"Then you do not believe in Jack's goblins, Winifred?" "No, mother. I have noticed before that when Jack is frightened, he can never see anything as it really is. I suppose the ghost was the old dead tree in the copse, which he has seen a hundred times before, and the groans he heard were the creaking of the branches, or perhaps the old red cow who is always grumbling to herself. I remember when I had the fever, how the dame sat up with me and told me tales all night when I could not sleep, and how she made cool drinks for me, and baskets of rushes. I always thought I should like to do something for her in return." "But if you should meet any of the soldiers, Winifred?" "There are no soldiers in the neighborhood now, mother," said Winifred. "Dame Hodges has just come from Bridgewater this morning, whither she has been to see her poor son, and she tells me the soldiers have all gone away to some other place, with the chief-justice. She went to bid poor Simeon farewell, but she was not allowed even to see him." "Lord have mercy on him, poor creature!" said Dame Evans. "He had hardly sense to tell his right hand from his left. I do not believe he even knew upon which side he was fighting. But, daughter, if you are frightened, what will you do? It is a long way from any house." "I will say my prayers or sing a psalm, mother," replied Winifred, simply. "I think I ought to go," she added. "I think it would be but right. None of us have been near the dame for some days, and she may be starving." "Give her the basket and let her go, Magdalen," said the old man. "She has the spirit of thy great-grandmother the martyr. May the blessing of God go with thee, child!" he added, laying his hand upon her head. "I will trust Him to bring thee safe back again, but make no further delay, for it is waxing late, and the days are shorter than they were." "And, Winifred, you may take this bottle of milk for the old dame, and give a look for the other basket as you pass the white elm. It will doubtless be standing somewhere about." Winifred was soon on her way with her bottle and a second basket well filled. It may seem strange that she was so ready to undertake the task, but Winifred Evans was no common child. She came of a race of heroes and confessors, and it seemed as if she had inherited her character from them. Quiet and retiring as she ordinarily was, hardly ever speaking unless when spoken to, and preferring her book or her own thoughts to any kind of play, she was never known to show a particle of fear. Gentle, patient, and ever ready to yield to the wishes and opinions of others, in matters where right and wrong were concerned she was inflexible.