“Tell us,” the children to their grandsire said, “Some wondrous story! tell us of the wars, Or one of those old ballads that you know About the seven famous champions, St. George, St. Denis, and the rest of them. We have delight in those heroic stories, And often tell them over to ourselves And wish that there were heroes now-a-days.” The old man smoked his pipe; the children urged More eagerly their wish, athirst to know Something about the great men of old times, Deploring still that these degenerate days Produced no heroes, and that now no poets Made ballads that were worth the listening to. The old man smiled and laid aside his pipe; Then, gazing tenderly into their faces, Said he would tell them of as great a hero As any which the ballads chronicled— The good old ballads which they loved so well. “Once on a time,” said he, “there was a lad, Whose name was John; his father was a gardener. He had great skill in flowers even when a child; And when his father died, he carried on The gardener’s trade. One autumn night he found A young man hiding in his garden-shed, Haggard and foot-sore, wanting bread to eat; A fugitive who had escaped the law, And being now discovered, prayed for mercy, And told his tale so very touchingly That the young gardener promised him a refuge, And strictest secresy. For weeks and months The stranger worked with him, receiving wages As a hired labourer. Both were fine young men, Well-grown, broad-chested, full of strength and mettle; In outward seeming equal to each other, But inwardly the two were different. “The stranger, George, had not a gardening turn, He was book-learned, and had a gift for figures, And could talk well, which in itself was good; But he was double-faced, and false as Judas, Who did betray the Saviour with a kiss. He had, in truth, been clerk to some great merchant, Had wronged his trusting master, and had fled, As I have said, from the pursuit of law. Of this, however, John knew not a word, Knew only that he had been in sore trouble, And, for that cause, he strove to do him good; And when he found him useless in his trade, He introduced him to the Squire’s bailiff, Whose daughter he had courted many a year. This bailiff was a simple, honest man, Who not designing evil, none suspected. He found the stranger, clever, quick at reckoning, Smart with his pen; a likely man of business; And, therefore, on a luckless day for him, Brought him before the Squire. Ere long he had A place appointed him which gave him access