There was a woman, and she lived at Brennan[27] on the moor. And she had a baby. And one day she left her baby on the moor to play and pick "urts" (whortleberries), and she hasted to Moreton town. Now as she went she saw three ravens flying over her head from Blackiston. And she said, "Where be you a goin' to, Ravens cruel?" They answered, "Up to Brennan! up to Brennan!" She had not gone far before she saw three more flying in the same direction. And again she asked, "Where be you a goin' to, Ravens cruel? "And these three likewise answered her, "Up to Brennan! up to Brennan!" Now when she had gone somewhat further, and was drawing nigh to Moreton, again she saw three ravens fly over her head, and for the third time she put the same question and received the same answer. When in the evening she returned to Brennan Moor, there no little baby's voice welcomed her, for all that remained of her child was a heap of well-picked white bones. [27] _Bran_, pl. _bryny_, Cornish, a crow. Brennan is what is marked on the Ordnance Survey as Brinning, a lonely spot south of Moreton Hampstead, and between it and North Bovey. It seems to me that the story needs but a touch, and it resolves itself into a ballad. BRENNAN MOOR. Three ravens, they flew over Blackistone, Down-a-down, hey and hey! And loudly they laughed over Moreton town, Over Moreton town, Saying, Where and O where shall we dine to-day? On the moor, for sure, where runneth no way. As I sat a-swaying all in a tree, Down-a-down, hey and hey! I saw a sweet mother and her babie, And her babie, Saying, Sleep, O sleep. I'm to Moreton fair, For Babie and me to buy trinkets rare. As I was a-flying o'er Brennan Down, Down-a-down, hey and hey! I saw her a-wending her way to town, Away to town. Our dinners are ready, our feasting free, Away to Brennan, black brothers, with me. The babe upon Brennan, so cold and bare, Down-a-down, hey and hey! The mother a-gadding to Moreton fair, To Moreton fair. We'll laugh and we'll quaff the red blood free, There is plenty for all of us, brothers three. Three ravens flew over Blackistone, Down-a-down, hey and hey! And loudly they laughed over Moreton town, Over Moreton town. With an armful of toys, came mother, to none Save a little white huddle of well-picked bone. [Illustration: GRIMSPOUND SCALE 120 FEET TO AN INCH] From Moreton an expedition may be made to Grimspound. This is an enclosure, prehistoric, on the slope between Hookner Tor and Hameldon.