A Reputed Changeling | Page 5

sting nettle. But come, my sweetings, 'tis time I got
your supper. I'll put some nice rosy- cheeked apples down to roast, to
be soft for Mistress Woodford's sore mouth."
Before the apples were roasted, Charles Archfield and his cousin, the
colleger Sedley Archfield, a big boy in a black cloth gown, came in
with news of having--together with the other boys, including Oliver
and Robert Oakshott--hunted Peregrine all round the Close, but he ran
like a lapwing, and when they had pinned him up in the corner by Dr.
Ken's house, he slipped through their fingers up the ivy, and grinned at
them over the wall like the imp he was. Noll said it was always the way,
he was no more to be caught than a bit of thistledown, but Sedley
meant to call out all the college boys and hunt and bait him down like a
badger on 'Hills.'
CHAPTER II
: HIGH TREASON
"Whate'er it be that is within his reach, The filching trick he doth his
fingers teach."
Robin Badfellow.

There was often a considerable distance between children and their
parents in the seventeenth century, but Anne Woodford, as the only
child of her widowed mother, was as solace, comfort, and companion;
and on her pillow in early morning the child poured forth in grave
earnest the entire story of the changeling, asking whether he could not
be "taken to good Dr. Ken, or the Dean, or the Bishop to be ex--
ex--what is it, mother? Not whipped with nettles. Oh no! nor burnt with
red hot pokers, but have holy words said so that the right one may
come back."
"My dear child, did you really believe that old nurse's tale?"
"O madam, she knew it. The other old woman saw it! I always thought
fairies and elves were only in tales, but Lucy's nurse knows it is true.
And he is not a bit like other lads, mamma dear. He is lean and small,
and his eyes are of different colours, look two ways at once, and his
mouth goes awry when he speaks, and he laughs just like--like a fiend.
Lucy and I call him Riquet a la Houppe, because he is just like the
picture in Mademoiselle's book, with a great stubbly bunch of hair
sticking out on one side, and though he walks a little lame, he can hop
and skip like a grasshopper, faster than any of the boys, and leap up a
wall in a moment, and grin--oh most frightfully. Have you ever seen
him, mamma?"
"I think so. I saw a poor boy, who seemed to me to have had a stroke of
some sort when he was an infant."
"But, madam, that would not make him so spiteful and malicious!"
"If every one is against him and treats him as a wicked mischievous elf,
it is only too likely to make him bitter and spiteful. Nay, Anne, if you
come back stuffed with old wives' tales, I shall not allow you to go
home with Lucy Archfield."
The threat silenced Anne, who was a grave and rather silent little
person, and when she mentioned it to her friend, the answer was, "Did
you tell your mother? If I had told mine, I should have been whipped
for repeating lying tales."

"Oh then you don't believe it!"
"It must be true, for Madge knew it. But that's the way always if one
lets out that one knows more than they think."
"It is not the way with my mother," stoutly said Anne, drawing up her
dignified little head. And she kept her resolution, for though a little
excited by her first taste of lively youthful companionship, she was
naturally a thoughtful reticent child, with a character advanced by
companionship with her mother as an only child, through a great
sorrow. Thus she was in every respect more developed than her
contemporary Lucy, who regarded her with wonder as well as affection,
and she was the object of the boyish devotion of Charley, who often
defended her from his cousin Sedley's endeavours to put down what he
considered upstart airs in a little nobody from London. Sedley teased
and baited every weak thing in his way, and Lucy had been his chief
butt till Anne Woodford's unconscious dignity and more cultivated
manners excited his utmost spleen.
Lucy might be incredulous, but she was eager to tell that when her
cousin Sedley Archfield was going back to 'chambers,' down from the
Close gate came the imp on his shoulders in the twilight and twisted
both legs round his neck, holding tight on in spite of plunges, pinches,
and endeavours to scrape him off against the wall, which were
frustrated or retaliated by hair pulling, choking, till just ere entering the
college