The surgeon saw him, and declared him so much better that he might soon be taken home, recommending his sitting up for a little while as a first stage.  Peregrine, however, seemed far from being cheered, and showed himself so unwilling to undergo the fatigue of being dressed, even when good Dr. Woodford had brought up his own large chair—­the only approach to an easy one in the house—­that the proposal was dropped, and he was left in peace for the rest of the day.

In the evening Mrs. Woodford was sitting by the window, letting her needlework drop as the light faded, and just beginning to doze, when her repose was broken by a voice saying “Madam.”

“Yes, Peregrine.”

“Come near, I pray.  Will you tell no one?”

“No; what is it?”

In so low a tone that she had to bend over him:  “Do you know how the Papists cross themselves?”

“Yes, I have seen the Queen’s confessor and some of the ladies make the sign.”

“Dear lady, you have been very good to me!  If you would only cross me thrice, and not be afraid!  They could not hurt you!”

“Who?  What do you mean?” she asked, for fairy lore had not become a popular study, but comprehension came when he said in an awe-stricken voice, “You know what I am.”

“I know there have been old wives’ tales about you, my poor boy, but surely you do not believe them yourself.”

“Ah! if you will not believe them, there is no hope.  I might have known.  You were so good to me;” and he hid his face.

She took his unwilling hand and said, “Be you what you will, my poor child, I am sorry for you, for I see you are very unhappy.  Come, tell me all.”

“Nay, then you would be like the rest,” said Peregrine, “and I could not bear that,” and he wrung her hand.

“Perhaps not,” she said gently, “for I know that a story is afloat that you were changed in your cradle, and that there are folk ignorant enough to believe it.”

“They all know it,” he said impressively.  “My mother and brothers and all the servants.  Every soul knows it except my father and Mr. Horncastle, and they will never hear a word, but will have it that I am possessed with a spirit of evil that is to be flogged out of me.  Goody Madge and Moll Owens, they knew how it was at the first, and would fain have forced them—­mine own people—­to take me home, and bring the other back, but my father found it out and hindered them.”

“To save your life.”

“Much good does my life do me!  Every one hates or fears me.  No one has a word for me.  Every mischance is laid on me.  When the kitchen wench broke a crock, it was because I looked at it.  If the keeper misses a deer, he swears at Master Perry!  Oliver and Robert will not let me touch a thing of theirs; they bait me for a moon-calf, and grin when I am beaten for their doings.  Even my mother quakes and trembles when I come near, and thinks I give her the creeps.  As to my father and tutor, it is ever the rod with them, though I can learn my tasks far better than those jolter-heads Noll and Robin.  I never heard so many kind words in all my life as you have given me since I have been lying here!”