ith his tongue out, so that
Stephen began to consider whether he should indeed have to be his
bearer--a serious matter, for the creature at full length measured
nearly as much as he did. They met hardly any one, and they and Spring
were alike too well known and trained, for difficulties to arise as to
leading a dog through the Forest. Should they ever come to the term of
the Forest? It was not easy to tell when they were really beyond it,
for the ground was much of the same kind. Only the smooth, treeless
hills, where they had always been told Winchester lay, seemed more
defined, and they saw no more deer, but here and there were inclosures
where wheat and barley were growing, and black timbered farmhouses began
to show themselves at intervals. Herd boys, as rough and unkempt as
their charges, could be seen looking after little tawny cows, black-
faced sheep, or spotted pigs, with curs which barked fiercely at poor
weary Spring, even as their masters were more disposed to throw stones
than to answer questions.

By and by, on the further side of a green valley, could be seen
buildings with an encircling wall of flint and mortar faced with ruddy
brick, the dark red-tiled roofs rising among walnut-trees, and an
orchard in full bloom spreading into a long green field.

"Winchester must be nigh. The sun is getting low," said Stephen.

"We will ask. The good folk will at least give us an answer," said
Ambrose wearily.

As they reached the gate, a team of plough horses was passing in led by
a peasant lad, while a lay brother, with his gown tucked up, rode
sideways on one, whistling. An Augustinian monk, ruddy, burly, and
sunburnt, stood in the farm-yard, to receive an account of the day's
work, and doffing his cap, Ambrose asked whether Winchester were near.

"Three mile or thereaway, my good lad," said the monk; "thou'lt see the
towers an ye mount the hill. Whence art thou?" he added, looking at the
two young strangers. "Scholars? The College elects not yet a while."

"We be from the Forest, so please your reverence, and are bound for Hyde
Abbey, where our uncle, Master Richard Birkenholt, dwells."

"And oh, sir," added Stephen, "may we crave a drop of water for our
dog?"

The monk smiled as he looked at Spring, who had flung himself down to
take advantage of the halt, hanging out his tongue, and panting
spasmodically. "A noble beast," he said, "of the Windsor breed, is't
not?" Then laying his hand on th