper, the jilt, and went off to London when Agatha did. If I'd have thought that she would have done so, I would not have earned her away from Arnwood behind me, on a pillion, as I did. She might have been burned with the poor children for all as I cared. Was not the old lady killed? Yes, that is to say, she killed herself, rather than not kill Southwold. Where was she buried? In the churchyard at St Faith's, by the mayor and the corporation, for there was not money enough found upon her person to pay the expenses of her burial. And so you are a tapster at the Commonwealth. Is it a good inn? Can't say much for it. I shan't stay longer than I can help, I can tell you. Well, but you must have an easy place if you can stay away as long as you do now. Won't I be mobbed when I go back? But that's always the case, make haste or not, so it's all one. However, I do think I must be a-going now, so goodbye, Mr. Forester, and tell Jacob Armatidge's grandson that I shall be glad to see him, for old Jacob's sake, and it's hard that I'll find him something to drink when he calls. I will, I shall see him tomorrow, replied Oswald, getting into the cart. So goodbye, Benjamin, much to the satisfaction of Oswald, who thought that he would never go. They went away at a rapid pace to make up for lost time and soon disappeared around the corner of the street. Oswald then got out again, summoned Edward, and having called for the flower and other heavy articles, they set off on their return. During the drive, Oswald made known to Edward the information which he had gained from Benjamin, and at a late hour they arrived safely at the cottage. They stayed up but a short time, as they were tired, and Oswald had resolved upon setting off before daylight on the following morning, which he did without disturbing anyone. For Humphrey was up and dressed as soon as Oswald was and gave him something to eat as he went along. All the others remained fast asleep. Humphrey walked about a mile with Oswald and was returning to the farm when he thought, as he had not examined his pitfall for many days, that he might as well look at it before he went back. He therefore struck out in the direction in which it lay and arrived there just as the day began to dawn. It was the end of March and the weather was mild for the season. Humphrey arrived at the pit and it was sufficiently light for him to perceive that the covering had been broken in. And therefore, in all probability, something must have been trapped. He sat down and waited for daylight, but at times he thought he heard a heavy breathing and once a low groan. This made him more anxious and he again and again peered into the pit, but could not for a long while discover anything until at last he thought that he could make out a human figure lying at the bottom. Humphrey called out, asking if there was anyone there. A groan was the reply and now Humphrey was horrified with the idea that somebody had fallen into the pit and had perished or was perishing for want of succor. Recollecting that the rough ladder which he had made to take the soil up out of the pit was against an oak tree, close at hand, he ran for it and put it down the pit and then cautiously descended. On his arrival at the bottom, his fears were found to be verified so he saw the body of a lad, half clothed, lying there. He turned it up as if it was lying with its face to the ground and attempted to remove it and to a certain if there was life in it, which he was delighted to find was the case. The lad groaned several times and opened his eyes. Humphrey was afraid that he was not strong enough to lift him on his shoulders and carry him up the ladder. But on making the attempt he found out, from exhaustion the poor lad was light enough for him to carry him, which he did and safely landed him by the side of the pit. Recollecting that the watering place at the herder cattle was not far off, Humphrey then hastened to it and felt he's had half full of water. The lad, although he could not speak, drank eagerly and in a few minutes appeared much recovered. Humphrey gave him some more and bathed his face and temples. The sun had now risen and it was broad daylight. The lad attempted to speak, but what he did say was in so lower tone and evidently in a foreign language that Humphrey could not make him out. He therefore made signs to the lad that he was going away and would be back soon and having, as he thought, made the lad comprehend this, Humphrey ran away to the cottage as fast as he could and as soon as he arrived he called for Edward who came out and when Humphrey told him in few words what had happened, Edward went into the cottage again for some milk and some cake while Humphrey put the pony into the cart. In a few moments they were off again and soon arrived at the pitfall where they found the lad still lying where Humphrey had left him. They soaked the cake in the milk and as soon as it was soft gave him some. After a time he swallowed pretty freely and was so much recovered as to be able to sit up. They then lifted him into the cart and drove gently home to their cottage. What do you think he is, Edward, said Humphrey. Some poor beggar lad who has been crossing the forest. No, not exactly. He appears to me to be one of the zingeros or gypsies as they call them. He is very dark and has black eyes and white teeth just like those I saw once near Arnwood when I was out with Jacob. Jacob said that no one knew where they came from but that they were all over the country and that they were great thieves and told fortunes and played all manner of tricks. Perhaps it may be so. I do not think that he can speak English. I am most thankful to heaven that I chanced this morning to visit the pitfall. Only suppose that I had found the poor boy starved and dead. I should have been very unhappy and never should have any pleasure in looking at the cows as they would always have reminded me of such a melancholy accident. Very true, Humphrey, but you have been saved that misfortune and ought to be grateful to heaven that such is the case. What shall we do with him now we have him? Why, if he chooses to remain with us, he will be very useful in the cow yard, said Humphrey. Of course, replied Edward laughing, as he was taking in the pitfall, and he must go into the yard with all the others who were captured in the same way. Well, Edward, let us get him all right again first, and then we will see what is to be done with him. Perhaps he will refuse to remain with us. As soon as they arrived at the cottage, they lifted the lad out of the cart and carried him into Jacob's room and laid him on the bed, so he was too weak to stand. Tell us, Anita, who were much surprised at the new visitor and the way in which he had been caught, hastened to get some grill ready for him. As soon as it was ready, they gave it to the boy, who then fell back on the bed with exhaustion and was soon in a sound sleep. He slept soundly all that night, and the next morning when he awoke, he appeared much better, although very hungry. This last complaint was easy to remedy, and then the lad got up and walked into the sitting room. What's your name, said Humphrey to the lad? Pablo replied the lad. Can you speak English? Yes, little replied he. How did you happen to fall into the pit? Not see-hole. Are you a gypsy? Yes, gitano, same thing. Humphrey put a great many more questions to the lad and elicited from him in his imperfect English, the following particulars, that he was in company with several others of his race, going down to the sea coast on one of their usual migrations and that they had pitched their tents not far from the pitfall. That during the night, he had gone out to set some snares for rabbits and going back to the tents, and had been quite dark, he had fallen into the hole, that he had remained there three days and nights, having in vain attempted to get out. His mother was with the party of gypsies to which he belonged, but he had no father. He did not know where to follow the gang, as they had not said where they were going, farther than to the sea coast. That it was no use looking for them and that he did not care much about leaving them. As he was very unkindly treated, in reply to the question as to whether he would like to remain with them and work with them on the farm, he replied that he should like it very much if they would be kind to him and not make him work too hard, that he would cook the dinner and catch them rabbits and birds and make her great many things. Will you be honest if we keep you and not tell lies, said Edward? Lad thought a little while and then nodded his head in the affirmative. Well, Pablo, we will try you and if you are a good lad, we will do all we can to make you happy, said Edward. But if you behave ill, we shall be obliged to turn you out of doors. Do you understand? Be as good as I can, replied Pablo, and here the conversation ended for the present. Pablo was a very short-built lad of apparently 15 or 16 years of age, very dark in complexion but very handsome in features with beautiful white teeth and large dark eyes. And there was certainly something in his intelligent countenance which recommended him, independent of his claim to their kindness from his having been left thus friendless in consequence of his misadventure. Humphrey was particularly pleased with and interested about him as the lad had so nearly lost his life through his means. I really think, Edward, said Humphrey, as they were standing outside of the door of the cottage that the lad may be very useful to us and I sincerely hope that he may prove honest and true. We must first get him into health and spirits and then I will see what he can do. The fact is, my dear Humphrey, we can do no otherwise. He is separated from his friends and does not know where to go. It would be inhuman as we have been the cause of his misfortune to turn him away. But although I feel this, I do not feel much security as to his good behaviour and being very useful. I have always been told that these gypsies were vagrants who lived by stealing all they could lay their hands upon and if he has been brought up in that way, I fear that he will not easily be reformed. However, we can't but try and hope for the best. What you say is very just, Edward. At the same time, there is an honest look about this lad, although he is a gypsy. That makes me put a sort of confidence in him, admitting that he has been taught to do wrong. Do you not think that when told the contrary, he may be persuaded to do right? It is not impossible, certainly, replied Edward. But Humphrey, be on the safe side and do not trust him too far until you know more of him. That I most certainly will not, replied Humphrey. When do you purpose going over to the Keeper's Cottage, Edward? In a day or two, but I am not exactly in a human now to be very civil to the roundheads. Although the one I have promised to visit is the lady and a very amiable, pretty little girl in the bargain. Why, Edward, what has made you feel more opposed to them than usual? In the first place, Humphrey, the murder of the king, for it was murder and nothing better. I cannot get that out of my head and yesterday I obtained what I consider as almost a gift from heaven and if it is so it was not given but with the intention that I should make use of it. And what was that, Edward? Our gallant father's sword, which he drew so nobly and so well in defense of his sovereign, Humphrey, and which I trust his son may one day will with equal distinction and it may be better fortune come in with me and I will show it to you. Edward and Humphrey went into the bedroom and Edward brought out the sword, which he had placed by his side of the bed. See, Humphrey, this was our father's sword and, continued Edward, kissing the weapon, I trust I may be permitted to draw it to revenge his death and the death of one of whose life ever should have been sacred. I trust that you will, my dear brother, replied Humphrey, you will have a strong arm and a good cause. Heaven grant that both may prosper but tell me how you came by it. Edward then related all that had passed during his visit with Oswald to Lamington, not forgetting to tell him of Benjamin's appearance and the arrangements he had made relative to the sale of the venison. As soon as dinner was over, Edward and Humphrey took down their guns, having agreed that they would go and hunt the wild cattle. Humphrey, have you any idea where they heard a cattle are feeding at this time? I know where they were feeding yesterday and the day before and I do not think that they will have changed their ground for the grass is yet very young and only grown on the southern aspects. Depend upon it we shall fall in with them, not four miles from where we are now, if not nearer. We must stalk them as we do the deer, must we not? They won't allow us to approach within shot, Humphrey, will they, said Edward. We have to take our chance, Edward. They will allow us to advance within shot but the bulls will then advance upon us while the herd increase their distance. On the other hand, if we stalk them, we may kill one and then the reported gun will frighten the others away. In the first instance, there is a risk. In the second, there is none but there is more fatigue and trouble. Choose as you please, I will act as you decide. Well, Humphrey, since you give me the choice, I think that this time I shall take the bull by the horns, as the saying is. That is, if there are any trees near us, for if the herd are in an open place, I would not run such a risk. But if we can fire upon them and fall back upon a tree in case of a bull charging, I will take them openly. With all my heart, Edward, I think it will be very hard with our two guns and smoker to back us. We do not manage to be masters of the field. However, we must survey well before we make our approach. And if we can get within shot without alarming or irritating them, we, of course, will do so. The bulls are very savage at this spring time, observed Edward. They are so at all times. As far as I can see of them, replied Humphrey. But we are near to them now. I should think, yes, there is the herd. There they are, sure enough, replied Edward. Now we have not to do with deer and need not be so very cautious. But still the animals are weary and keep a sharp look out. We must approach them quietly by slipping from tree to tree. Smoker to heel, down, quiet. Smoker, good dog. Edward and Humphrey stopped to load their guns and then approached the herd in manner which they had proposed and were very soon within 200 yards of the cattle behind a large oak when they stopped to wreak an order. The herd contained about 70 head of cattle of various sizes and ages. They were feeding in all directions, scattered as the young grass was very short. But although the herd was spread over many acres of land, Edward pointed out to Humphrey that all the full grown large bulls were on the outside as if ready to defend the others in case of attack. Humphrey said, Edward, one thing is clear, as the herd is placed at present, we must have a bull or nothing. It is impossible to get within shot of the others without passing a bull and depend upon it. Our passage will be disputed and moreover the herd will take to flight and we shall get nothing at all. Well, replied Humphrey, beef is beef and as they say, beggars must not be choosers so let it be a bull if it must be so. Let us get nearer to them and then we will decide what we shall do. Steady, smoker. They advanced gradually hiding from tree to tree until they were within 80 yards of one of the bulls. The animal did not perceive them and as they were now within range, they again stepped behind the tree to consult. Now, Edward, I think it would be best to separate. You can fire from where we are and I will crawl through the fern and get behind another tree. Very well, do so, replied Edward. If you can manage, get to that tree with the low branches and then perhaps you will be within shot of the white bull which is coming down in this direction. Smoker, lie down. He cannot go with you. Humphrey, it will not be safe. The distance of the tree which Humphrey ventured to get to was one about 150 yards from where Edward was standing. Humphrey crawled along for some time in the fern but at last he came to a bare spot of about 10 yards wide which they were not aware of and where he could not be concealed. Humphrey hesitated and at last decided upon attempting to cross it. Edward, who was one moment watching the motions of Humphrey and at another that of the two animals nearest to them perceived that the white bull farthest from him but nearest to Humphrey through its head in the air poured with his foot and then advanced with a roar to where Humphrey was on the ground still crawling toward the tree having passed the open spot and being now not many yards from the tree. Perceiving the danger that his brother was in and that moreover Humphrey himself was not aware of it he hardly knew how to act. The bull was too far from him to fire at it with any chance of success and how to let Humphrey know that the animal had discovered him and was making toward him without calling out he did not know. All this was the thought of a moment and then Edward determined to fire at the bull nearest to him which he had promised not to do till Humphrey was also ready to fire and after firing to call to Humphrey he therefore for one moment turned away from his brother and taking aim at the bull fired his gun but probably from his nerves being a little shaken at the idea of Humphrey being in danger the wound was not mortal and the bull fell up back to the herd which formed a close for lengths about a quarter of a mile distant. Edward then turned to where his brother was and perceived that the bull had not made off with the rest of the cattle but was within 30 yards of Humphrey and advancing upon him and that Humphrey was standing up beside the tree with his gun ready to file. Humphrey fired and as it appeared he also missed his aim. The animal made at him but Humphrey with great quickness dropped his gun and swing by the lower boughs was into the tree and out of the bull's reach in a moment. Edward smiled when he perceived that Humphrey was safe but still he was a prisoner for the bull went round and round the tree roaring and looking up at Humphrey. Edward thought a minute then loaded his gun and ordered Smoker to run into the bull. The dog who had only been restrained by Edward's keeping him down at his feet sprung forward to the attack. Edward had intended by calling to the dog to induce the bull to follow it till within gunshot but before the bull had been attacked Edward observed that one or two more of the bulls had left the herd and were coming at a rapid pace toward him. Under these circumstances Edward perceived that his only chance was to climb into a tree himself which he did taking good care to take his gun and ammunition with him. Having safely fixed himself in a fork bow Edward then surveyed the position of the parties. There was Humphrey in the tree without his gun. The bull who had pursued Humphrey was now running at Smoker who appeared to be aware that he was to decoy the bull toward Edward after he kept retreating toward him. In the meantime the two other bulls were quite close at hand mingling their bellowing and roaring with the first and one of them as near to Edward as the first bull which was engaged with Smoker. At last one of the advancing bulls stood still pouring the ground as if disappointed at not finding an enemy not 40 yards from where Edward was perched. Edward took good aim and when he fired the bull fell dead. Edward was reloading his piece when he heard a howl and looking round saw Smoker flying up in the air having been tossed by the first bull and at the same time he observed that Humphrey had descended from the tree recovered his gun and was now safe again upon the lower bow. The first bull was advancing again to attack Smoker who appeared incapable of getting away so much was he injured by the fall when the other bull who apparently must have been an old antagonist of the first roared and attacked him and now the two bulls were up in the tree the two bulls fighting between them and Smoker lying on the ground panting and exhausted. As the bulls with locked horns were furiously pressing each other both guns were discharged and both animals fell after waiting a little while to see if they rose again or if any more of the herd came up Edward and Humphrey descended from the trees and heartily shook hands. End of chapter 11