It was about two weeks after the conclusion of the Bloody Assizes, as they have ever since been called, that Jack Evans was going across the field with a basket in his hand, containing some meal, a large piece of cheese, and sundry other provisions which his mother had sent him to carry to a poor widow. Old Dame Sprat lived in a hovel on the edge of a waste, swampy plain, partly overgrown with bushes and reeds; and to reach her hut, it was necessary to pass through a certain thicket called the Black Copse, which bore no good name. Strange sounds had been heard, and strange lights seen glancing among the trees. Nay, it was solemnly declared that the place was haunted by a black horse without a head, which spoke with a human voice. All country people were superstitious at that time, and Jack was no wiser than his neighbors in this respect, while the terrible incidents and horrible sights of the last few weeks had filled the country with ghost stories. However, his mother had commanded, and there was nothing for it but to obey. The afternoon was warm and sunny, and the hazel-nuts were ripening in the hedges. And besides, Jack, who was really a kind-hearted boy, pitied the poor lonely old woman who had no one to care for her. So he went along cheerily enough, sometimes whistling, sometimes singing an old ballad or some sea-song which he had learned from his father. He was passing through his grandfather's barley field, and had nearly reached the stile at the further end, when he noticed with surprise that two or three of the barley sheaves had fallen down, and were lying partly unbound and scattered upon the ground. "Who has done that?" said he to himself. "I wonder if the gypsies have been turning their asses into the field again? However, the sheaves must not be left like that, for I think it is coming on to rain, and they will all be spoiled." So saying, he put down his basket and set himself seriously to the business of restoring the fallen barley to its place. It was not an easy task to accomplish alone, but Jack was both strong and skilful for a boy of his age, and he knew how important it was that not a grain of this precious barley should be lost: so he persevered, and at last succeeded in putting matters to rights. He was just fastening the band of the last sheaf, when he heard a sound which made him spring to his feet, with hair bristling and eyes almost starting from his head. It was a deep groan, as of a person in great distress. He listened, trembling in every limb. Presently, he heard it again, and then a faint, hollow voice, speaking, as it were, out of the ground. "My good lad!" it said.