“Though as to the jerkin—my eyes not being as sharp as they once were …”
“Oh! never mind about the jerkin,” cried Luke. “Did you stop and speak to him?”
“But about that jerkin—you do cut an old man short, you do … it might have been green, but then again it might have been yellow. But the young gentleman what I saw was not the one as you’re after.”
“How do you know?”
“Why, because he was the Seneschal’s son—the one I saw,” said the old man proudly, as if the fact put him at once into a superior position to Luke.
“But it’s the Seneschal’s son—Master Ranulph Chanticleer, that I’m after, too!” cried Luke, eagerly. “How long is it since you saw him? I must catch up with him.”
“You’ll not do that, on your two feet,” said the goatherd calmly. “That young gentleman, and his yellow jerkin and his red hair, must be well on the way to Moongrass by now.”
“To Moongrass?” And Luke stared at him in amazement.
“Aye, to Moongrass, where the cheeses come from. You see it was this way. I’m goatherd to the Lud yeomanry what the Seneschal has sent to watch the border to keep out you know what. And who should come running into their camp about half an hour ago with his red jerkin and his green hair but your young gentleman. ‘Halt!’ cries the Yeoman on guard. ‘Let me pass. I’m young Master Chanticleer,’ cries he. ‘And where are you bound for?’ cries the Yeoman on guard. ‘For Fairyland,’ says he. And then didn’t they all laugh! And the little chap flew into quite a rage, and said he was off to Fairyland, and no one should stop him. And, of course, that just made them laugh all the more. But though they wouldn’t let him go to Fairyland, the young rascal …” And here the old man was seized with a paroxysm of wheezy laughter which brought on another bout of coughing.
“Well, as I was saying,” he went on, when he had recovered, “they wouldn’t let him through to Fairyland, but they said they would ride back with him where he came from. ‘No, you won’t,’ says he; ‘my dad,’ says he, ‘don’t want me to go back there, never any more.’ And he whisks out a letter signed by the Seneschal, bidding him leave the widow Gibberty’s farm, where he was staying, and go straight off to Farmer Jellygreen’s at Moongrass. So one of the Yeomen saddled his horse, and the youngster got up behind him, and they set off for Moongrass by one of the cattle-paths running northeast, which comes out at about the middle of the road between Swan and Moongrass. So that’s that, my young fellow.” In his relief Luke tossed his cap into the air.
“The young rascal!” he cried joyfully; “fancy his never having told me he’d got a letter from his Worship, and me expecting that letter for the last three days, and getting stomachache with worry at its not coming! And saying he was off to a certain place, too! A nice fright he’s given me. But thank’ee, gaffer, thank’ee kindly. And here’s something for you to drink the health of Master Ranulph Chanticleer,” and with a heart as light as a bird’s, he began to retrace his steps down the valley.
But what was that faint sound behind him? It sounded suspiciously like the Ho, ho, hoh! of that impudent Willy Wisp, who for a short time, had been one of his Worship’s grooms.
He stopped, and looked round. No one was visible except the old goatherd in the distance, leaning on his stick. What he had heard could have been nothing but the distant tinkle of the goat bells.
When he reached the farm, he found it in a tumult. The little boys had frightened Hazel out of her wits, and confirmed her worst fears by the news that “Master Ranulph had run away towards the hills, and that Master Hempen had run after him.”
“Granny!” cried Hazel, wringing her hands, “a messenger must be sent off post-haste to the Seneschal!”
“Stuff and nonsense!” cried the widow, angrily. “You mind your own business, miss! Long before any messenger could reach Lud, the lads will be back safe and sound. Towards the hills, indeed! That Luke Hempen is a regular old woman. It’s just a bit of Master Ranulph’s fun. He’s hiding behind a tree, and will jump out on them with a ‘Boo!’ Never in my life have I heard so much fuss about nothing.” And then, turning to the farm-servants, who were clustering round the children with scared, excited eyes, she bade them go about their business, and let her hear no more nonsense.
Her words sounded like good sense, but, for all that, they did not convince Hazel. Her deep distrust of the widow was almost as old as herself, and her instinct had told her for some time that the widow was hostile to Ranulph.
Never for a moment did Hazel forget that she, not the widow, was the rightful owner of the farm. Should she for once assert her position, and, in direct defiance of the widow, report what had happened to the lawman of the district and send a messenger to Master Nathaniel?
But, as everybody knows, legal rights can be but weaklings—puny little child princes, cowed by their bastard uncles, Precedent and Seniority.
No, she must wait till she was of age, or married, or … was there any change of condition that could alter her relations with the widow, and destroy the parasite growth of sullen docility which, for as long as she could remember, had rotted her volition and warped her actions?
Hazel clenched her fists and set her teeth … She would assert herself!—she would! … now, at once? Why not give them, say, till noon, to come back? Yes, she would give them till
