Great Britain -- History -- Henry II, 1154-1189 -- Juvenile fiction; Guilds -- Juvenile fiction; Middle Ages -- Juvenile fiction
Farmer Appleby was in what he called a fidget. He did not look nervous,
and was not. But the word, along with several others he sometimes used,
had come down to him from Scandinavian forefathers. The very name with
its ending "by" showed that his farm was a part of the Danelaw.
Along the coast, and in the part of England fronting the North Sea,
Danish invaders had imposed their own laws and customs on the country,
and were strong enough to hold their own even in the face of a Saxon
King. It was only a few years since the Danegeld, the tax collected
from all England to ward off the raids of Danish sea-rovers, had been
abolished. But Ralph Appleby was as good an Englishman as any.
Little by little the Danelaw was yielding to the common law of England,
but that did not worry an Appleby. He did not trouble the law courts,
nor did they molest him. The cause of his fidget was a certain law of
nature by which water seeks the shortest way down. One side of his
farm lay along the river. Like most of the Danish, Norse, Icelandic or
Swedish colonists, his long-ago ancestor had settled on a little river
in a marsh. First he made camp on an island; then he built a house on
the higher bank. Then the channel on the near side of the island filled
up, and he planted the rich soil that the river had brought with
orchards, and pastured fat cattle in the meadows. Three hundred years
later the Applebys owned one of the most prosperous farms in the
neighborhood.
Now and then, however, the river remembered that it had a claim on
that land. The soil, all bound and matted with tough tree-roots and
quitch-grass, could not be washed away, but the waters took their toll
in produce. The year before the orchards had been flooded and two-thirds
of the crop floated off. A day or two later, when the flood subsided,
the apples were left to fatten Farmer Kettering's hogs, rooting about on
the next farm. Hob Kettering's stubborn little Saxon face was all a-grin
when he met Barty Appleby and told of it. It speaks well for the
friendship of the two boys that there was not a fight on the spot.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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