ent colours, looked like the counties on a
map; we could see the sea, we could see the gleam of a little river. We
could see Axminster far to the east of us; but the marching army was out
of sight, somewhere on the Chard high-road. After scanning pretty well
all around us, I caught sight of moving figures on the top of one of the
combes to south of us. We all looked hard at the place, trying to make
out more of them. They were nearly a mile from us. They seemed to be
standing there as sentries. At first we thought that they must be people
with Lord Grey; but as we could see no horses we decided that they could
not be. One of the men said that as far as he'd heard tell like,
the combe on which they stood was what they call a camp, where soldiers
lived in the old time. He didn't know much more about it; but he said
that he thought we ought to examine it, like, before riding on to some
inn where we could breakfast.

The other man seemed to think so, too; but when we came to talk over
the best way of doing our espials, we were puzzled. We should be seen at
once if we went to them directly. We might be suspected if we approached
them on horseback. If the men went, they might be detained, because, for
all that we knew, the combe might be full of militia. So I said I had
better go, since no one would suspect a boy. To this the men raised a
good many objections, looking at each other suspiciously, plainly asking
questions with their raised eyebrows. I thought at the time that they
were afraid of sending me into a possible danger, because I was a
servant attached to the Duke's person. However, when I said that I would
go on foot, taking all precautions, they agreed grudgingly to let me go.

I crept along towards this combe on foot, as though I were going bird's
nesting. I beat along by the hedges, keeping out of sight behind them,
till I was actually on the combe's north slope, climbing up to the old
earthwork on the top. I took care to climb the slope at a place where
there was no sentry, which was, of course, not only the steepest bit of
the hill but covered with gorse clumps, through which I could scarcely
thrust my way. Up towards the top the gorse was less plentiful; there
were immense foxgloves, ferns, little marshy tufts where rushes grew,
little spots of wet bright green moss. Yellow-hammers drawled their
pretty tripping notes to me, not starting away, even when I passed close
to them. All the beauty of June was on the e