s a fairy story,
Nance, at least I think it was to be a fairy one. Anyway it was about
the great big moor where you lived when you were a little child.'

Pat had seated himself comfortably in his favourite corner near the
fire, Miss Mouse and Archie opposite him, but Justin was fidgeting about
in his usual way; he was the most restless boy possible.

'I say, where is Bob?' he asked suddenly.

Nance stepped to the door and looked out.

'He should be coming by now,' she said. 'He went about your ferrets to
another place, Master Justin. He's been in a fine way at not getting
them for you before. Ah! yes, there he is,' and she pointed to a black
speck appearing on one of the little white paths at some distance.

'I'll go and meet him,' exclaimed Justin, 'perhaps he's bringing them
with him. _I_ don't care about fairy stories. So when you're ready to
go,' he went on, turning to his brothers, 'you can call me. I'll be
somewhere about with Bob,' and he ran off.

Nance stood looking after him for a moment. Then she came in,
half-closing the door.

'That's right,' said Archie, 'now we'll be very comfortable without Jus
fidgetting about. Go on, Nance, we're all ready.'

Nance drew forward a stool, and seated herself upon it, between the
children, in front of the fire. She had a pleasant, rather dreamy smile
upon her face.

[Illustration: 'I'VE PLENTY OF STORIES IN MY HEAD,' SHE SAID.]

'I've plenty of stories in my head,' she said. 'The one I was going to
tell you the other day was an old one of my grandmother's. It was about
a moor, though I can't say for certain if it was the one I remember best
myself. It was told her by the one that was best able to tell it, and
that was the very man it had happened to many years before, when he was
a boy. They were poor folk, very poor folk, and they had hard work to
keep the wolf from the door. The father was dead, and there were several
little ones. This boy, Robin was his name, was the eldest, and the only
one fit for regular work, and he was but twelve. He must have been a
right-down good boy, though he didn't say so of himself, for he worked
early and late and brought every penny home to his mother. Well, one
night, 'twas the beginning of winter too, like it is now, he was going
home from the farm where he worked, right across the moor. It was a good
long way to the farm, for it was a lonely place where his home was, but
there was no rent to pay for the bit of a place, so the