hall, where he had servants to attend upon him, and drank out
of a goblet of gold or silver. Yet he did not repine, but performed his
duties with a willing spirit, and instead of thinking his lot was a hard
one, he often reflected how much worse it would have been if he had
fallen into the hands of his father's foes; still he could not help
feeling melancholy at times, for he longed to see his dear mother again,
and more than two months had passed, yet she came not. There was no
occasion now to stain his hands and face, for the sun had embrowned them
quite enough, and his long curls had been suffered to grow again, for
Maud said it was a great pity to cut them off, and she was proud of
hearing her neighbours say what nice hair her boy had got, and she would
answer--

"Ay, my goodman tells me I take over much pride in Henry's curly locks,
but he is my eldest, and sure it is natural for a mother to take
pleasure in the beauty of her child, and, though I say it, he is as
pretty a boy, and as good too, as any in the village."

One evening Henry had brought home the sheep, and having seen them safe
in the fold, was sitting on the ground outside the cottage door eating
his supper. One arm rested on the neck of a large dog, that was idly
reposing by his side, as if tired with the toils of the day, for it was
the shepherd's dog, and its duty was to guard the flocks as they were
feeding in the fields, and warn his master if any danger seemed near
them. At length the boy arose and walked slowly towards the entrance of
a fair domain, where he stood gazing with tearful eyes through a long
vista of tall oaks, on a noble mansion standing on the summit of a
verdant slope, and his young heart was oppressed with unusual sadness as
he looked wistfully on this his rightful home. He had stood there for
some time when his foster-father came up and laid his hand kindly on his
shoulder.

"Come, my boy, you are giving way to idle regrets. I do not like to see
you here, Henry, for I know your thoughts are not what they should be."

"I know it is wrong, father, but I cannot help it sometimes."

"Whenever this feeling comes over you, Henry, try to drive it from you,
and think of the past as if it had been but a dream. A dark prison, my
boy, would have been a worse dwelling-place than a thatched cottage.
Think of that, and be content."

"Indeed I am content, father, for you are very kind to me. But when, oh
when, do you think my own