" said Ralph quietly. "But you see that
it is not safe for you to go out."

"Yes," said Minnie with a sigh; "but it seems very silly. The other day
one was obliged to stop in because of the Edens; now it's because of
those men."

"I suppose it's as bad for the Edens as it is for us," replied Ralph,
who became now very thoughtful; and when, soon afterwards, Minnie looked
up to see why he did not speak, she found that his head was resting
against the stone, beside a crenelle, and that he was fast asleep.

"Poor boy!" she said softly, "he is weak yet, and soon worn-out. It was
very brave of him to fight as he did--with Mark Eden, I mean--against
the men who attacked them, and for both to be wounded. I wonder what
Mark Eden is like. Ralph has met him three times, he says, but he only
growls if I begin to ask him questions. What a pity it is, when we
might all be so friendly and nice. How stupid it does seem of people to
quarrel!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

HOW MARK'S SISTER LOST HER WHIP.

Fate seemed to be determined that the young people of the rival families
should become intimate, in spite of all the stringent rules laid down by
the heads; for Ralph was out one day, making a round, when it occurred
to him that he would call upon Master Rayburn, to let him see how well
the wound was healing up, and to say a few words of thanks to the old
man for his kindness and attention.

He found the object of his visit seated in a kind of grotto, shaded by a
great sycamore, with his doublet off, hat on the floor, and beautifully
white sleeves rolled up, busily at work, tying up some peculiar little
combinations of wool, hair, and feathers, to the back of a hook; and as
the lad approached, he held up the curious object by the piece of
horsehair to which it was tied.

"Well, patient," he said, "what do you think of that?"

"Nothing at all," cried the lad. "No fish would ever take that. What
do you call it?"

"A bumble-bee, and the fish will take it, Mr Cleversides; but not if
they see a big lubberly boy staring at them with his arm in a sling, or
an old grey-headed man, either, Ralph. There, don't frown. It's very
nice to be a big lubberly boy; much better than being a worn-out old
man, with not much longer to live. Ah, you laugh at my bumble-bee, and
it certainly is not like one, but the best I can do, and I find it a
great bait for a chevin, if used with guile. Take these two, Ralph,
boy, and early some sunny mo