HOW HORDLE JOHN COZENED THE FULLER OF LYMINGTON.


It is not, however, in the nature of things that a lad of twenty,
with young life glowing in his veins and all the wide world
before him, should spend his first hours of freedom in mourning
for what he had left. Long ere Alleyne was out of sound of the
Beaulieu bells he was striding sturdily along, swinging his staff
and whistling as merrily as the birds in the thicket. It was an
evening to raise a man's heart. The sun shining slantwise
through the trees threw delicate traceries across the road, with
bars of golden light between. Away in the distance before and
behind, the green boughs, now turning in places to a coppery
redness, shot their broad arches across the track. The still
summer air was heavy with the resinous smell of the great forest.
Here and there a tawny brook prattled out from among the
underwood and lost itself again in the ferns and brambles upon
the further side. Save the dull piping of insects and the sough
of the leaves, there was silence everywhere--the sweet restful
silence of nature.

And yet there was no want of life--the whole wide wood was full
of it. Now it was a lithe, furtive stoat which shot across the
path upon some fell errand of its own; then it was a wild cat
which squatted upon the outlying branch of an oak and peeped at
the traveller with a yellow and dubious eye. Once it was a wild
sow which scuttled out of the bracken, with two young sounders at
her heels, and once a lordly red staggard walked daintily out
from among the tree trunks, and looked around him with the