n roofs, and much half-timbered decoration.

The Devon winters were long, with heavy snow, and men had to build so
that they might have all possible protection from the winds that swept
across the open upland country. So they built down in the valleys and in
the long low inlets from the sea that were called combes, and as a
result one might stand on the high moors looking across country, and
never know there was a house within a mile. It is a country full of
surprises.

On a fine morning when Devon was looking its best, a boy came out of a
dwelling that was half farmhouse, half manor-house, and that lay in a
cup of low hills on the edge of a tract of moorland. The house belonged
to a man named Walter Raleigh, of Fardell, a gentleman of good family
whose fortunes had sunk to a low ebb. It was one-storied, with thatched
roof, gabled wings, and a projecting central porch. Here lived Mr.
Raleigh of Fardell with his wife Katherine, four sons and a daughter. It
was a large family for such a small estate, and already the father was
wondering what would happen to the younger boys when the little property
should have descended, according to the law of the land, to the oldest
son.

It was the boy Walter, youngest of the sons, who had come out of the
house, and stood looking about him. He was a good-looking fellow, with
fair hair, blue eyes, and the ruddy English skin. It did not take him
long to decide which way to go this morning. He made straight for an oak
wood that lay before the house, and followed a little path that led
through it. Two miles and a half through the wood lay Budleigh Salterton
Bay, and Walter liked that best of all the places near his home.

He passed the oaks and came out into open country. Here, where the gorse
made a soft carpet on the ground, the salt of the sea blew freshly in to
him. He gave a great shout, and pulling off his cap, ran as fast as he
could, down to the shore of the bay. A few boats swung at anchor there,
and an old man sat on the beach, mending a fishing net.

The boy swept the sea with his eyes from point to point of the bay,
looked longingly at the boats, then walked over to the old mariner.

"Good-morning, gaffer," said he. "It's a fine sailing breeze out on the
bay."

"And good-morning to ye, Master Walter," said the old man, glancing up
from his nets. "A fine breeze it be, an' more's the pity when there's
work to be done on shore."

"So say I," said the boy, throwing himself