round therefore as fast as he did, and just behind thespot where I had seen the eyes, there they were again, but this time Idiscerned a head and face into which they were fixed--a face I had seenbefore.
"There, there!" I cried, pointing to the face as Jack came up.
It was that of the poor idiot lad, Dicky Green. He was crouching down,evidently trying to conceal himself from us.
"Why, Dicky, what are you doing here?" cried Jack. "We won't hurt you."
"I was a looking to see what'd happen next. He's a sleeping, bean'the?" answered the idiot, pointing in the direction of the dead man.
"It's a sleep from which he will never awake, lad," said Jack. "He isdead, lad."
"Lor', be he? Then you won't go for to tell of I?" exclaimed Dicky,whimpering. "Mother sent I to look for the little one's shoe, when Itold her how I'd got hold of him and gi'en the man as was a trying totake him from me a pretty hard clout on the head. I thought I'd madehim quiet, but I ne'er meaned to kill him, that I didn't."
"The little one!" cried Jack, a new light bursting on us. "What do youknow of him? Where is he?"
"Oh, he's all right, and happy as he can be, I wot," said Dicky, with agrin, which made us doubt the truth of his assertion.
Our fear now, however, was that the idiot would escape from us before wecould ascertain whether or not he really did know where little Hugh was.Still, we could not help hoping that the child was safe. Jacktherefore did his best to keep him talking till our friends should comefrom the Hull. Happily, the poor creature was very fond of keeping histongue moving, as other people with a limited supply of brains are aptto do. Though he talked on, we could not make out more than we hadalready. To our great relief, we heard at length the sound of voicesapproaching us. Soon Sir Hugh, with Cousin Peter, Mr Strafford, andseveral other gentlemen on horseback, with Sam Barnby and a whole posseof men, appeared in the distance. We shouted to them to come to us. Nosooner did Dicky Green see them, than he began to tremble violently;then, looking to the right and left, he bolted off through the forest.Fortunately, Cousin Peter saw him, and gave chase on horseback; SamBarnby also followed in the direction we pointed. Still Dicky ran veryfast, dodging in and out among the trees. Meantime, Sir Hugh and MrStrafford rode up to where the dead body lay on the grass. As soon asSir Hugh saw the features of the corpse, he said in a sad voice:
"It is that unhappy man, cut off in the middle of his career; but myboy, my boy, where can he be?"
Though Dicky Green ran fast, he was ere long overtaken and brought back.He stood before the gentlemen with one of his most idiotic looks, whichmade it seem hopeless that anything could be got out of him.
"Come, come, Dicky, that will not do for us," said Cousin Peter; "rouseyourself up and tell us all you know about this matter. No one will doyou any harm, lad."
Thus spoken to kindly, after some time, Dicky looked up and said:
"Thee wants to know about the little chap, and if I tells thee, theewon't ask how that one there came by his death?"
"If we do ask, it will not be to bring any harm on you, Dicky. You maybe assured of that," said Cousin Peter.
Dicky thought for some time, and then began to move off through theforest.
"He is going towards his mother's cottage; I shouldn't be surprised iflittle Master Hugh be there safe enough," whispered Sam Barnby.
"Bless you, bless you, Sam Barnby, for those words, and I believe thatthey are true," exclaimed Sir Hugh, as we all followed the idiot, excepta couple of men, who were left with the dead body.
In a short time we reached a wretched tumble-down hut of mud, with aroof of thatch, green with age, and full of holes, in which birds hadbuilt their nests. There at one end we found a bed-ridden old woman,the idiot's mother, and on a little pallet-bed in the further corner laya blooming child fast asleep. Sir Hugh stepped forward, signing to usnot to make a noise, and lifting the child in his arms, bestowed a kisson its brow. The boy awoke, and seeing his father--for it was our dearlittle Hugh--threw his arms round his neck and exclaimed:
"You've come, papa, for Hugh at last; Hugh is so glad, so happy!"
It was a happy meeting we all had at the Hall that evening, and gratefulwere the hearts of Sir Hugh and Lady Worsley at the recovery of theirdarling boy. I remember that afterwards there was an inquest, and thatthe magistrates met, but, except from the ravings of poor Dicky Green,there was no evidence how the deceased gentleman who was found in theforest came by his death. He was accordingly buried quietly in theparish churchyard, and as little fuss as possible made about the matter,though of course it had the usual run of a nine days' wonder. I amhappy to say that little Hugh grew up, and as he is the father of anumber of boys, there is not much chance of the property going out ofthe old line for want of a male heir.
STORY TWO, CHAPTER ONE.
STORY TWO--The Rocking-Stone: A Chronicle of the Times of the Wars ofthe Roses.
Two of the most powerful nobles of England, the Duke of Somerset and theEarl of Warwick, were one fine summer's day, in the year of our Lord1449, walking together in the Temple Gardens, on the banks of theThames. Their conversations were on affairs of state. Ere long theyexpressed decided differences of opinion. Their tempers warmed up; thedispute ran high. They appealed to the nobles and gentlemen attendingon them, but all drew back. They had long been rivals, each seeking forpower and influence. Warwick possessed immense popularity both with thesoldiery and populace. He is since well known in history as theKingmaker. He was not a man to brook opposition.
"It is well that we should know our foes from our friends," heexclaimed, plucking as he spoke a white rose from a bush which grewnear. "Let all who claim to be my friends wear henceforth the whiterose in their helms or caps."
"And I, too, wish to know who are my friends and who my foes," said theDuke of Somerset, walking on rapidly till he reached a red rose-treewhich he saw in the distance. "I shall expect all those who love me, orthe cause I espouse, to wear this flower of blushing hue."
Several knights and gentlemen hurried after the duke, and imitated hisexample in placing red roses in their caps. The earl watched theproceedings of his rival with a smile.
"My challenge is quickly accepted," he observed, turning to those whosurrounded him. "But am I to stand alone? Have I no friends who wishto show that they are ready to espouse my cause?"
"Ten thousand swords would be ready to leap from their scabbards themoment you summon them," answered a sturdy knight, Sir Herbert deBeauville. "I, for one, am ready to risk castle, and lands, and jewels,and life itself, in your service; and as a pledge of my sincerity, Iplace this white rose in my helm, and, so help me Heaven, may I ever betrue to it and to you while life remains!"
The rest of the party, following the knight's example, pledgedthemselves to the earl, and placed white roses in their helms or caps.It was curious to see the two parties, as they henceforth walked apartwith the insignia they had so hastily assumed prominently displayed,eyeing each other with glances indicative, it might be, of that fearfulstruggle which was so soon to commence, and to devastate the fair landof England and deluge it with blood. Some of those present turnedtraitors to the cause they had espoused, and others more than oncechanged sides, but amply did Sir Herbert de Beauville fulfil the pledgehe had given on that occasion. He was one of those men who considerthat black is black, and white is white, and so, having passed his wordthat he would wear the white rose and support the house of York, hefought on, amid all its changing fortunes, till he had lost the largerportion of his once ample possessions. His ancestral castle ofBeauville, in the north of England, in a sadly dilapidated condition,with its park and a few hundred acres of land, was at length all thatremained to him. In the fatal fight on Bosworth Field, holding himselfbravely, as was his wont, he was desperately wounded. He would havefallen from his horse had not he been supported by his faithfulservitor, Roger Bertrand, who led him from the fight to a retired spotnear a brook, where he could attend to his gaping wounds, and
stanch thelife-blood flowing from his veins. In vain, however, the brave squireexerted all his skill. It was too clear to him that his belovedmaster's hours were numbered. The knight also was well aware that hislast blow had been struck for the cause he had so long espoused, andthat he should soon be numbered with the dead. He committed, therefore,his wife and young son, who was named after him, to Roger's care.
"Mark you, Roger, watch over the boy as a precious jewel. Remember hisnoble blood and parentage, bring him up as becomes both, and above allthings, when he comes to man's estate, take care that he finds a bridebefitting him, and does not wed beneath him. I fear me much that I donot leave him as rich a heritage as I received, but should quiet
Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales Page 6