eered over the brink, for this part was quite new to
him, and resolved as he was to make a bold stroke of it, he naturally
wished to see how the land lay, and what the fortress of the enemy was
like, ere ever he ventured into it.

CHAPTER XXXIX

BATTERY AND ASSUMPSIT

That little moorland glen, whose only murmur was of wavelets, and
principal traffic of birds and rabbits, even at this time of year
looked pretty, with the winter light winding down its shelter and soft
quietude. Ferny pitches and grassy bends set off the harsh outline of
rock and shale, while a white mist (quivering like a clew above the
rivulet) was melting into the faint blue haze diffused among the
foldings and recesses of the land. On the hither side, nearly at the
bottom of the slope, a bright green spot among the brown and yellow
roughness, looking by comparison most smooth and rich, showed where the
little cottage grew its vegetables, and even indulged in a small attempt
at fruit. Behind this, the humble retirement of the cot was shielded
from the wind by a breastwork of bold rock, fringed with ground-ivy,
hanging broom, and silver stars of the carline. So simple and low was
the building, and so matched with the colors around it, that but for
the smoke curling up from a pipe of red pottery-ware, a stranger might
almost have overlooked it. The walls were made from the rocks close by,
the roof of fir slabs thatched with ling; there was no upper story, and
(except the door and windows) all the materials seemed native and at
home. Lancelot had heard, by putting a crafty question in safe places,
that the people of the gill here had built their own dwelling, a good
many years ago; and it looked as if they could have done it easily.

Now, if he intended to spy out the land, and the house as well, before
the giant of the axe returned, there was no time to lose in beginning.
He had a good deal of sagacity in tricks, and some practice in little
arts of robbery. For before he attained to this exalted state of mind
one of his favorite pastimes had been a course of stealthy raids upon
the pears in Scargate garden. He might have had as many as he liked for
asking; but what flavor would they have thus possessed? Moreover, he
bore a noble spite against the gardener, whose special pride was in that
pear wall; and Pet more than once had the joy of beholding him thrash
his own innocent son for the dark disappearance of Beurre and Bergamot.
Making good use o