success by
their guide from the Camp of Refuge, Leofric of Deeping, who
entertained them by the way, when circumstances permitted, by many
a story about Hereward and his merry men, each one of whom he said
was a match for three Normans, while Hereward would not turn his
back upon seven at once.

When the east grew red with the coming light they were traversing
an immense tract of wild forest land, bright with the gorse, then
in flower, and tenanted only by myriads of rabbits; here they came
upon a grassy dell, with plenty of good grazing for their horses,
and a clear stream running through the bottom.

"We shall scarce find a better place than this to rest," said their
guide; "I know the spot well. When a boy my grandfather lived in
that ruined farmhouse which you can see peeping through the trees;
I remember I was just tall enough to look over yon wall."

"Is it in English hands now?" said Wilfred, anxiously.

"It is desolate--waste--ruined. The Normans butchered the inmates
long since, God knows why, save that they gave shelter to some
proscribed fugitives, who were being hunted like wild beasts. They
were not my own kinsfolk; by God's blessing my grandparents died
while Edward was yet alive. I often feel grateful that they did not
live to see these evil days."

They hobbled the horses, and took their own repast by the side of
the stream. Each man had brought rations for two days with him, and
there was no lack.

Then, after carefully setting sentinels in each direction, they
slept under the shade of the trees. The moss was a delicious couch,
the day was warm, and the murmur of the little stream, united to
the hum of the insects, lulled them to sleep.

It was not till after midday that Wilfred awoke. He found Leofric
already on foot, stretching himself after his nap.

"I am going to look at the old place," said he; "it stimulates my
feeling of hatred to the Normans. Will you come with me and see
their work?"

They crossed two or three fields lying fallow--indeed, no hand of
man had been busy there for more than a year; soon they came upon
the blackened ruins of a house, of which, however, some portions
had escaped the general conflagration; upon which Leofric observed:

"This was the work of Ivo Taille-Bois {xxi}, a Norman
woodcutter, whom the duke has manufactured into a noble, and set to
tyrannise over free-born Englishmen. Like a fiend he ever loves to
do evil, and when there is neither man, woman, n