, as well he might be, at the confidence
bestowed on him by his father, took the bag with him under his smock
when he went out with the cows, and bestowed it in a cranny not far from
that in which that more precious trust resided.

CHAPTER V. DESOLATION.

"They shot him dead at the Nine Stonerig,
Beside the headless Cross;
And they left him lying in his blood,
Upon the moor and moss."
SURTEES.

More and more soldiers might be seen coming down the roads towards the
town, not by any means always looking as gay as that first troop.
Some of the feathers were as draggled as the old cock's tail after
a thunderstorm, some reduced even to the quill, the coats looked
threadbare, the scarves stained and frayed, the horses lean and bony.

There was no getting into the town now, and the growling thunder of a
cannon might now and then be heard. Jeph would have liked to spend all
his time on the hill-side where he could see the tents round the town,
and watch bodies of troops come out, looking as small as toy soldiers,
and see the clouds of smoke, sometimes the flashes, a moment or two
before the report.

He longed to go down and see the camp, taking a load of butter and
eggs, but the neighbours told his father that these troops were bad
paymasters, and that there were idle fellows lurking about who might
take his wares without so much as asking the price.

However, Jeph grew suddenly eager to herd the cattle, because thus he
had the best chance of watching the long lines of soldiers drawn out
from the camp, and seeing the smoke of the guns, whose sound made poor
Patience stay and tremble at home, and hardly like to have her father
out of her sight.

There was worse coming. Jeph had been warned to keep his cattle well out
of sight from any of the roads, but when he could see the troops moving
about he could not recollect anything else, and one afternoon Croppie
strayed into the lane where the grass grew thick and rank, and the
others followed her. Jeph had turned her back and was close to the
farmstead when he heard shouts and the clattering of trappings.
Half-a-dozen lean, hungry-looking troopers were clanking down the lane,
and one called out, "Ha! good luck! Just what we want! Beef and forage.
Turn about, young bumpkin, I say. Drive your cattle into camp. For the
King's service."

"They are father's," sturdily replied Jeph, and called aloud for
"Fat