One October day in the midst of the seventeenth century, Lady Kildhurm, in her widow's weeds, walked slowly out of the castle gate, leading her two little sons each by the hand. The elder, named Maurice, was six years old, his brother Rupert about five; and this was Maurice's birthday. As the heir of Kildhurm, all his birthdays were of course of particular importance; and, although he did not get quite so many testimonials of feudal devotion from the neighbouring peasants and farmers as his grandfather at the same age had been accustomed to expect, nevertheless he had spent a pleasant forenoon receiving the gifts and congratulations of an adoring household. It was now afternoon, the air clear and undisturbed by any wind, and sea and land slept in soft tints beneath the slanting sun-rays. Not a ripple disturbed the pale blue surface; nor was any movement perceptible among the dark leaves of the mysterious tree. The mother and children proceeded to the cliff, and, opening the gate of the little enclosure, they seated themselves beneath the shadow of the Oak. Far away in the offing a vessel lay becalmed, her dim white sails vainly stretched out for a breeze; near at hand a flock of fitfully-screaming gulls swooped and hovered over some floating quarry. A banner, hoisted on the Tower in honour of little Sir Maurice's sixth anniversary, hung in motionless folds about its staff. All nature seemed to be at pause, dreaming of the past, or, it might be, hushing herself in anticipation of some event to come. Lady Kildhurm sat in a low rustic chair, with her hand beneath her chin, and her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the banner drooping on its staff. The children were playing on the mossy green turf at her feet. By and by Sir Maurice said to his brother, in reference to a small toy sword which had been absorbing their attention: 'Thou mayst take it awhile, brother; but thou must say it is mine and not thine, else I will take it back.' Rupert received the sword in silence, and then said: 'Buzzer Mau'ice, dis s'ord is mine!' 'Now I shall take it back!' 'No!' 'Yes; and I am the eldest; and the sword and everything belong to me, and nothing to you. You shall not have it!' 'No! I de eldest!' 'Rupert! that was a--not true!' 'Well, I keep de s'oard!' returned the unabashed junior, dwelling upon the noun at exasperating length. Maurice made a snatch at the disputed weapon; Rupert drew it quickly beyond his reach: then the two little fellows faced each other with defiance in their port; and a battle seemed imminent.