eir stained and worm-eaten pages.

With Constans, however, it had been different. In company with the other
children he had been set at the task of learning his letters, and at
first he, too, had rebelled at the uncongenial labor. What possible use
could these ugly, crooked characters ever be to him? And then, suddenly,
he found in them a magic key unlocking a door that opened upon an
undiscovered country--that of the mighty past.

Naturally he experienced some difficulty in viewing this new old world
in anything like its proper proportions, and it was the literal baldness
of the child's school-book that first gave him anything like a true
perspective. Here was both the written story and the visible picture of
the world as it once was, as it might be again. Studying these records
and achievements of the ancient civilization, Constans found himself
possessed of the knowledge of many things and consumed by the desire to
lay hold of many more.

But all this lay in the past--ages ago, when as yet no Doomsman had
landed at the Golden Cove, and the pine-tree banner still flew from the
fighting platform of the Greenwood Keep. Now nothing mattered to the boy
sitting dull-eyed and inert in the darkest corner of his miserable
refuge, while outside it was raining in torrents. But on the third day
it cleared, and the rays of the morning sun, striking level with the
mouth of the cave, fell full upon the lad's face, rousing him in a
double sense. He sprang to his feet and drew in a deep breath of the
morning air. How blue the sky! How golden the sun! As he sat eating his
frugal breakfast of oat-cake and honey he rapidly reviewed his present
condition and future prospects, coming at last to the decision that he
would go to Croye and see what his uncle Hugolin might be inclined to do
for him.

It was inspiriting, the mere fact that he had determined upon a course
of action, and Constans immediately began his preparations for
departure. It did not take long to put together his worldly wealth--the
four books, the binoculars, the pistol, and the chief of his other
possessions; now he had everything compactly stowed away in a shoulder
pack and was ready for the journey.

The town of Croye was situated on the Greater river (formerly the
Hudson) and some ten miles north of the ancient city of New York. It
boasted a population of quite fifteen hundred souls, and this, with its
importance as a trading centre, made it a notable municipalit