It was still worse when Bunce came over, and brought a taller horse, and such real weapons as he deemed that the young lord might be taught to use, and there were doleful auguries and sharp reproofs, designed in comically respectful phrases, till he was almost beside himself with being thus tormented, and ready to wish never to hear of being a baron.

His relief was to wander away upon the moors, watch the lights and shadows on the wondrous mountains, or dream on the banks of the river, by which he could make his way to the seashore, a place of endless wonder and contemplation, as he marvelled why the waters flowed in and retreated again, watched the white crests, and the glassy rolls of the waves, felt his mind and aspiration stretched as by something illimitable, even as when he looked up to the sky, and saw star beyond star, differing from one another in brightness.  There were those white birds too, differing from all the night-jars and plovers he had seen on the moor, floating now over the waves, now up aloft and away, as if they were soaring into the very skies.  Oh, would that he could follow them, and rise with them to know what were those great grey or white clouds, and what was above or below in those blue vastnesses!  And whence came all those strange things that the water spread at his feet the long, brown, wet streamers, or the delicate red tracery that could be seen in the clear pools, where were sometimes those lumps like raw flesh when closed, but which opened into flowers?  Or the things like the snails on the heath, yet not snails, and all the strange creatures that hopped and danced in the water?

Why would no one explain such things to him?  Nay, what a pity everyone treated it as mere childish folly in him to be thus interested!  They did not quite dare to beat him for it—­that was one use of being a baron.  Indeed, one day when Simon Bunce struck him sharply and hard over the shoulders for dragging home a great piece of sea-weed with numerous curious creatures upon it, Goodwife Dolly rushed out and made such an outcry that the esquire was fain to excuse himself by declaring that it was time that my lord should know how to bide a buffet, and answer it.  He was ready and glad to meet the stroke in return!  ‘Come on, sir!’

And Hob put a stout headless lance in the boy’s hand, while Simon stood up straight before him.  Hob adjusted the weapon in his inert hand, and told him how and where to strike.  But ’It is not in sooth.  I don’t want to hurt Master Simon,’ said the child, as they laughed, and yet with displeasure as his blow fell weak and uncertain.

‘Is it a mouse’s tail?’ cried Simon in derision.

‘Come, sir, try again,’ said Hob.  ’Strike as you did when the black bull came down.  Why cannot you do the like now, when you are tingling from Bunce’s stroke?’

‘Ah! then I thought the bull would fall on Piers,’ said Hal.

’Come on, think so now, sir.  One blow to do my heart good, and show you have the arm of your forebears.’