his
come about. Dear heart alive! you look like a ghost.'

'I have fallen,' gasped Mary. 'But where is my boy--where is Ambrose? Get
me tidings of him, I pray you, good Jenkyns.'

'Lord! I must get help for you before I think of the boy. He has run home,
I dare to say, the young urchin; he is safe enough.'

'No, no,' Mary said. 'Oh! Jenkyns, for the love of Heaven, hasten to find
my boy, or I shall die of grief.'

The worthy shepherd needed no further entreaty. He hastened away, taking
the stile with a great stride, and, going up to the back door of the house,
he called Mistress Forrester to come as quick as she could, for there was
trouble on the moor.

Mistress Forrester was at this moment engaged in superintending the feeding
of a couple of fine young pigs, which had been bought in Tunbridge a few
days before. Her skirts were tucked up to her waist, and she had a large
hood over her head, which added to her grotesque appearance.

'Another lamb lost? I protest, Jenkyns, if you go on losing lambs after
this fashion you may find somebody else's lambs to lose, and leave mine
alone. A little more barleymeal in that trough, Ned--the porkers must be
well fed if I am to make a profit of 'em and not a loss.'

'Hearken, Madam Forrester,' Jenkyns said, 'the lamb is safe, but Mistress
Gifford is lying yonder more dead than alive. Ned, there! come and help me
to lift her home--and where's the boy, eh?'

'What boy?' Mrs Forrester asked sharply.

'Mistress Gifford's son,' Jenkyns said, 'his mother is crying out for him
amain, poor soul! She is in a bad case--you'd best look after her, there's
blood running down from a cut on her forehead. Here!' calling to one of the
women, 'here, if the Mistress won't come, you'd best do so--and bring a
pitcher of water with you, for she is like to swoon, by the looks of her.'

'You mind your own business, Amice,' Mistress Forrester said, as she
smoothed down her coarse homespun skirt, and settled the hood on her head.
'You bide where you are, and see the poultry are fed, as she who ought to
have fed 'em isn't here.'

'Nor ever will be again, mayhap,' said Jenkyns wrathfully. 'Come on, Ned,
it will take two to bear her home, poor thing. Don't let the boy see her
till we've washed her face--blood always scares children.'

'I daresay it's a scratch,' Mistress Forrester said, as she filled a pewter
pot with water, and followed the shepherd and Ned to the place where Mary
lay.

Even Mis