Produced by Sandra Laythorpe THE HERD BOY AND HIS HERMIT By Charlotte M. Yonge Henry, thou of holy birth, Thou, to whom thy Windsor gave Nativity and name and grave Heavily upon his head Ancestral crimes were visited. Meek in heart and undefiled, Patiently his soul resigned, Blessing, while he kissed the rod, His Redeemer and his God. SOUTHEY LIST OF CONTENTS I. IN THE MOSS II. THE SNOW-STORM III. OVER THE MOOR IV. A SPORTING PRIORESS V. MOTHER AND SON VI. A CAUTIOUS STEPFATHER VII. ON DERWENT BANKS VIII. THE HERMIT IX. HENRY OF WINDSOR X. THE SCHOLAR OF THE MOUNTAINS XI. THE RED ROSE XII. A PRUDENT RECEPTION XIII. FELLOW TRAVELLERS XIV. THE JOURNEY XV. BLETSO XVI. THE HERMIT IN THE TOWER XVII. A CAPTIVE KING XVIII. AT THE MINORESSES XIX. A STRANGE EASTER EVE XX. BARNET XXI. TEWKESBURY XXII. THE NUT BROWN MAID XXIII. BROUGHAM CASTLE THE HERD BOY AND HIS HERMIT CHAPTER I. -- IN THE MOSS I can conduct you, lady, to a low But loyal cottage where you may be safe Till further quest.--MILTON. On a moorland slope where sheep and goats were dispersed among the rocks, there lay a young lad on his back, in a stout canvas cassock over his leathern coat, and stout leathern leggings over wooden shoes. Twilight was fast coming on; only a gleam of purple light rested on the top of the eastern hills, but was gradually fading away, though the sky to the westward still preserved a little pale golden light by the help of the descending crescent moon. ‘Go away, horned moon,’ murmured the boy. ‘I want to see my stars come out before Hob comes to call me home, and the goats are getting up already. Moon, moon, thou mayst go quicker. Thou wilt have longer time to-morrow--and be higher in the sky, as well as bigger, and thou mightst let me see my star to-night! Ah! there is one high in the sunset, pale and fair, but not mine! That’s the evening star--one of the wanderers. Is it the same as comes in the morning betimes, when we do not have it at night? Like that it shines with steady light and twinkles not. I would that I knew! There! there’s mine, my own star, far up, only paling while the sun glaring blazes in the sky; mine own, he that from afar drives the stars in Charles’s Wain. There they come, the good old twinkling team of three, and the four of the Wain! Old Billy Goat knows them too! Up he gets, and all in his wake “Ha-ha-ha” he calls, and the Nannies answer. Ay, and the sheep are rising up too! How white they look in the moonshine! Piers--deaf as he is--waking at their music. Ba, they call the lambs! Nay, that’s no call of sheep or goat! ‘Tis some child crying, all astray! Ha! Hilloa, where beest thou? Tarry till I come! Move not, or thou mayst be in the bogs and mosses! Come, Watch’--to a great unwieldy collie puppy--‘let us find her.’