d some of them, following the lead of Lord George, singled him
out for friendly notice, giving him a nod or a word in passing.

Every season has its pleasures for boys, and the constant change that
they bring is one of the greatest delights of boyhood's days.

All of us, as we grow older, have in our memory pictures of by-gone
times that are somehow more than usually vivid, the colors of some not
blurring by time as others do. One of which, in remembering, always
filled Myles's heart in after-years with an indefinable pleasure, was
the recollection of standing with others of his fellow squires in the
crisp brown autumn grass of the paddock, and shooting with the long-bow
at wildfowl, which, when the east wind was straining, flew low overhead
to pitch to the lake in the forbidden precincts of the deer park beyond
the brow of the hill. More than once a brace or two of these wildfowl,
shot in their southward flight by the lads and cooked by fat,
good-natured Mother Joan, graced the rude mess-table of the squires in
the long hall, and even the toughest and fishiest drake, so the fruit
of their skill, had a savor that, somehow or other, the daintiest fare
lacked in after-years.

Then fall passed and winter came, bleak, cold, and dreary--not winter as
we know it nowadays, with warm fires and bright lights to make the long
nights sweet and cheerful with comfort, but winter with all its grimness
and sternness. In the great cold stone-walled castles of those days the
only fire and almost the only light were those from the huge blazing
logs that roared and crackled in the great open stone fireplace, around
which the folks gathered, sheltering their faces as best they could from
the scorching heat, and cloaking their shoulders from the biting cold,
for at the farther end of the room, where giant shadows swayed and
bowed and danced huge and black against the high walls, the white frost
glistened in the moonlight on the stone pavements, and the breath went
up like smoke.

In those days were no books to read, but at the best only rude stories
and jests, recited by some strolling mummer or minstrel to the listening
circle, gathered around the blaze and welcoming the coarse, gross jests,
and coarser, grosser songs with roars of boisterous laughter.

Yet bleak and dreary as was the winter in those days, and cold and
biting as was the frost in the cheerless, windy halls and corridors of
the castle, it was not without its joys to th