with music. As the
boy watched the skilful hands sending the flying shuttle in and out
among the threads, he learned from his father, not only the right way
to weave good reliable stuff, but also how to weave the many coloured
threads of everyday life into a strong character. The village
people called his father 'Righteous Christer,' which shows that he too
must have been 'stiff as a tree' in following what he knew to be
right; for a name like that is not very easily earned where village
eyes are sharp and village tongues are shrewd.

[Illustration: THE BOYHOOD OF GEORGE FOX]

Less than a mile from the weaver's cottage stood the Church and the
Manor House side by side. The churchyard had a wall of solid red
bricks, overshadowed by a border of solemn old yew-trees. The Manor
House was encircled by a moat on which graceful white swans swam to
and fro. For centuries the Purefoy family had been Squires of Drayton
village. They had inhabited the Manor House while they were alive, and
had been buried in the churchyard close by after they were dead. The
present Squire was a certain COLONEL GEORGE PUREFOY. It may have been
after him that 'Righteous Christer' called his eldest son George, or
it may have been after that other George, 'Saint George for Merrie
England,' whose image killing the Dragon was to be seen engraved on
each rare golden 'noble' that found its way to the weaver's home.
Christopher and Mary Fox were both of them possessed of more education
than was usual among country people at that time, when reading and
writing were still rare accomplishments. 'Righteous Christer' was an
important man in the small village. Besides being a weaver, he was
also a churchwarden, and was able to sign his own name in bold
characters, as may still be seen to-day in the parish registers, where
his fellow-churchwarden, being unable to read or write, was only able
to sign his name with a cross. Unfortunately this same register,
which ought to record the exact day of July 1624 on which little
George was baptized here in the old church, no longer mentions him,
since, more than a hundred years after his time, the wife of the
Sexton of Fenny Drayton, running short of paper to cover her jam-pots,
must needs lay hands on the valuable Church records and tear out a few
priceless pages just here. So, although several other brothers and
sisters followed George and came to live in the weaver's cottage
during the next few years, we know none of