Citation
The Little earl

Material Information

Title:
The Little earl
Creator:
Ouida, 1839-1908 ( Author, Primary )
Garrett, Edmund Henry, 1853-1929 ( Illustrator )
J.B. Lippincott & Co ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Philadelphia
Publisher:
J.B. Lippincott Company
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
1892
Language:
English
Physical Description:
[2], 64 p. : ill. ; 22 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Orphans -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children of the rich -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Nobility -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Grandmothers -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Uncles -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Intergenerational relations -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Compassion -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Generosity -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Humility -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Sympathy -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1898 ( rbgenr )
Baldwin -- 1898
Genre:
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Publisher's advertisement precedes text.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Louisa de la Ramé (Ouida) ; illustrated by Edmund H. Garrett.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026897827 ( ALEPH )
ALH5661 ( NOTIS )
252785828 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
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BY OUIDA

A Doc oF FLANperS, AND OTHER Srortes.
Bist.
Two Lirrrte Wooven SuHogs.

With illustrations by Edmund H Garrett.
Suall Quarto. Cloth, $1.50 per volume.

STORIES FOR CHILDREN.

Tue NiUrnperc STove.

MovurF1ou, anp OTHER STORIES.

Tue Littce Earv.

A Doc oF Fianpers,

In rHe ApeLe-CouNTRY AND FINDELKIND.

With illustrations by Edutund H. Garrett.
Sutall Quarto. Cloth, 60 cents per volume.

In her manner of telling these little tales
there is a remarkable resemblance to Haw-
thorne’s writings for the young, while in inven-
tion and imagination the author pushes closely
the writers of classic juveniles. Moreover,
each one of the stories contains a wise moral,
Mr. Garrett has well illustrated the volumes.



THE LITTLE EARL.










1 eRe

Se Si







“WILL YOU BE SO KIND AS TO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU ARE EATING?”



Tae LIPILE EARL

BY

LOUISA DE LA RAME
(OUIDA)

ILLUSTRATED BY

EDMUND H. GARRETT



PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1898



Coprrient, 1892,
BY
J.B. Lippincott Company.



THE LITTLE EARL.

THE little Earl was a very little one indeed, as
far as years and stature were, but he was a very big
one if you consider his possessions and his impor-
tance. He was only a month old when his father
died, and only six months old when his mother, too,
left him for the cold damp vault, with its marbles
and its rows of velvet coftins,—a vault that was very
grand, but so chilly and so desolate that when they
took the little Earl there on holy-days to lay his
flowers down upon the dead he could never sleep for
nights afterwards, remembering its darkness and
solemnity.

The little Earl was called Hubert Hugh Lupus
Alured Beaudesert, and was the Earl of Avillion and
Lantrissaint ; but by his own friends and his grand-
mother and his old nurse he was called only Bertie.

He was eight years old in the summer-time, when
there befell him the adventure I am going now to relate
to you, and he was, for his age, quite a baby; he was
slender and slight, and he had a sweet little face like a
flower, with very big eyes, and a quantity of fair hair
cut after the fashion of the Reynolds and Gains-
borough children. He had always been kept as if he

. were a china doll that would break at a touch. His

7



8 THE LITTLE EARL.

grandmother and his uncle had been left the sole charge
of him; and as they were both invalids, and the latter
a priest, and both dwelt in great retirement at the castle
of Avillion, the little Earl’s little life had not been a
boy’s life.

He had always been tranquil, for every one loved
him, and he had all things that he wished for; yet he
was treated more as if he were a rare flower or a most
fragile piece of porcelain, than a little bright boy of
real flesh and blood; and, without knowing it, he was
often tired of all his cotton-wool. He was such a tiny
fellow, you see, to be the head of his race, and the last
of it too; for there were no others of this great race
from which he had sprung, and his uncle, as a priest,
could never marry. ‘Thus so much depended on this
small short life that the fuss made over him, and the
care taken of him, had ended in making him so in-
capable of taking any care of himself that if he had
ever got out alone in a street he would have been run
over to a certainty, and as he grew older he grew sad
and feverish, and chafed because he was never allowed
to do the things that all boys by instinct love to do.
By nature the little Earl was very brave, but he was
made timid by incessant cautions; and as he was, too,
by nature very thoughtful, the seclusion from other
children in which he was brought up made him too
serious for his age.

Avillion was deep-bosomed in woods, throned high
above a lake and moors and mountains, and setting its
vast stone buttresses firmly down into the greenest,
smoothest turf in all the green west country of Eng-
land; a grand and glorious place, famous in history,



THE LITTLE EARL. 9

full of majesty and magnificence, and sung to, forever,
by the deep music of the Atlantic waves. Once upon
a time the Arthurian Court that Mr. Tennyson has told
you of so often had held its solemn jousts and its blame-
less revels there; at least, so said the story of Avillion,
as told in ballads of the country-side,—more trust-
worthy historians than most people think.

All those ballads the little Earl knew by heart, and
he loved them more than anything, for Deborah, his
nurse, had crooned them over his cradle before ever he
could understand even the words of them; so that
Arthur and Launcelot, and Sir Gawain and Sir Gala-
had, and all the knightly lives that were once at Tin-
tagel, were more real to him than the living figures
about him, and these fancies served him as his play-
mates,—for he had few others, except his dog Ralph and
his pony Royal. His relatives were ailing, melancholy,
attached to silence and solitude, and though they would
have melted gold and pearls for Bertie’s drinking if
he could have drunk them, never bethought themselves
that noise and romps and laughter and fun and a little
spice of peril are all things without which a child’s life
is as dead and spiritless as a squirrel’s in a cage. And
Bertie did not know it either. He studied under his
tutor, Father Philip, a noble and learned old man, and
he was caressed and cosseted by his nurse Deborah, and
he wore beautiful little dresses, most usually of velvet
and he had wonderful toys that were sent from Paris,
automatons that danced and fenced and played the
guitar, and animals that did just what live animals do,
and Punches and puppets that played and mimicked by
clock-work, and little yachts that sailed by clock-work



10 5 THE LITTLE EARL.

and whole armies of soldiers, and marvellous games
costly and splendid; but he had nobody to play at all
these things with, and it was dull work playing with
them by himself. Deborah played with them in the
best way she knew, but she was not a child, being sixty-
six years old, and was of a slow imagination and of
rheumatic movements.

“ Run and play,” Father Philip would often say to
him, taking him perforce from his books; but the
little Earl would answer, sadly, “I have nobody to
play with !”

That want of his attracted no attention from all
those people who loved the ground his little feet trod
on; he was surrounded with every splendor and indul-
gence, he had half the toys of the Palais Royal in his
nursery, and he had a bed to sleep in of ivory inlaid
with silver, that had once belonged to the little King
of Rome; millions of money were being stored up for
him, and lands wide enough to make a principality
called him lord: it never occurred to anybody that the
little Earl of Avillion was not the most fortunate child
that lived under the sun.

“Why do people all call me ‘my lord’?” he asked
one day, suddenly becoming observant of this fact.

“ Because you are my lord,” said Deborah,—which
did not content him.

He asked Father Philip.

“My dear little boy, it is your title: think not of
it save as an obligation to bear your rank well and
without stain.”

At last the little Earl grew so pale and thin and so
delicate in health that the physician who was always



THE LITTLE EARL. 11

watching over him said to his grandmother that the boy
wanted change of air, and advised the southern coast
for him, and cessation of almost all study; which order
grieved Father Philip sorely, for Bertie could read his
Livy well, and was beginning to spell through his
Xenophon, and it cut the learned gentleman to the
heart that his pupil should give up all this and go back
on the royal road to learning. For both he and his
uncle were resolved that the little Earl should be very
learned, and the boy was eager enough to learn, only
he liked still better knowing how the flowers grew, and
why the birds could fly while he could not, and how
the wood-bee made his neat house in the tree-trunk, and
the beaver built his dam across the river,—inquiries
which everybody about him was inclined to discourage.
Natural science was not looked on with favor in the
nursery and school-room of Avillion. It was considered
to lead people astray.

So the little Earl was moved southward, with his
grandmother, and his nurse, and his physician, and
Ralph and Royal,—for he would not go without them,
—and several servants as well. They were to go to
Shanklin in the Isle of Wight, and they made the
journey by sea in the beautiful sailing-yacht which was
waiting for Bertie’s manhood, after having been the
idol of his father’s. On board, the little Earl was well
amused; but he worried every one about him by ques-
tions as to the fishes.

“Lord, child! they are but nasty clammy things,
only nice when they are cooked,” said his nurse; and
his grandmamma said to him, “ Dear, they were made
_ to live in the sea, just as the birds are made to fly in



12 THE LITTLE EARL,

the air.” And this did not satisfy the little man at all;
but he could get no more information, for the doctor,
who could have told him a good deal, was under the
thumb of his stately mistress, and Lady Avillion had
said very sternly that the boy was not to be encouraged
in his nonsense: what he must be taught were the
duties of his position and all he owed to the country,—
the poor little Earl!

He was a very small, slender, pale-cheeked lord in-
deed, with his golden hair hanging over his puzzled
forehead, that used to ache sometimes with carrying
Xenophon and Livy, and underneath the hair two
great wondering blue eyes, of a blue so dark that they
were like wet violets. His hands were tiny and thin,
and his legs, clad in their red-silk stockings and black-
velvet breeches, were like two sticks: people who saw
him go by whispered about him and said all the poor
little fellow’s rank and riches would not keep him long
in the land of the living. Once the little Earl heard
that said, and understood what it meant, and thought
to himself, “I shouldn’t mind dying if I could take
Ralph: perhaps there would be somebody to play with
there.”

It was May, and there were not many folks at
Shanklin: still, there were two or three children he
might have played with, but his grandmamma thought
them vulgar children, not fit playmates for him; and
so the poor little Earl, with the burden of his great-
ness, had to walk soberly and sadly past them, with
his little tired red-stockinged legs, while the little girls
said to each other, ina whisper, “There’s a little lord !”
and the boys hallooed out, “ He’s the swell that owns



THE LITTLE EARL. 13

the schooner.” Bertie would sigh, as he heard: what
was the use of owning the schooner, when you had no
one to play with on it, and never could do what you
liked ?

You have never seen Shanklin, for you have never
been in England; and if you do go now, you will
never see it as it was when Bertie walked there, when
it was the prettiest and most primitive little place in
England; now, they tell me, it has been made into a
watering-place, with a pier and an esplanade.

Shanklin used to be a little green mossy village cov-
ered up in honeysuckle and hawthorn ; low long houses,
green too with ivy and creepers, hid themselves away
in sweet-smelling old-fashioned gardens; yellow roads
ran between high banks and hedges out to the green
down or downward to the ripple of the sea; and the
cool brown sands, glistening and firm, twice a day felt
the kiss of the tide. The cliffs were brown too, for the
most part; some were white; the gray sea stretched in
front; and the glory of the place was its leafy chine
and ravine that severed the rocks and was full of
foliage and of the sound of birds. It used to be all
so quiet there; now and then there passed in the offing
a brig or a yacht or a man-of-war; now and then
farmers’ carts came in from the downs by Appuldur-
combe or the farms beyond the Undercliff; there were
some fishing-cabins by the beach, and one old inn with
a long grassy garden, where the coaches used to stop
that ran through the quiet country from Ryde to
Ventnor. It was so green, so still, so friendly, so
fresh ; when I think of it I hear the swish of its lazy
‘vaves, and I smell the smell of its eglantine hedges,



14 THE LITTLE EARL,

and I see the big brown eyes of my gallant dog as he
came breathless up from the sea.

Alas! you will never see it so. The hedges are
down, they tell me, and the grand dog is dead, and the
hateful engine tears through the fields, and the sands
are beaten to make an esplanade, and the beach is
noisy and hideous with the bray of bands and the
laughter of fools.

What will the world be like when you are twenty?
Very frightful, I fear. This is progress, they say ?

But what of the little Earl? you ask.

Well, the little Earl knew Shanklin as I knew it,—
when the blackbirds and thrushes sang in the quiet
chine, and the sense of an infinite peace dwelt on its
simple shores. His grandmamma had taken for the
summer the house that stands in its woods at the head
of the chine and looks straight down that rift of
greenery to the gray sea. I know not what that house
is now; then it was charming, chalet-like, yet spa-
cious.

Here the little Earl was set free of his studies and
kept out in the air when it was fine, and when it
rained was sent, not to his books, but to his toys. Yet
it did not seem to him any great change; for when he
rode, James was with him; and when he walked,
Deborah was with him ; and when he bathed, William
was with him; and when he was only in the garden,
there was grandmamma.

He was never alone. Oh, how he longed to be alone
sometimes! And he never had any playfellows: how
he would watch those two or three vulgar little boys

building sand-castles and sailing their boats! He
22



THE LITTLE EARL. 15

would have given all his big schooner and its crew te
be one of those little boys.

He had a cruise now and then off the island, and the
skipper came up bare-headed and hoped my lord en-
joyed the sail; but he did not enjoy it. William and
Deborah were always after him, telling him to mind
this, and take care of that, till he wished his pretty
snow-white sailor dress with the gold buttons were
only rags and tatters! For the poor little Earl was
an adventurous and curious little lad at heart, and had
a spirit of his own, though he was so meek; and he
was tired of being treated like a baby.

His eighth birthday came round in June, and won-
derful and magnificent were the presents he had sent
him ; but he only felt a little more tired than he had
done before; the bonbons he was not allowed to eat,
the splendidly-bound books seemed nonsense to a little
classic who read Livy; the toys he did not care for,
and the gold dressing-case his grandmamma gave him
was no pleasure: he had one in silver, and his very
hair he was never permitted to brush himself.

“ As I may not eat the bonbons, might I send them
all to the children on the sands?” he asked wistfully
of his grandmother.

“Tmpossible, my love,” she answered. “We do not
know who they are.”

“‘May I give them to the poor children then?” said
the little lad.

“That would hardly be wise, dear. It would give
them a taste for luxuries.”

Bertie sighed: life on this his eighth birthday seemed

' very empty.



16 THE LITTLE EARL.

“Why are people strangers to each other? Why
.oes not everybody speak to every one else ?” he said
at last, desperately. “St. Paul says we are all brothers,
and St. Francis ——”

“ My dear child, do not talk nonsense,” said Lady
Avillion. “We shall have you a Radical when you
are of age!”

“¢ What is that?” said Bertie.

“The people who slew your dear Charles the First
were Radicals,” said his grandmother, cleverly.

He was discouraged and silent. He went sorrow-
fully and leaned against one of the windows and looked
down the green vista of the chine. It was raining, and
they would not let him go out of doors. He thought
to himself, “ What use is it calling me ‘my lord,’ and
telling me I own so much, and bowing down before
me, if I may never do once, just once, as I like? I
know I am a little boy; but then, if I am an Earl, if
I am good enough to be that, I ought to be able to do
once as I like. Else, if not, what is the use? And
why does the skipper say always to me, ‘ Your lord-
ship is owner here’ ?”

And then a fancy came into his little head. Was
he like the Princes in the Tower? Was he a prisoner,
after all? His little mind was full of the pageant of
history, and he made his mind up now that he was a
princely captive watched and warded.

“Tell me, dear Deb,” he said, catching his nurse
by the sleeve as she turned from his bed that night,
“tell me, is it not true that I am in prison, though

you are all so kind to me; that somebody else wants
my throne ?”





THE LITTLE EARL, 17

Nurse Deborah thought he was “ off his head,” and
ran to the physician for a cooling draught, and sat up
in fright all the night, not even reassured by his sound
tranquil sleep.

Bertie asked her nothing more.

He was more sure than ever that a captive he was,
kept in kindly and honorable durance, like James of
Scotland in the Green Tower.

Whilst he was lying awake, a grand and startling
idea dawned on him: What if he were to go out and
see the world for himself? This notion has fascinated
many a child before him. Did not St. Teresa of Spain,
when she was a little thing, toddle out with a tiny
brother over the brown sierras? So absolutely now
did this enterprise dazzle and conquer the little Earl
that before night was half-way over he had persuaded.
himself that a prisoner he was, and that his stolen
kingdom he would go and find, just as the knights in
his favorite tales sallied forth to seek the Holy Grail.
The passion for adventure, for escape, for finding out
the truth, grew so strong on him that at the first flush
of daybreak he slid out of bed and resolved that go
alone he would. He longed to take Ralph, but he
feared it would not be right: who knew what perils or
pains awaited him?—and to make the dog sharer in
them seemed selfish. So he threw a glove of his own
for Ralph to guard, bade him be still, and set about
his own flight.

He made a sad bungle of dressing himself, for he
had never clothed himself in his life; but at last he
got the things on somehow, and most of them hind-
_part-before. But he did it all without awaking Deb-



18 THE LITTLE EARL.

orah, and, taking his sailor-hat, he managed to drop
out of the window on to the sward below without any
one being aware.

It was quite early day; the sky was red, the shadows
and the mists were still there, the birds were piping
good-morrow to each other.

“How lovely it is!” he thought. “Ob, why doesn’t
everybody get up at sunrise ?”

He knew, however, that if he wanted to see the
world by himself he must not tarry there and think
about the dawn. So off he set, as fast as his not very
strong legs could carry him, and he got down to the
shore.

The fog was on the sea and screened it from his
sight, and there was no one on the beach except a boy
getting nets ready in an old boat. To the boy ran
Bertie, and held to him two half-crowns. “ Will you
row me to Bonchurch for that?” he asked.

The boy grinned. “For sure, little master; and
I’d like to row a dozen at the price.”

Into the boat jumped the little Earl, with all the
feverish agility given to prisoners, who are escaping,
by their freed instincts. It was a very old, dirty boat,
and soiled his pretty white clothes terribly, but he had
no eyes for that, he so enjoyed that delicious sense of
‘being all alone and doing just as he liked. The boy
was a big boy and strong, and rowed with a will; and
the old tub went jumping and bobbing and splashing
through the rather heavy swell. The gig of his yacht
was a smart, long boat, beautifully clean, and with
rowers all dressed in red caps and white jerseys; but

the little Earl had never enjoyed rowing in that half
r 22*



THE LITTLE EARL. 19

so much. There had been always somebody to look
after him and say, “Don’t lean over the side,” or,
“Mind the water does not splash you,” or, “Take
care!” Qh, that tiresome “Take care!” It makes a
boy want to jump head-foremost into the sea, or fling
himself head-downwards from the nearest apple-tree!
I know you have felt so yourself twenty times a week,
though I do not tell you that you were right.

Nothing is prettier than the Undercliff as you look
up at it from the sea,—a tangle of myrtle and laurel
and beech and birch coming down to the very shore,
all as Nature made it. Bertie, as the boat wabbled
along like a fat old duck, looked up at it and was en-
chanted, and then he looked at the white wall of mist
on the waters, and was enchanted too. It was like
Wonderland. His dreams were broken by the fisher-
lad’s voice :

“T’'ll have to put you ashore at the creek, little mas-
ter, and get back, or daddy ’Il give me a hiding.”

“Who is ‘ daddy’ ?”

“Father,” said the boy. “He'll lick me, for the
tub’s his’n.”

Bertie was perplexed. He had heard of bears being
licked into shape by their fathers and mothers, but this
boy, though rough and rather shapeless, looked too old
for such treatment.

“You were a wicked boy to use the boat, then,” he
said, with great severity.

The Jad only grinned.

“ Little master, you tipped me a crown.”

“T did not mean to tempt you to do wrong,” said
Bertie, very seriously still; and then he colored, for



20 THE LITTLE EARL.

was he very sure that he was not doing wrong him-
self ?

The old boat was grinding on the shingle then, and
the rower of it was putting him ashore at a little creek
that was wooded and pretty, and up which the sea ran
at high tide; there was a little cottage at the head cf
it. I have heard that this wood-glen used to be in the
old time a very famous place for smugglers, and it is
still solitary and romantic, or at least was so still
when the little Earl was set down there. “ Where
am 1?” he asked the boy. But the wicked boy
only grinned, and began to wabble back through the
water as fast as his long slashing strokes could carry
him. The little Earl felt rather foolish and rather
helpless.

He was not far on his way towards seeing the world,
and he began to wish for some breakfast. There was
smoke going out of a chimney of the cottage, and the
door of it stood open, but he was afraid the people there
might stop him if he asked for anything, and, besides,
the path up to it through the glen looked rocky and
thorny and impassable, so he kept along by the beach,
finding it heavy walking, for there were more stones
than sands, and the beach was strewn with rocks, large
and small, and stiff prickly furze. But he had the sea
beside him and the world before him, and he walked
on bravely, and in a little while he came into Bon-
church. It was very early yet, and Bonchurch was
asleep, and most of its snug thatched houses, hidden
away in their gardens and fuchsia hedges, were shut
up snugly; the tall trees of its one street made a deep
shadow in it, and the broad placid water of its great



THE LITTLE BARL. 21

pool was green with their reflection: it was a sweet,
quiet place, leafy as any haunt for fairies, yet on the
very edge of the sea.

At a baker’s shop, a woman was lifting down the
shutters. The little Earl took his hat off very prettily
and said to her,—

“Tf you please, will you be kind enough to sell me
some bread-and-milk ?”

The woman stared, then laughed.

“Lord bless your pretty face! I only sell bread, but
T’ll give you some milk in, for sake of your pinched
cheeks. Come along inside, little gentleman.”

He went inside; it seemed a very funny place to
him, so small and so dark, and so dusty with flour ;
but the smell of baking was sweet, and he was hungry.

She bustled about a little, and set before him a bowl
of bread-and-milk, with a wooden spoon to eat it with.
The little Earl put his hand in his pocket to pay for it ;
lo! he had not a farthing !

He turned very red, and then very white, and thought
to himself that the money must have tumbled into the
sea with his watch, which was missing too.

Tt did not occur to him that the wicked boy had
taken both ; yet such was the sad fact.

He rose, very sorrowful and confused and ashamed.

“Madam, I beg your pardon,” he said, in his little
ceremonious way: “I thought I had money, but I
have lost it. Thank you very much, but I cannot
take the food.”

The woman was good-natured and shrewd.

“Lord !\sup it up, my dear little gentleman,” she
said to him. “You are welcome to it,—right wel-



22 THE LITTLE EARL.

come, you are; and your pa and your ma can pay for
it.”

“ No, no,” murmured Bertie, getting very red; and,.
fearing lest his longing for the meal should overcome
his honor, he stumbled out of the baking-house door
and ran up the tree-shadowed road faster than ever he
had run in his life.

To be sure, he had plenty of money of his own;
they all said so; but he never knew well where it was,
or what it meant; and, besides, he intended never to
go back to his grandmother and Deborah and Ralph
and Royal any more, till he had found out the truth
and seen his kingdom.

So he ran on through Bonchurch and out of it, leav-
ing its pleasant green shade with a little sigh, half of
impatience, half of hunger. He did not go on by the
sea, for he knew by hearsay that this way would take
him to Ventnor, and he was afraid people in a town
would know him and stop him; so he set forth inland,
where the deep lanes delve through the grassy downs ;
and here, sitting on a stile, the little Earl saw the
ploughboy eating something white and round and big
that he himself had never seen before.

“Tt must be something very delicious to make him
enjoy it so much,” thought the little Earl, and then
suriosity entered so into him, and he longed so much
to taste this wonderful unknown thing, that he went
up to the boy and said to him,—

“Will you be so kind as to let me know what you
are eating ?”

The ploughboy grinned from ear to ear.

“ For certain, little zurr,” he said, with a burr and



THE LITTLE EARL, 23

a drawl in his speech, and he gave the thing to Bertie,
which was neither more nor less than a peeled turnip.

The little Earl looked at it doubtfully, for he did
not much fancy what the other had handled with
his. big brown hands and bitten with his big yellow
teeth. But then, to enjoy anything as much as that
other had enjoyed it, and to taste something quite
unknown !—this counterbalanced his disgust-and over-
ruled his delicacy. One side of the great white thing
was unbitten; he took an eager tremulous little bite
out of that.

“But, oh!” he cried in dismay as he tasted, “it has
no taste at all, and what there is is nasty !”

“Turnips is main good,” said the boy.

“Oh, no!” said the little Earl, with intense horror ;
and he threw the turnip down amongst the grass, and
went away sorely puzzled.

“Tittle master,” roared Hodge after him, “I'll bet
as you aren’t hungry.”

That was it, of course.

The little Earl was not really hungry,—never had
been really hungry in all his life. But this explana-
tion of natural philosophy did not occur to him, not
even when the boy hallooed it after him. He only said
to himself, “How can that boy eat that filthy thing?
and he really did look as if he liked it so!”

Presently, after trotting a mile or so, he passed a
little shop set all by itself at the end of a lane,—sure.y
the tiniest, loneliest shop in Great Britain. But a
cheery-looking old woman kept it, and he saw it had
bread in it, as well as many other stuffs, and tin canis-
ters that were to him incomprehensible.



94 THE LITTLE EARL.

“Tf you please,” he said, rather timidly, offering the
gold anchor off the ribbon of his hat, “I have lost my
money, and could you be so kind as to give me any
breakfast for this ?””

The old woman smelt the anchor, bit it, twinkled
her eyes, and then drew a long face. “ It ain’t worth
tuppence, master,” she said; “but ye’re mighty small
to be out by yourself, and puny like: I don’t say as
how I won’t feed yer.”

“Thanks,” said Bertie, who did not know at all
what his anchor was worth.

“Come in out o’ dust,” said the old woman, smartly,
and then she bustled about and set him down in her
little den to milk, bread, and some cold bacon.

That he had no appetite was the despair of his people
and physician at home, and cod-liver oil, steel, quinine,
and all manner of nastiness had been administered to
provoke hunger in him, with no effect: by this time,
however, he had almost as much hunger as the boy who
had munched the turnip.

Nothing had ever tasted to him half so good in his
life.

The old woman eyed him curiously. “You’s a
runaway,” she thought; “but J’ll not raise the
cry after ye, or they’ll come spying about this bit 0’
gold.”

She said to herself that the child would come to no
harm, and when a while had gone by she would step
over to Ryde or Newport and get a guinea on the
brooch.

Her little general shop was not a very prosperous
business, though useful to the field-folk; and sanding



THE LITTLE EARL. 25

her sugar, and putting clay in her mustard, and adding
melted fat to her butter, had not strengthened her moral
principles.

As Bertie was eating, there came a very thin, scantily-
clad, miserable-looking woman, who held out a half-
penny. “A sup 0’ milk for Susy, missus,” she said, in
a very pitiful faint voice.

“How be Sue?” asked the mistress of the shop.
The woman shook her head with tears running down
her hollow cheeks.

“ My boy he’s gone in spinney,” she murmured, “to
try and catch summat, if he can: will you change it,
missus, if he git a good bird ?”

The old woman winked, frowned, and glanced at
Bertie.

“Birds aren’t good eatin’ on fust of July,” she ob-
served, as she handed the milk. The woman paid the
halfpenny and hurried away with the milk.

“TI think that woman is very poor,” said Bertie,
questioningly and solemnly.

The old dame chuckled.

“No doubts o’ that, master.”

“Then you are cruel to take her money: you should
have given her the milk.”

“ Ho, ho, little sir! be you a parson in a gownd?
I’m mappen poor as she, and she hiy desarved all she
gits, for her man he were a poacher, and he died in jail
last Jannivery.”

“A poacher!” said Bertie, with the natural in-
stinctive horror of a landed gentleman. “And her
son was going to snare a bird!” he cried, with light
~ breaking in on him ; “ nd you would give them things



26 THE LITTLE EARL

in exchange for the bird! Oh, what a very cruel,
what a very wicked woman you are!”

For an answer she shied at him a round wooden
trencher, which missed its aim and struck a basket of
eggs and smashed them, and one of the panes of her
shop-window as well.

Bertie got up and walked slowly out of the door,
keeping his eyes upon her.

“When I see a magistrate, I shall tell him about
you,” he said, solemnly: “you tempt poor people: that
is very dreadful.”

The enraged woman, in her outraged feelings, threw
a pail of dirty water after him, some of which splashed
him and completed the disfigurement of his white suit.
He looked up and down to see for the poor woman with
the milk, that he might console her poverty and open
her eyes to her sins; but she was not within sight; and
Bertie reflected that if he stopped to correct other
people’s errors he should never see the world and find
his kingdom.

He had eaten a hearty meal, and his spirits rose and
his heart was full of hope and valor; and if he had
only had Ralph with him, he would have been quite
happy.

So he went away valorously across a broad rolling
down, and about half a mile farther on he came to a
little shed. In the shed were a fire, and a man, and a
pig; in the fire was an iron, and the pig was tied by a
rope to a ring. Bertie saw the man take the red-hot
iron and go up to the pig: Bertie’s face grew blanched
with horror.

“Stop, stop! what are you doing to the pig?” he

M q 23



THE LITTLE EARL, 27

screamed, as he ran in to the man, who looked up and
stared.

“T be branding the pig. Get out, or Til brand
you!” he cried. Bertie held his ground; his eyes
were flashing.

“You wicked, wicked man! Do you not know that
' poor pig was made by God?”

“Dunno,” said the wretch, with a grin. “She'll be
eat by men, come Candlemas! I be marking of her,
’cos T’ll turn her out on the downs with other. Git
out, youngster! you’ve no call here.”

Bertie planted himself firmly on his feet, and doubled
his little fists.

“T will not see you do such a cruelty to a poor dumb
thing,” he said, while he grew white. as death, “I will
not.”

The man scowled and yet grinned.

“Will you beat me, little Hop-o’-my-thumb ?”

Bertie put himself before the poor black pig, who
was squealing from mere fright and the scorch of the
fire.

“You shall not er the pig without killing me first,
‘You are a cruel man.’

The man grew angry.

“Tell you what, youngster: I’ve a mind to try the
Jumping-irons on you for your impudence. You look
like a drowned white kitten. Clear off, if you don’t
want to taste something right red hot.”

Bertie’s whole body grew sick, but he did not move
and he did not quail.

“TY would rather you did it to me than to this poor
thing,” he answered.



98 THE LITTLE EARL.

“T’m blowed!” said the man, relaxing his wrath
from sheer amazement. “ Well, you’re a good plucked
one, you are.”

“Tdo not know what you mean,” said Bertie, a little
haughtily ; ‘but you shall not hurt the pig.”

“Darn me!” yelled the man; “TI’ll burn you, sure
as you live, if you don’t kneel on your bare bones and
beg my pardon.”

“J will not do that.”

“You won’t beg my pardon for cheeking me?”

“No: you are a wicked man.”

Bertie’s eyes closed ; he grew faint ; he fully believed
that in another instant he would feel the hissing fire
of the brand. But he did not yield.

The man’s hand dropped to his side.

“You are a plucked one,” he said, once more.
“ Lord, child, it was a joke. You're such a rare game
un, to humor you, there, [ll let the crittur go without
marking her. But you’re a rare little fool, if you’re
not an angel down from on high.”

- Bertie’s eyes filled with tears. He held his hand out
royally to be kissed, as he was used to do at Avillion.

The big, black-looking man crushed it in his own
brown paw.

“My! you're a game un!” he muttered, with
wonder and awe.

“And you will never, never, never burn pigs any
more?” said Bertie, searching his face with his own
serious large eyes.

“Tl ne’er brand this un,” said the man, with a
shamefaced laugh. “Lord, little sir, you’re the first
as ever got as much as that out of me!”



THE LITTLE EARL. 29

“But you never must do it,” said Bertie, solemnly.
“Tt is wicked of you, and God is angry; and it is
‘very mean for you, such a big man and so strong,
to hurt a defenceless dumb thing. You must never
do it.”

“What is your name, little master?” said the big
man, humbly.

“They call me Avillion.”

“William? Then T’ll say William all the days of
my life at my prayers o’ Sundays,” said the man, with
some emotion, and murmured to himself, “Such a game
un I never seed.”

“Thanks very much,” said Bertie, gently, and then
he lifted his hat politely, and went out of the shed
before the man could recover from his astonishment.
When the little Earl looked back, he saw the giant
pouring water on the fire, and the pig was loose.

“T was afraid,” thought Bertie. “But he should
have burnt me all up every bit: I never would have
given in.”

And something seemed to say in his ear, “The
loveliest thing in all the world is courage that goes
hand in hand with mercy ; and these two together can
work miracles, like magicians.”

By this time Bertie, except for a certain inalienable
grace and refinement that were in his little face and
figure, had few marks of a young gentleman. His
snowy serge was smirched and stained with black-
berries ; his red stockings, from the sea-water and the
field-mud, had none of their original color; his hat
had been bent and crumpled by his fall, and his hair
was rough. Nobody passing him could have dreamt



30 THE LITTLE EARL.

that this sorry wanderer was a little earl. Neverthe-
less, when he had been dressed in his little court suit
and had been taken to see the queen once at Balmoral,
he had never been a quarter so proud nor a tenth part
80 happy. He longed to meet Cromwell, and Richard
the Third, and Gessler, and Nero. He began to feel
like all the knights he had ever read of, and those
were many.

Presently he saw a little maiden weeping. She was
an ugly little maiden, with a shock head of red hair,
and a wide mouth, and a brickdust skin; but she was
crying. In his present heroic mood, he could not pass
her by unconsoled.

“Little girl, why do you cry?” he said, stopping in
the narrow green lane.

She looked at him out of a sharp little eye, and her
face puckered up afresh.

“T’se going to schule, little master !”

“To school, do you mean? And why does that
make you ery? Can you read?”

“Naw,” said the maiden, and sobbed loudly.

“Then why are you not glad to go and learn?” said
Bertie, in his superior wisdom.

“There’s naebody to do nowt at home,” said the red-
haired one, with a howl. “ Mother’s abed sick, and
Tam’s hurt his leg, and who'll mind baby? He’ll
tumble the kittle o’er hisself, I know he will, and
he’ll be scalt to death, ’I1 baby !”

“Dear, dear!” said Bertie, sympathetically. “But
why do you go to school then ?”

“’Cos I isn’t thirteen,” sobbed the shock-haired

nymph: “1’se only ten. And daddy was had up lag
23*



THE LITTLE bAnu. 31

week and pit in prison ’cos he kept me at home. And
if I ain’t at home, who'll mind baby, and who'll bile
the taters, and who'll 2? Oh, how I wish I was
thirteen !”

Bertie did not understand. He had never heard of
the School Board.

“What does your father do?” he asked.

“Works i’ brick-field. All on us work i’ brick-
field. I can take baby to brick-field; he sit in the
clay beautiful, but they awn’t let me take him to
schule, and he’ll be scalt, I know he’ll be scalt. He'll
allers get a-nigh the kittle if he can.”

“ But it is very shocking not to know how to read,”
said the little Earl, very gravely. “You should have
learned that as soon as you could speak. I did.”

“Maybe yours aren’t brick-field folk,” said the little
girl, stung by her agony to sarcasm. “I’ve allers had
a baby to mind, ever since I toddled; first ’twas Tam,
and then ’twas Dick, and now ’tis this un. I dunno
want to read; awn’t make bricks a-readin’,”

“Oh, but you will learn such beautiful things,” said
Bertie. “IJ do think, you know, that you ought to go
to school.”

“So the gemman said as pit dad in th’ lock-up,” said
the recalcitrant one, doggedly. “ Butiful things aren’t
o’ much count, sir, when one’s belly’s empty. I oodn’t
go to the blackguds now, if ’tweren’t as poor dad says
as how I must, ’cos they lock him up.”

“Tt seems very hard to lock him up,” said Bertie,
with increasing sympathy ; “and I think you ought to
obey him and go. I will see if I can find the baby.
Where do you live?”





39 THE LITTLE EARL

She pointed vaguely over the copses and pastures:
“Go on a mile, and you'll see Jim Bracken’s cottage ;
but, Lord love you! you'll ne’er manage baby.”

“T will try,” said Bertie, sweetly. His fancy as well
as his charity was stirred; for he had never, that he
knew of, seen a baby. “But indeed you should go to
school.”

“T’m a-going,” said the groaning and blowsy hero-

ine with a last sob, and then she set off running as

quickly as a pair of her father’s boots, ten times too
large, allowed her, her slate and her books making a
loud clatter as she struggled on her way.

He was by this time very tired, for he was not used
to such long walks; but curiosity and compassion put
fresh spirit into his heart, and his small legs pegged
valorously over the rough ground, the red stockings
and the silver buckles becoming by this time much
begrimed with mud.

He knocked at one cottage door, and saw only a
very cross old woman, who flourished a broom at him.

“No, it bean’t Jim Bracken’s. Get you gone!—yoa
look like a runaway.”

Now, a runaway he was; and, as truth when we are
guilty is always even as a two-edged sword, Bertie
colored up to the roots of his hair, and bolted off as
fast as he could to the only other cottage visible, be-
yond a few acres of mangel-wurzel and all the lucern
family, which the little Earl fancied were shamrocks.
For he was far on in Euclid, could speak German well,
and could spell through Tacitus fairly, but about the
flowers of the field and the grasses no one had ever
thought it worth while to tell him anything at all.





THE LITTLE EARL, 33

Indeed, to tell you the truth, I do not think his tutors
knew anything about them themselves,

This other cottage was so low, so covered up in its
broken thatch, which in turn was covered with lichen,
and was so tumble-down and sorrowful-looking, that
Bertie thought it was a ruined cow-shed. However,
it stood where the school-girl had pointed: so he took
his courage in both hands, as we say in French, and
advanced to it. The rickety door stood open, and he
saw a low miserable bed with a miserable woman lying
on it; a shock-headed boy sprawled on the floor, an-
other crouched before a fire of brambles and sods, and
between the legs of this last boy was a strange, uncouth,
shapeless object, which, but for the fact that it was
crying loudly, never would have appeared to his as-
tonished eyes as the baby for whom was prophesied a
tragic and early end by the kettle. The boy who had
this object in charge stared with two little round eyes.

“ Mamsey, there’s a young gemman,” he said, in an
awed voice.

Bertie took off his hat, and went into the room with
his prettiest grace.

“Tf you please, are you very ill?” he said, in his
little soft voice, to the woman in bed. “I met—I
met—a little girl who was so anxious about the baby,
and I said I would come and see if I could be of any
use a

The woman raised herself on one elbow, and looked
at him with eager, haggard eyes.

“Lord, little sir, there’s naught to be done for us;
—leastways, unless you had a shillin’ or two et

“T have no money,” murmured Bertie, feeling very







34 THE LITTLE EARL.

unlike a little earl in that moment. The woman gave
a weary angry sigh and sank back indifferent.

“Can I do nothing ?” said Bertie, wistfully.

“ By golly!” said the boy on the floor, “ unless you’ve
got a few coppers, little master A

“ Coppers ?” repeated the little Earl.

“ Pence,” said the boy, shortly ; then the baby began
to howl, and the boy shook it.

“Do please not make it scream so,” said Bertie.
“That is what you call the baby, is it not?”

“Ts,” said the boy Dick, sullenly. “This here’s
baby, cuss him! and what bisness be he of yourn ?”

For interference without coppers to follow was a
barren intruder that he was disposed to resent.

“T thought I could amuse him,” said Bertie, timidly.
“T told your sister I would.”

Dick roared into loud guffaws.

“ Baby’d kick you into middle o’ next week, you
poor little puny spindle-shanks !” said this rude boy ;
and Bertie felt that he was very rude, though he had
no idea what was meant by spindle-shanks.

The other boy, who was lying on his stomach,—a
sadly empty little stomach,—here reversed his position
and stared up at Bertie.

“JT think you’re a kind little gemman,” he said,
“and Dick’s cross ’cos he’s broke his legs, and we’ve
had no vittles since yesternoon, and only a sup o’ tea
Peg made afore she went, and mother’s main bad, that
she be.”

And tears rolled down this gentler little lad’s dirty
cheeks.

“Oh, dear, what shall I do?” said Bertie, with a

3





THE LITTLE EARL. 35

sigh: if he had only had the money and the watch
that had fallen into the sea! He looked round him
and felt very sick ; it was all so dirty, so dirty !—and
he had never seen dirt before; and the place smelt
very close and sour, and the children’s clothes were
mere rags, and the woman was all skin and bone, on
her wretched straw bed; and the unhappy baby was
screaming loudly enough to be heard right across the
sea to the French coast.

“Baby, poor baby, don’t ery so !” said Bertie, very
softly, and he dangled the ends of his red sash before
its tearful eyes, and shook them up and down: the at-
tention of the baby was arrested, it ceased to howl, and
put out its hands, and began to laugh instead! Bertie
was very proud of his success, and even the sullen Dick
muttered, “ Well, I never !”

The little Earl undid his scarf and let the baby pull
it towards itself. Dick’s eyes twinkled greedily.

“ Master, that’d sell for summat!”

“Oh, you must not sell it,” said the little Earl,
eagerly. “Tt is to amuse the poor baby. And what
pretty big eyes he has! how he laughs!”

“Your shoes ’ud sell,” muttered Dick.

“Dick! don’t, Dick ! that’s begging,” muttered Tam.
Bertie stared in surprise. To sell his shoes seemed as
odd as to be asked to sell his hair or his hands. The
woman opened her fading, glazing eyes.

“They’re honest boys, little sir: you’ll pardon of
’em; they’ve eat nothing since yesternoon, and then
“twas only a carrot or two, and boys is main hungry.”

“ And have you nothing ?” said Bertie, aghast at the
misery in this unknown world. .



36 THE LITTLE EARL.

How’d we have anything?” said the sick woman,
grimly. “They’ve locked up my man, and Peg’s sent
to school while we starve; and nobody earns nothin’,
for Dick’s broke his leg, and I’ve naught in my breasts
for baby: u

“But would not somebody you work for—or the
priest—?” began Bertie.

“ Passon don’t do nowt for us,—my man’s a Meth-
ody ; and at brick-field they don’t mind us; if we be
there, well an’ good,—we work and get paid; and if
we isn’t there, well—some un else is. That’s all.”
Then she sank back, gasping.

Bertie stood woe-begone and perplexed.

“Did you say my shoes would sell ?” he murmured,
wery miserably, his mind going back to the history of
St. Martin and the cloak.

Dick brightened up at once.

“ Master, I’ll get three shillin’ on *em, maybe more,
down in village yonder.”

“You mus’n’t take the little gemman’s things,” mur-
mured the mother, feebly ; but faintness was stealing
on her, and darkness closing over her sight.

“ Three shillings !” said Bertie, who knew very little
of the value of shillings; “that seems very little! I
think they cost sovereigns. Could you get a loaf of
bread with three shillings?”

“Gu-r-r-r!” grinned Dick, and Bertie understood
that the guttural sound meant assent and rapture.

“ But I cannot walk without shoes.”

“Walk! yah! ye’ll walk better. We niver have no
shoes !” said Dick.

“ Don’t you, really ?”





THE LITTLE EARL. 37

“Golly! no! Ye’ll walk ten times finer; ye won’t
trip, nor stumble, nor nothin’, and ye’ll run as fast
again.”

“ Oh, no, I shall not,” murmured Bertie, and he was
going to say that he would be ashamed to be seen with-
out shoes, only he remembered that, as these boys had
none, that would not be kind. A desperate misery
came over him at the thought of being shoeless, but
then he reasoned with himself, “To give was no
charity if it cost you nothing: did not the saints strip
themselves to the uttermost shred for the poor?”

He stooped and took off his shoes with the silver
buckles on them, and placed them hastily on the floor.

“Take them, if they will get you bread,” he said,
with the color mounting in his face.

Dick seized them with a yell of joy. “ Tarnation
that I can’t go mysel’. Here, Tam, run quick and sell
em to old Nan; and get bread, and meat, and potatoes,
and milk for baby, and Lord knows what; p’raps a gill
' of gin for mammy.”

“JT don’t think we ought to rob little master,
Dick,” murmured little Tam. His brother hurled a
crutch at him, and Tam snatched up the pretty shoes
and fled.

“ My blazes, sir,” said Dick, with rather a shame-
faced look, “if you’d a beast like a lot of fire gnawing
at your belly all night long, yer wouldn’t stick at nowt
to get bread.”

Bertie only imperfectly comprehended. The baby,
tired of the sash, began to cry again; and Dick, grown
good-natured, danced it up and down.

“ How old are you ?” said Bertie.



38 THE LITTLE EARL,

‘ Nigh on eight,” said Dick.

“ Dear me!” sighed the little Earl; this rough, mas-
terful, coarse-tongued boy seemed like a grown man ta
him.

“You won’t split on us?” said Dick, sturdily.

“What is that?” asked Bertie.

“Not tell anybody you give us the shoes: there’d be
a piece of work.”

“ As if one told when one did any kindness!” mur-
mured Bertie, with a disgust he could not quite conceal.
“T mean, when one does one’s duty.”

“But what'll you gammon ’em with at home ?—
they’ll want to know what you’ve done with your
shoes.”

“T am not going home,” said the little Earl, and
there was a something in the way he spoke that silenced
Dick’s tongue,—which he would have called his clap-
per.

“What in the world be the little swell arter?”
thought Dick.

Bertie meanwhile, with some awe and anxiety, was
watching the livid face of the sick woman: he had
never seen illness or death, but it seemed to him that
she was very ill indeed.

“ Are you not anxious about your mother ?” he asked
of the rough boy.

“Yes,” said Dick, sulkily, with the water coming
in his eyes. “Dad’s in the lock-up: that’s wuss still,
young sir.”

“ Not worse than death,” said Bertie, solemnly. “He
will come back.”

“Oh, she’ll come round with a drop of gin and a sup
24



THE LITTLE EARL, 39

of Lroth,” said Dick, confidently. “?Tis all hunger and
frettin’, hers is.”

“JT am glad I gave my shoes,” thought Bertie.
Then there was a long silence, broken only by the
hissing of the green brambles on the fire and the yelps
of the baby.

“Maybe, sir,” said Dick, after a little, “you’d put
the saucepan on? I can’t move with this here leg.
If you’d pit some water out o’ kittle in him, he’ll be
ready for cookin’ when the vittles come.”

“T will do that,” said Bertie, cheerfully, and he set
the saucepan on by lifting it with both hands: it was
very black, and its crock came off on his knicker-
bockers. Then, by Dick’s directions, he found a pair
of old wooden bellows, and blew on the sticks and
sods ; but this he managed s0 ill that Dick wriggled
himself along the floor closer to the fire and did it
himself.

“You're a gaby !” he said to his benefactor.

“ What is that ?” said Bertie.

But Dick felt that it was more prudent not to ex-
plain.

In half an hour Tam burst into the room, breathless
and joyous, his scruples having disappeared under the
basket he bore.

“She gived me five shillin’ !” he shouted ; “and T’s
sure they’s wuth a deal more, ’cos her eyes twinkled
and winked, and she shoved me a peg-top in !”

“Gie us o’t !” shrieked Dick, in an agony at being
bound to the floor with all these good things before his
sight.

- Little Tam, who was very loyal, laid them all out



40 THE LITTLE EARu.

on the ground before his elder: two quartern loaves,
two pounds of beef, onions, potatoes, a bit of bacon,
and a jug of milk.

Dick poured some milk into an old tin mug, and
handed it roughly to Bertie.

“Feed the baby, will yer, whiles Tam and me
cooks ?”

The little Earl took the can, and advanced to the
formidable bundle of rags, who was screaming like a
very hoarse raven.

“T think you should attend to your mother first,”
he said, gently, as the baby made a grab at the little
tin pot, the look of which it seemed to know, and
shook half the milk over itself.

“ Poor mammy !” said Tam, who was gnawing a bit
of bread ; and, with his bread in one hand, he got up
and put a little gin and water quite hot between his
mother’s lips. She swallowed it without opening her
eyes or seeming to be conscious, and Tam climbed down
from the bed again with a clear conscience.

“We'll gie her some broth,” he said, manfully,
while he and Dick, munching bread and raw bacon,
tumbled the beef in a lump into the saucepan, drowned
in water with some whole onions, in the common
fashion of cottage-cooking. The baby, meanwhile, was
placidly swallowing the milk that the little Earl held
for it very carefully, and, when that was done, accepted
a crust that he offered it to suck.

The two boys were crouching before the crackling
fire, munching voraciously, and watching the boiling
of the old black pot. They had quite forgotten their
benefactor.



THE LITTLE EARL. 41

“My! What’ll Peg say when she’s to home?”
chuckled Tam.

“She'll say that she’d ha’ cooked better,” growled
Dick. “Golly! ain’t the fat good ?”

Bertie stood aloof, pleased, and yet sorrowful because
they did not notice him.

Even the baby had so completely centred its mind
in the crust that it had abandoned all memory of the
red scarf.

Bertie looked on a little while, but no one seemed to
remember him. The boys’ eyes were glowing on the
saucepan, and their cheeks were filled out with food as
the cherubs in his chapel at home were puffed out with
air as they blew celestial trumpets.

He went to the door slowly, looked back, and then
retreated into the sunshine.

“Tt would be mean to put them in mind of me,” he
thought, as he withdrew.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through him: a stone
had cut his unshod foot.

“Oh, dear me! how ever shall I walk without any
shoes or boots!” he thought, miserably; and he was
very nearly bursting out crying.

On the edge of these fields was a wood,—a low,
dark, rolling wood,—which looked to the little Earl,
who missed his own forests, inviting and cool and
sweet. By this time it was getting towards noon, and
the sun was hot, and he’ felt thirsty and very tired.
He was sad, too: he was glad to have satisfied those
poor hungry children, but their indifference to him
when they were satisfied was chilling and melancholy.

“But then we ought not to do a kindness that wa



42, THER LITTLE EARL.

may be thanked,” he said to himself. “It is a proper
punishment to me, because I wished to be thanked,
which was mean.”

So he settled, as he usually did, that it was all his
own fault.

Happily for him, the ground was soft with summer
dust, and so he managed to get along the little path
that ran from’ the cottage through the lucern-fields,
and from there the path became grass, which was still
less trying to his little red stockings.

Yet he was anxious and troubled; he felt heavily
weighted for his battle with the world without any
shoes on, and he felt he must look ridiculous. For the
first time, St. Martin did not seem to him so very
much of a hero, because St. Martin’s gift was only a
cloak. Besides, without his sash, the band of his
knickerbockers could be seen; and he was afraid this
was indecent.

Nevertheless, he went on bravely, if lamely. Believe
me, nothing sets the world more straight than thinking
that what is awry in it is one’s self.

The wood, which was a well-known spinney famous
for pheasants, was reached before very long, though
with painful effort. It was chiefly composed of old
- hawthorn-trees and blackthorn, with here and there a
larch or holly. The undergrowth was thick, and the
sunbeams were playing at bo-peep with the shadows.
Far away over the fields and thorns was a glimmer of
blue water, and close around were all manner of ferns,
of foxgloves, of grasses, of boughs. The tired little
Earl sank downward under one of the old thorns with

feet that bled. A wasp had stung him, too, through
24%



THE LITTLE EARL. 43

his stocking, and the stung place was smarting furiously.
“But how much more Christ and the saints suffered !”
thought Bertie, seriously and piously, without the
smallest touch of vanity.

Lying on the moss under all that greenery, he felt
refreshed and soothed, although the foot the wasp had
stung throbbed a good deal.

There were all sorts of pretty things to see: the
pheasants, who were lords of the manor till October
came round, did not mind him in the least, and swept
smoothly by with their long tails like court mantles
sweeping the grass. Blackbirds, those cheeriest of all
birds, pecked at worms and grubs quite near him.
Chaffinches were looking for hairs under the brambles
to make their second summer nest with. Any hairs
serve their purpose,—cows’, horses’, or dogs’; and if
they get a tuft of hare-skin or rabbit-fur they are
furnished for the year. A pair of little white-throats
were busy in a low bush, gathering the catch-weed that
grew thickly there, and a goldfinch was flying away
with a lock of sheep’s wool in his beak. There were
other charming creatures, too: a mole was hurrying to
his underground castle, a nuthatch was at work on a
rotten tree-trunk, and a gray, odd-looking bird was
impaling a dead field-mouse on one of the thorn-
branches. Bertie did not know that this gentleman
was but the gray shrike, once used in hawking ; indeed,
he did not know the names or habits of any of the
birds; and he lay still hidden in the ferns, and watched
them with delight and mute amazement. There were
thousands of such pretty creatures in his own woods
‘and brakes at home, but then he was never alone: he



44 THE LITTLE EARL.

was always either walking with Father Philip or riding
with William, and in neither case was he allowed to
stop and loiter and lie in the grass, and the sonorous
voice of the priest scattered these timid dwellers in the
greenwood as surely as did the tread of the pony’s
hoofs and the barking of Ralph.

“When I am a man I will pass all my life out of
doors, and I will get friends with all these pretty
things, and ask them what they are doing,” he thought;
and he was so entranced in this new world hidden away
under the low hawthorn boughs of this spinney that he
quite forgot he had lost his shoes and did not know
where he would sleep when night came. He had quite
forgotten his own existence, indeed; and this is just
the happiness that comes to us always, when we learn
to love the winged and four-footed brethren that
Nature has placed so near us, and whom, alas! we so
shamefully neglect when we do not do even worse and
persecute them. Bertie was quite oblivious that he
was a runaway, who had started with a very fine idea
or finding out who it was that kept him in prison, and
giving him battle wherever he might be: he was much
more interested in longing to know what the great gray
shrike was, and why it hung up the mouse on the thorn
and flew away. If you do not know any more than
he did, I may tell you that the shrikes are like your
father, and like their game when it has been many
days in the larder. It is one of the few ignoble tastes
in which birds resemble mankind.

The shrike flew away to look for some more mice,
or frogs, or little snakes, or cockroaches, or beetles, for
he is a very useful fellow indeed in the woods, though



THE LITTLE EARL. 45

the keepers are usually silly and wicked encugh to try
and kill him. His home and his young ones were
above in the thicket, and he had stuck all round their
nests insects of all kinds: still, he was a provident
bird, and was of opinion that every one should work
while it is day.

When the shrike flew away after a bumble-bee, the
little Earl fell asleep: what with fatigue, and excite-
ment, and the heat of the sun, a sound, dreamless
slumber fell upon him there among the birds and the
sweet smell of the May buds; and the goldfinch sang
to him, while he slept, such a pretty song that he
heard it though he was so fart asleep. The goldfinch,
though, did not sing for him one bit in the world; he
sang for his wife, who was sitting among her callow
brood hidden away from sight under the leaves, and
with no greater anxiety on her mind than fear of a
possible weasel or rat gnawing at her nest from the
bottom.

When the little Earl awoke, the sun was not full
and golden all about him as it had been; there were
long shadows slanting through the spinney, and there
was a great globe descending behind the downs of the
western horizon. It was probably about six in the
evening. Bertie could not tell, for, unluckily for him,
he had always had a watch to rely upon, and had never
been taught to tell the hour from the “shepherd’s
hour-glass” in the field-flowers, or calculate the time
of day from the length of the shadows. Even now,
though night was so nigh, the thought of where he
should find a bed did not occur to him, for he was
absorbed in a little boy who stood before him,—a very



46 THE LITTLE EARL.

miserable little black-haired, brown-cheeked boy, who
was staring hard at him.

“ Now, he, I am sure, is as poor as Dick and Tam,”
thought the little Earl, “and I have nothing left to
give him.”

The little boy was endeavoring to hide behind his
back a bright bundle of ruffled feathers, and in his
other hand he held a complicated arrangement of twine
and twigs with a pendent noose.

That Bertie did know the look of, for he had seen
his own keepers destroy such things in his own woods,
and had heard them swear when they did so. So his
land-owner’s instincts awoke in him, though the land
was not his.

“Oh, little boy,” he said, rubbing his eyes and
springing to his feet, “what a wicked, wicked little
boy you are! You have been snaring a pheasant !”

The small boy, who was about his age, looked
frightened and penitent: he saw his accuser was a little
gentleman.

“Please, sir, don’t tell on me,” he said, with a
whimper. “T’ll gie ye the bird if ye won’t tell on
me.”

“TI do not want the bird,” said Bertie, with magis-
terial gravity. ‘You are a wicked little boy to offer
it tome. It is not your own, and you have killed it.
You are a thief !”

“Please, sir,” whimpered the little poacher, “dad
allus tooked ’em like this.”

“Then he is a thief’ too,” said Bertie.

“He was a good un to me,” said the small boy, and
then fairly burst out sobbing. “ He was a good un to





THE LITTLE EARL, 47

me, and he’s dead a year come Lady-day, and mother
she’s main bad, and little Susie’s got the croup, and
there’s nowt to eat to home; and I hear Susie cryin’,
cryin’, cryin’, and so I gae to cupboard where dad’s
old tackle be kep, and I gits out this here, and says I
to myself, maybe I’ll git one of them birds i’ spinney,
’cos they make rare broth, and we had a many on ’em
when dad was alive, and Towser.”

“Who was Towser ?”

“He was our lurcher; keeper shot him; he’d bring
of ’em in his mouth like a Chrisen; and gin ye’ll tell
on me, they’ll clap me in prison like they did dad, and
it’s birch rods they’d give yer, and mother’s nowt but
me.”

“T do not know who owns this property,” said Ber-
tie, in his little sedate way, “so I could not tell the
owner, and I should not wish to do it if I could; but
still it is a very wicked thing to snare birds at all, and
when they are game-birds 1t is robbery.”

“T know as how they makes it so,’ demurred the
poacher’s son. “ But dad said as how iy

“No one makes it so,” said Bertie, with a little
righteous anger; “it is so: the birds are not yours,
and so, if you take them, you are a thief.”

The boy put his thumb in his mouth and dangled
his dead pheasant.

A discussion on the game-laws was beyond his pow-
ers, nor was even Bertie conscious of the mighty sub-
ject he was opening, though the instincts of the land-
owner were naturally in him, and it seemed to him so
shocking to find a boy with such views as this as to
meum and tuum, that he almost fancied the sun would





48 THE LITTLE EARL.

fall from the sky. The sun, however, glowed on, low
down in the wood beyond a belt of firs, and the green
downs, and the gray sea; and the little sinner stood
before him, fascinated by his appearance and fright-
ened at his words.

~ Do you know who owns this coppice?” asked Ber-
tie; and the boy answered him, reluctantly,—

“Yes: Sir Henry.”

“Then, what you must do,” said Bertie, “is to go
directly with that bird to Sir Henry, and beg his par-
don, and ask him to forgive you. Goat once. That
is what you must do.”

The boy opened eyes and mouth in amaze.

“That I won’t never do,” he said, doggedly: “I’d
be took up to the lodge afore I’d open my mouth.”

“Not if I go with you,” said Bertie.

“Be you one of the fam’ly, sir?”

“No,” said Bertie, and then was silent in some con-
fusion, for he bethought him that, without any shoes
on, he might also be arrested at the lodge gates.

“T thought as not, ’cos you’re barefoot,” said the
brown-cheeked boy, with a little contempt supplying
the place of courage. “Dunno who you be, sir, but
seems to I as you’ve no call to preach to me: you be
a-trespassin’ too.”

Bertie colored.

“T am not doing any harm,” he said, with dignity ;
‘you are: you have been stealing. If you are not really
a wicked boy, you will take the pheasant straight to
that gentleman, and beg him to forgive you, and I
dare say he will give you work.”

“There’s no work for my dad’s son,” said the little



THE LITTLE EARL, 49

poacher, half sadly, half sullenly: “ the keepers are all
agen us: “tis as much as mother and me and Susie can
do to git a bit o’ bread.”

“What work can you do?”

“T can make the gins,” said the little sinner, touch-
ing the trap with pride. “Mostwhiles, I never come,
out o’ daylight; but all the forenoon Susie was going -
off her head, want o’ summat t’ eat.”

“T’m sorry for Susie and you,” said the little Earl,
with sympathy. “But indeed, indeed, nothing can ex-
cuse a theft, or make God fe

“The keepers!” yelled the boy, with a scream like
a hare’s, and he dashed head-foremost into the bushes,
casting on to Bertie’s lap the gin and the dead bird.
Bertie was so surprised that he sat perfectly mute and
still: the little boy had disappeared as fast as a rabbit
bolts at sight of a ferret. Two grim big men with
dogs and guns burst through the hawthorn, and one
of them seized the little Earl with no gentle hand.

“You little blackguard! you’ll smart for this,” yelled
the big man. “Treadmill and birch rod, or I’m a
Dutchman.”

Bertie was so surprised, still, that he was silent.
Then, with his little air of innocent majesty, he said,
simply, “You are mistaken: I did not kill the bird.”

Now, if Bertie had had his usual nicety of apparel,
or if the keeper had not been in a fuming fury, the
latter would have easily seen that he had accused and
apprehended a little gentleman. But no one in a vio-
lent rage ever has much sense or sight left to aid him,
and Big George, as this keeper was called, did not
notice that his dogs were smelling in a friendly way at





50 . THE LITTLE EARL.

his prisoner, but only saw that he hal to do with a
pale-faced lad without shoes, and very untidy and
dusty-looking, who had snares and a snared pheasant
at his feet.

Before Bertie had even seen him take a bit of cord
out of his pocket, he had tied the little Earl’s hands
behind him, picked up the pheasant and the trap,
and given some directions to his companion. The
real culprit was already a quarter of a mile off, bur-
rowing safely in the earth of an old fox killed in
February,—a hiding-place with which he was very
familiar.

Bertie, meanwhile, was quite silent. He was think-
ing to himself, “If I tell them another boy did it, they
will go and look for him, and catch him, and put him
in prison; and then his mother and Susie will be so
miserable,—more miserable than ever. I think I
ought to keep quiet. Jesus never said anything when
they buffeted him.”

“Ah, you little gallows-bird, you’ll get it this time!”
said the keeper, knotting the string tighter about his
wrists, and speaking as if he had had the little Earl
very often in such custody.

‘You are a very rude man,” said Bertie, with the
angry color in his cheeks; but Big George heeded him _
not, being engaged in swearing at one of his dogs,—a
young one, who was trotting after a rabbit.

“JT know who this youngster is, Bob,” he said to his
companion: “ he’s the Radley shaver over from Black-
gang.”

Bertie wondered who the Radley shaver was that
resembled him,

no 25



THE LITTLE EARL. 51

“ He has the looks on him,” said the other, pru-
dently.

“Sir Henry’s dining at Chigwell to-night, and he’ll
have started afore we get there,” continued Big George.
“Go you on through spinney far as Edge Pool, and
T’ll take and lock this here Radley up till morning.
Blast his impudence,—a pheasant! think of the likes
of it! A pheasant! If ’t had been a rabbit, ’t had
been bad enough.”

Then he shook his little captive vigorously.

Bertie did not say anything. He was not in trepi-
dation for himself, but he was in an agony of fear lest
the other boy should be found in the spinney.

“March along afore me,” said Big George, with
much savageness. “ And if you tries to bolt, Pl blow
your brains out and nail you to a barn-door along 0’
the owls.”

The little Earl looked at him with eyes of scorn and
horror.

“ How dare you touch Athene’s bird ?”

“How dare I what, you little saucy blackguard ?”
thundered Big George, and fetched him a great box on
the ears which made Bertie stagger.

“You are a very bad man,” he said, breathlessly.
“You are a very meau man. You are big, and so you
are cruel: that is very mean indeed.”

“You've the gift of the gab, little devil of a Rad-
ley,” said the keeper, wrathfully; “but you’ll pipe
another tune when you feel the birch and pick oakum.”

Bertie set his teeth tight to keep his words in: he
walked on mute.

“You've stole some little gemman’s togs as well



52 THE LITTLE EARL.

as my pheasant,” said Big George, surveying him.
“Why didn’t you steal a pair of boots when you was
about it ?”

Bertie was still mute.

“J will not say anything to this bad man,” he
thought, “ or else he will find out that it was not I.”

The sun had set by this time, leaving only a sil-
very light above the sea and the downs: the pale
long twilight of an English day had come upon the
earth,

Bertie was very white, and his heart beat fast, and
he was growing very hungry; but he managed to stum-
ble on, though very painfully, for his courage would
not let him repine before this savage man, who was
mixed up in his mind with Bluebeard, and Thor, and
Croquemitaine, and Richard IITI., and Nero, and all
the ogres that he had ever met with in his reading,
and who seemed to grow larger and larger and larger
as the sky and earth grew darker.

Happily for his shoeless feet, the way lay all over
grass-lands and mossy paths; but he limped so that
the keeper swore at him many times, and the little
Earl felt the desperate resignation of the martyr.

At last they came in sight of the keeper’s cottage,
standing on the edge of the preserves,—a thatched and
gabled little building, with a light glimmering in its
lattice window.

At the sound of Big George’s heavy tread, a woman
and some children ran out.

“Lord ha’ mercy! George !” cried the wife. “What
scarecrow have you been and got?”

“A Radley boy,” growled George,—“ one of the



THE LITTLE EARL. 53

eussed Radley boys at last,—and a pheasant snared
took in his very hand 1”

“You don’t mean it!” cried his wife; and the small
children yelled and jumped. “ What’ll be done witb
him, dad ?” cried the eldest of them.

“Tl put him in fowl-house to-night,” said Big
George, “and up he'll go afore Sir Henry fust thing
to-morrow. Clear off, young uns, and let me run him
ine

Bertie looked up in Big George’s face.

“T had nothing to do with killing the bird,” he said,
in a firm though a faint voice. “ You quite mistake.
Iam Lord Avillion.”

“Stop your pipe, or T’ll choke yer,’ swore Big
George, enraged by what he termed the “ darned
cheek” of a Radley boy; and without more ado he
laid hold of the little Earl’s collar and lifted him into
the fowl-house, the door of which was held open
eagerly by his eldest girl.

There was a great flapping of wings, screeching of
hens, and piping of chicks at the interruption, where
all the in:nates were gone to roost, and one cock set up
his usual salutation to the dawn.

“ That’s better nor you’ll sleep to-morrow night,”
said Big George, as he tumbled Bertie on to a truss
of straw that lay there, when he went out himself,
slammed the door, and both locked and barred it on
the outside.

Bertie fell back on the straw, sobbing bitterly: his
feet were cut and bleeding, his whole body ached like
_ one great bruise, and he was sick: and faint with hun-

ger. “Tf the world be as difficult as this to live in,”



b+ THE LITTLE EARL.

he thought, “ how ever do some people manage to live
, almost to a hundred years in it?” and to his eight-year-
old little soul the prospect of a long life seemed so hor-
rible that he sobbed again at the very thought of it. It-
was quite dark in the fowl-house; the rustling and
fluttering of the poultry all around sounded mysteri-
ous and unearthly ; the strong, unpleasant smell made
him faint, and the pain in his feet grew greater every
moment. He did not scream or go into convulsions ;
he was a brave little man, and proud; but he felt as
if the long, lonely night there would kill him.

Half an hour, perhaps, had gone by when a woman’s
voice at the little square window said, softly, “Here
is bread and water for you, poor boy; and I’ve put
some milk and cheese, too, only my man mustn’t know
ite

Bertie with great effort raised himself, and took what
was pushed through the tiny window; a mug of milk
being lowered to him last by a large red fat hand,
on which the light of a candle held without was glow-
ing.

“Thanks very much,” said the little Earl, feebly.
“But, madam, I did not kill that bird, and indeed I
am Lord Avillion.”

The good woman went within to her lord, and said
timidly to him, “ George, are you sartin sure that there’s
a Radley boy? He do look and speak like a little
gemman, and he do say as how he is one.”

Big George called her bad names.

“A barefoot gemman !” he said, with a sneer. “You
thunderin’ fool! it’s weazened-faced Vie Radley, as

have been in our woods a hundred times if wince,
25%



THE LITTLE. EARL. 55

though never could I slap eyes on him quick enougb
to pin him.”

The good housewife took up her stocking-mending
and said no more. Big George’s arguments were
sometimes enforced with the fist, and eveu with the
pewter pot or the poker.

Meanwhile, the little Earl in the hen-house was so
hungry that he drank the milk and ate the bread and
cheese. Both were harder and rougher things than
any he had ever tasted; but he had now that hunger
which had made the boy on the stile relish the turnip,
and, besides, another incident had occurred to give him

relish for the food.

At the moment when he had sat down to drink the
milk, there had tumbled out from behind the straw a
round black-and-white object, unsteady on its legs, and
having a very broad nose and a very woolly coat. The
moon had risen by this time, and was shining in through
the little square window, and by its beams Bertie could
see this thing was a puppy,—a Newfoundland puppy
some four months old. He welcomed it with as much
rapture as ever Robert Bruce did the spider. It had
evidently been awakened from its sleep by the smell of
the food. It was a pleasant, companionable, warm and
kindly creature ; it knocked the bread out of his hand,
and thrust its square mouth into his milk, but he shared
it willingly, and had a hearty ery over it that did him
good. :

He did not feel all alone, now that this blundering,
toppling, shapeless, amiable baby-dog had found its

' way to him. He caressed it in his arms and kissed it
a great many times, and it responded much more grate-



56 THE LITTLE EARL.

fully than the human baby had done in Jim Bracken’s
cottage, and finally, despite his bleeding feet and his
tired limbs, he fell asleep with his face against the pup’s
woolly body.

When he awoke, he could not remember what had
happened. He called for Deborah, but no Deborah
was there. The moon, now full, was shining still
through the queer little dusky place; the figures of the
fowls, rolled up in balls of feathers and stuck upon
one leg, were all that met his straining eyes. He pulled
the puppy closer and closer to him: for the first time
in his life he felt really frightened.

“T never touched the pheasant,” he cried, as loud as
he could. “Tam Lord Avillion! You have no right
to keep me here. Let me out! let me out! let me
out!”

The fowls woke up, and then cried and cackled and
crowed, and the poor pup whined and yelped dolefully,
but he got no other answer. Everybody in Big George’s
cottage was asleep, except Big George himself, who,
with his revolver, his fowling-piece, and a couple of
bull-dogs, was gone out again into the woods.

At home, Bertie in his pretty bed, that had belonged
to the little Roi de Rome, had always had a soft light
burning in a porcelain shade, and his nurse within easy
call, and Ralph on the mat by the door. He had
never been in the dark before, and he could hear
unseen things moving and rustling in the straw, and
he felt afraid of the white moonbeams shifting hither
and thither and shining on the shape of the big Brahma
cock till the great bird looked like a vulture. Once a
rat ran swiftly across, and then the fowls shrieked, and



THE LITTLE EARL. 57

Bertie could not help screaming with them; but in a

minute or two he felt ashamed of himself, for he thought,

“A rat is God’s creature as much as I am; and, as I

have not done anything wrong, I do not think they
will be allowed to hurt me.”

Nevertheless, the night was very terrible. Without
the presence of the puppy, no doubt, the little Earl
would have frightened himself into convulsions and
delirium ; but the pup was so comforting to him, so
natural, so positively a thing real and in no wise of
the outer world, that Bertie kept down, though with
many a sob, the panics of unreasoning terror which
assailed him as the moon sailed away past the square
loop-hole, and a great darkness seemed to wrap him up
in it as though some giant were stifling him in a magic
cloak.

The pup had not long been taken from its mother,
and had been teased all day by the keeper’s children,
and was frightened, and whimpered a good deal, and
cuddled itself close to the little Earl, who hugged it
and kissed it in paroxysms of loneliness and longing
for comfort.

With these long, horrible black hours, all sorts of
notions and terrors assailed him; all he had ever read
of dungeons, of enchanted castles, of entrapped princes,
of Prince Arthur and the Duke of Rothsay, of the
prisoner of Chillon and the Iron Mask, of every kind
of hero, martyr, and wizard-bewitched captive, crowded
into his mind with horrifying clearness, thronging on
him with a host of fearful images and memories.

' But this was only in his weaker moments. When
he clasped the puppy and felt its warm wet tongue



58 THE LITTLE EARL.

lick his hair, he gathered up his courage: after all, he
thought, Big George was certainly only a keeper,—not
an ogre, or an astrologer, or a tyrant of Athens or of
Rome.

So he fell off again, after a long and dreadful waking-
time, into a fitful slumber, in which his feet ached and
his nerves jumped, and the frightful visions assailed
him just as much as when he was awake; and how
that ghastly night passed by him, he never knew very
well.

When he again opened his eyes there was a dim gray
light in the fowl-house, and sharp in his ear was ring-
ing the good-morrow of the Brahma chanticleer.

It was daybreak.

A round red face looked in at the square hole, and
the voice of the keeper’s wife said, “ Little gemman,
Big George will be arter ye come eight o’clock, and
*t ll go hard wi’ yer. Say now, yer didn’t snare the
bird ?”

“No,” said Bertie, languidly, lying full length on
the straw; he felt shivery and chilly, and very stiff
and very miserable in all ways.

“But yer know who did!” persisted the woman.
“Now, jist you tell me, and J’ll make it all square
with George, and he’ll let you out, and we'll gie ye
porridge, and we'll take ye home on the donkey.”

The little Earl was silent.

“Now, drat ye for a obstinate! I can’t abide a
obstinate,” said the woman, angrily. ‘“ Who did snare
the bird ? jist say that; ’t is all, and mighty little.”

“T will not say that,” said Bertie; and the woman
slammed a wooden door that there was to the loop-



THE LITTLE BARL. 59

hole, and told him he was a mule and a pig, and that
she was not going to waste any more words about him;
she should let the birds out by the bars. What she
called the bars, which were two movable lengths of
wood at the bottom of one of the walls, did in point
of fact soon slip aside, and the fowls all cackled and
strutted and fluttered after their different manners, and
bustled through the opening towards the daylight and
the scattered corn, the Brahma cock having much ado
to squeeze his plumage where his wives had passed.

“The puppy’s hungry,” said Bertie, timidly.

“ Drat the puppy!” said the woman outside; and
no more compassion was wrung out of her. The little
Earl felt very languid, light-headed, and strange; he
was faint, and a little feverish.

“Oh, dear, pup! what a night!” he murmured, with
a burst or sobbing.

Yet it never occurred to him to purchase his liberty
by giving up little guilty Dan.

Some more hours rolled on,—slow, empty, desolate,
—filled with the whine of the pup for its mother, and
the chirping of unseen martins going in and out of the
roof above-head.

“T suppose they mean to starve me to death,”
thought Bertie, his thoughts clinging to the Duke of
Rothsay’s story.

He heard the tread of Big George on the ground
outside, and his deep voice cursing and swearing, and
the children running to and fro, and the hens cackling,
Then the little Earl remembered that he was born of
brave men, and must not be unworthy of them; and
he rose, though unsteadily, and tried to pull his dis-



60 THE LITTLE HARL.

ordered dress together, and tried, too, not to look
afraid.

He recalled Casabianca on the burning ship: Casa-

bianca had not been so very much older than he.
_ The door was thrust open violently, and that big
grim black man looked in. “Come, varmint!” he
cried out; “ come out and get your merits: birch and
bread-and-water and Scripture-readin’ for a good month,
Tl go bail; and ’t’ud be a year if I wur the beak.”

Then Bertie, on his little shaky shivering limbs,
walked quite haughtily towards him and the open air,
the puppy waddling after him. “You should not be
so very rough and rude,” he said: “TI will go with you.
But the puppy wants some milk.”

Big George’s only answer was to clutch wildly at
Bertie’s clothes and hurl him anyhow, head first, into
a little pony-cart that stood ready. “Such tarnation
cheek I never seed,” he swore; “ but all them Radley
imps are as like one to t’ other as so many ribston-
pippins,—all the gift o’ the gab and tallow-faces !”

Bertie, lying very sick and dizzy in the bottom of
the cart, managed to find breath to call out to the
woman on the door-step, “ Please do give the puppy
something ; it has been so hungry all night.”

“That’s no Radley boy,” said the keeper’s wife to
her eldest girl as the cart drove away. “Only a little
gemman ’ud ha’ thought of the pup. Strikes me, lass,
your daddy’s put a rod in pickle for hisself along o’
his tantrums and tivies.”

It was but a mile and a half from the keeper’s cot-
tage to the mansion of the Sir Henry who was owner
of these lands; and the pony spun along at a swing



THE LITTLE EARL. 61

trot, and Big George, smoking and rattling along,
never deigned to look at his prisoner.

“ Another poachin’ boy, Mr. Mason?” said the woman
who opened the lodge gates; and Big George answered,
heartily, —

“Ay, ay, a Radley imp caught at last. Got the bird
on him, and the gin too. What d’ye call that?”

“T call it like your vigilance, Mr. Mason,” said the
lodge-keeper. “ But, lawks! he do look a mite!”

Big George spun on up the avenue with the air of a
man who knew his own important place in the world,
and the little cart was soon pulled up at the steps of a
stately Italian-like building.

“See Sir Henry to wunce: poachin’ case,” said Big
George to the footman lounging about the doorway.

“Of course, Mr. Mason. Sir Henry said as you waw
to go to him directly.”

“Step this way,” said one of the men; and Big
George proceeded to haul Bertie out of the cart as un-
ceremoniously as he had thrown him in; but the little
Earl, although his head spun and his shoeless feet
ached, managed to get down himself, and staggered
across the hall.

“A Radley boy!” said Big George, displaying him
with much pride. “ All the spring and all the winter
Ive been after that weazen-faced varmint, and now
Pye got him.”

“Sir Henry waits,” said a functionary; and Big
George marched into a handsome library, dragging
his captive behind him, towards the central writing-
table, at which a good-looking elderly gentleman was
sitting.



62 THE LITTLE EARL.

Arrived before his master, the demeanor of Big
George underwent a remarkable change; he cringed,
and he pulled his lock of hair, and he scraped about
with his leg in the humblest manner possible, and
proceeded to lay the dead pheasant and the trap and
gear upon the table.

“Took him in the ac’, Sir Henry,” he said, with
triumph piercing through deference. “I been after
him ages; he’s a Radley boy, the little gallows-bird ;
he’s been snarin’ and dodgin’ and stealin’ all the winter
long, and here we’ve got him.”

“ He is very small,—quite a child,” said Sir Henry,
doubtingly, trying to see the culprit.

“He’s stunted in his growth along 0’ wickedness,
sir,” said Big George, very positively ; “but he’s old
in wice; that’s what he is, sir,—old in wice.”

At that moment Bertie managed to get in front of
him, and lifted his little faint voice.

“He has made a mistake,” he said, feebly: “TI never
killed your birds at all, and I am Lord Avillion.”

“Good heavens! you thundering idiot!” shouted
Sir Henry, springing to his feet. “This is the little
Earl they are looking for all over the island, and all
over the country! My dear little fellow, how can I
ever: ie

His apologies were cut short by Bertie dropping
down in a dead faint at his feet, so weak was he from
cold, and hunger, and exhaustion, and unwonted ex-
posure,

It was not very long, however, before all the alarmed
household, pouring in at the furious ringing of their

master’s bell, had revived the little Earl, and brought
26





THE LITTLE EARL. 63

him to his senses none the worse for the momentary
eclipse of them.

“Please do not be angry with your man,” murmured
Bertie, as he lay on one of the wide leathern couches.
“He meant to do his duty; and please —will you let
me buy the puppy ?”

Of course Sir Henry would not allow the little Earl
to wander any farther afield, and of course a horseman
was sent over in hot haste to apprise his people, misled
by the boat-lad, who, frightened at his own share in
the little gentleman’s escape, had sworn till he was
hoarse that he had seen Lord Avillion take a boat for
Rye.

So Bertie’s liberty was nipped in the bud, and very
sorrowfully and wistfully he strayed out on to the rose-
terrace of Sir Henry’s house, awaiting the coming of
his friends. The puppy had been fetched, and was
tumbling and waddling solemnly beside him; yet he
was very sad at heart.

“What are you thinking of, my child?” said Sir
Henry, who was a gentle and learned man.

Bertie’s mouth quivered.

“T see,” he said, hesitatingly —“I see I am nothing.
It is the title they give me, and the money I have got,
that make the people so good tome. When I am only
me, you see how it is.”

And the tears rolled down his face, which he had
heard called “wizen” and “puny” and likened to
tallow.

“My dear little fellow,” said his grown-up cum-
panion, tenderly, “ there comes a day when even kings
are stripped of all their pomp, and lie naked and stark;



64 THE LITTLE EARL.

it is then that which they have done, not that which
they have been, that will find them grace and let them
rise again.”

“But I am nothing!” said Bertie, piteously. “You
see, when the people do not know who I am, they
think me nothing at all.”

“T don’t fancy Peggy and Dan will think so when
we tell them everything,” said the host. “We are all
of us nothing in ourselves, my child; only, here and
there we pluck a bit of lavender,—that is, we do some
good thing or say some kind word,—and then we get
a sweet savor from it. You will gather a great deal
of lavender in your life, or I am mistaken.”

“T will try,” said Bertie, who understood.

So, off the downs that day, and in the pleasant haw-
thorn woods of the friendly little Isle, he plucked two
heads of lavender,—humility and sympathy. Believe
me, they are worth as much as was the moly of Ulysses,

THE END





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'45831' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSO' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
f441dd148348737548c19afaa981708b
b94c8cabde3f4af77e205ae6540e2172e1527210
describe
'3516' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSP' 'sip-files00011.pro'
63ebffea2ebc8ac4ccd76ddbe133f7c0
e6c351d1372b1d40e75ae32b536866d4cf60813b
'2011-12-21T22:41:32-05:00'
describe
'9851' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSQ' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
55742391a4bf0abf4247d917a0c86420
9001aef6f5abbe2627a4b490a510a21c3b97fa31
'2011-12-21T22:42:11-05:00'
describe
'4288800' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSR' 'sip-files00011.tif'
8ee24d8ffcc95770d07f32e79af483cb
e2b541e33bff484540baecf3ada4e664e54b0ac0
describe
'260' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSS' 'sip-files00011.txt'
4598487997f2d7de1cf2b66e0c2cbfdc
09b24ada3cc5f9ac9f70bceacde78a47008c465a
'2011-12-21T22:41:40-05:00'
describe
'2702' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFST' 'sip-files00011thm.jpg'
cb47a721c3c18b7da96bb1f920a545b6
0b6d50f979bc7346637c26d23a25c31d1cbae6d5
'2011-12-21T22:42:27-05:00'
describe
'533889' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSU' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
7d3fe0bfd7c633664851595545945208
72a0ff2cb576a8d2f7ba9594b3c80315c48b0afd
'2011-12-21T22:42:02-05:00'
describe
'29925' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSV' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
b25101b101342a623a7c256d0d59201c
dc803ce626bd1daacad39728df0ae960df42ddb9
describe
'1422' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSW' 'sip-files00012.pro'
0723eacce78b9556e17849f4fa68be78
a35ca96a75b2600976a65f64d91f9896b4830b98
'2011-12-21T22:42:03-05:00'
describe
'5643' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSX' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
e0a172a6d5f21ca4b6d8cb1ea8f7f934
e4a6556af2d3e70b9d411cae983553c5cb3fd97c
'2011-12-21T22:43:34-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSY' 'sip-files00012.tif'
8a8e895e7fd7c10427dc3b27c8759787
804211c2fa4e2a7fa65b56627dc5306c9f89714d
describe
'140' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFSZ' 'sip-files00012.txt'
020310f367171a6e43df7dee31fd5191
27ce1dd813ab630792d676cfae3e3ee5d1800ee0
'2011-12-21T22:41:51-05:00'
describe
'1296' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTA' 'sip-files00012thm.jpg'
1c510183f20fc5cab8f56cced929c2d7
8f4f3b16e1fe7569a7b0324475df477df5ee8449
'2011-12-21T22:41:29-05:00'
describe
'533983' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTB' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
70e0d2bb647896ccb4be77cc5e0fe3d0
f8460e70609545fd82423a60628a63b1cf62b52b
'2011-12-21T22:42:10-05:00'
describe
'91400' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTC' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
90556886e7da2e51b980538191638b5e
85c7958f1fe45d936378c120365dda2cccc6162d
describe
'32178' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTD' 'sip-files00013.pro'
e8b05384660a20e315cb6ffa8558642b
a6a911c3642fd21b88db61a3557a9e90a4576f18
'2011-12-21T22:43:04-05:00'
describe
'23481' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTE' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
27312ea90321610d1f37383548f429ca
66912457a301a064fce1007283354aeba25ee9c0
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTF' 'sip-files00013.tif'
ed09724c57679cd14109ab9f9aa15de1
cae8c0d15ccbb68f83533a994603ffea2cd1a9cf
'2011-12-21T22:41:45-05:00'
describe
'1273' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTG' 'sip-files00013.txt'
98d8d5da8e1fda855b2869a81adc0b6b
8d8c9b33c5777c160a6556eb2f49964230c9c45d
'2011-12-21T22:42:18-05:00'
describe
'5675' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTH' 'sip-files00013thm.jpg'
c048557934ccae6c8b4a3b249a856bcf
6ef97a9e5154efed2b442a0851a89b75930160e6
describe
'533690' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTI' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
7b5a5408afadbe4f77c98ff615e34882
97d0e2c1b053eb7f4082032d78f1364d729b315e
describe
'102584' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTJ' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
bec147f53282d2d65b7c91c3a1e5b494
ce44d8bd8680082cc781c3d4d0b9d1ea8bf60960
describe
'43976' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTK' 'sip-files00014.pro'
5fbae8cbcc0a127206b82fdc0acdddd7
5a61d34365651b615e1d1ec33faeea06655b73f8
'2011-12-21T22:41:53-05:00'
describe
'26460' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTL' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
5172d3d2f3af31b297b699d01c819476
9b954f8cb89384f9dd706a297f32ce249bb2a997
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTM' 'sip-files00014.tif'
634aac3844710003a4e520d63c6ed094
dd75c8b66d54a25c5b5701d6ac9e2579d3fcf2fe
describe
'1722' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTN' 'sip-files00014.txt'
40036cde7eecebc4ba18d8f0b1c0dc02
363370f6b329f1d7dbfaf34f001028438f4c6b81
'2011-12-21T22:43:33-05:00'
describe
'6274' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTO' 'sip-files00014thm.jpg'
81cbc83731014b7cc505e46e33ca5efc
3b28bde3d57b5a38c18967ee265172a23844b6c3
'2011-12-21T22:43:14-05:00'
describe
'533958' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTP' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
c4c102cd46939d612cdbb2420fa135b4
1e51973adbad485b2b4e94394ccd9105968ebad8
'2011-12-21T22:43:30-05:00'
describe
'108076' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTQ' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
2fcebaf09c934b2ff397dbae71a77b1c
820199782f25a10b771551c621dfb21485007ffa
'2011-12-21T22:41:52-05:00'
describe
'45890' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTR' 'sip-files00015.pro'
12e36c8ab0e745019175a00881f83d77
2565ed080823021d1bcc920946337c732d615b65
describe
'27557' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTS' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
b0debbcc296f0c4ed7786386adca71b2
db707f0d1d0714d5de815be84f08f51ffea1eb13
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTT' 'sip-files00015.tif'
b33f06a46a1494fe9dd7b246c9eee9b9
58355e6efcd7477b47688b67dfc673bdd2d99e9a
'2011-12-21T22:42:13-05:00'
describe
'1788' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTU' 'sip-files00015.txt'
1616a4a8a08f92db1265c96e3fe403e7
e7d274893e3495fc4abae0273287951b0c1d75b5
describe
'6470' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTV' 'sip-files00015thm.jpg'
4e57799c015bb40e188094eb68ba0444
f7378b1cc4f193f87497141ab212bf40d79726be
'2011-12-21T22:42:57-05:00'
describe
'533978' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTW' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
977920b5af0f1c2951cc66205759b57d
d9d225ff4180b1e67b433f12b02649450eb1e34d
'2011-12-21T22:43:51-05:00'
describe
'96629' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTX' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
db24c462ee7e0fdc044b25493931b2c4
8408ae580168f131f03204de0663ca232b93c4dd
describe
'39650' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTY' 'sip-files00016.pro'
49d15e81e8eb8f64d279dda8154acc05
f609e0c87cda8835abd6e4fca1fb06e58c93af83
'2011-12-21T22:42:45-05:00'
describe
'26084' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFTZ' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
f120fa97cbb25dcf4499c0fdc15668ad
20bafb752bf468477476c40f83120100238df431
'2011-12-21T22:43:56-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUA' 'sip-files00016.tif'
8c7d895116dd46452182707c10814263
41d7c88b7e02870ec6e26f68d3ef886214c3872a
'2011-12-21T22:41:41-05:00'
describe
'1566' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUB' 'sip-files00016.txt'
9c2b08069b01cb6cbc44abb5b6f97557
cf311f6ab5c031b513d0044ce2f951caf8af40b5
'2011-12-21T22:42:20-05:00'
describe
'5835' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUC' 'sip-files00016thm.jpg'
3ad3c30423e77f2726467e1d2e5179e2
03755d93a2b26c49ad187df7b793d2b4bfb14686
'2011-12-21T22:42:55-05:00'
describe
'533981' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUD' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
d3f196bfa8a3c0bf9e17ff796d45b800
5c4d369042a8586779b6ce99100f3cd889723a0d
describe
'105288' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUE' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
65875e3cb32b60785f0a47dcad4e15cb
3096104b9d0ee0b2e2d637246c6404d53d4f9587
'2011-12-21T22:43:03-05:00'
describe
'43757' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUF' 'sip-files00017.pro'
020e30ef58a101110ee13b7c004a1f7b
54e66a8003415dfc8b68171a3857272a15967938
'2011-12-21T22:41:54-05:00'
describe
'27257' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUG' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
5da1238a2b2398b4f9894ff2b7bc8541
0c6c40c002cd9cc0b1973f7cbd2a481d61878ff8
'2011-12-21T22:43:06-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUH' 'sip-files00017.tif'
72cf92716e93381bd79e32c9a1ead1de
f28477dab033a31ce3b3e8dbc72b140f88783622
'2011-12-21T22:44:02-05:00'
describe
'1708' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUI' 'sip-files00017.txt'
0c4749cf00c5924e8e924bef803bef08
4073e1d916a5021fb718515020ecacc578cad73d
'2011-12-21T22:41:37-05:00'
describe
'6120' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUJ' 'sip-files00017thm.jpg'
cf79dc06c30b2351cb7eb3b30da27dc1
af04e202a8c1ae535f5866904e1f8dcf847fb493
describe
'533952' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUK' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
33723c38afb099a66444e43e8cdd9fa2
7bb074247e2ac8def497c411b656016ce7f40100
describe
'104826' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUL' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
44cfe544ff7e3d7471d23e771ff51fe4
5a072ae9c54e1d6ca971fce7fac6b6629a9438ff
describe
'43695' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUM' 'sip-files00018.pro'
98e582a3e4954da4aa0bd544ecbc00f8
0f78cd4eced0851601c4797c60619587a1886901
'2011-12-21T22:42:04-05:00'
describe
'27468' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUN' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
b14d23de8d418472634a013442ffe7ea
083bf4ab15e1d7342ad16616266e9720acdcca58
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUO' 'sip-files00018.tif'
d7e0ba7898e86acaba3f880dffeaa658
06c0f1688129f4fca89389c3f58e97e1cb90ec70
describe
'1705' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUP' 'sip-files00018.txt'
cb5885c1df38f68a623bcda49a9c77c8
a4dcb7971fa2cdec344605c8297cecb09cac8982
describe
'6200' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUQ' 'sip-files00018thm.jpg'
c2da4a0a3c44c32d5c06178690d0ebeb
3fbc745d84905c7bcf892673ed08a890ef7d98dd
'2011-12-21T22:41:55-05:00'
describe
'533961' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUR' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
3e7134e9fe8ad08010ef621735a472a9
4d4b97f633fa48a3ba2a59ac24d87ce399666b80
describe
'103008' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUS' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
eb40e8e0e259260d80a178e1e456001b
2b033af8575661f922fe6b23c3a26c2ae5392bd9
'2011-12-21T22:42:29-05:00'
describe
'43722' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUT' 'sip-files00019.pro'
14343f4a7cc3e2aeb32aa7fb4e7ac3d8
d90a795dbc29a700cc59f20568faeda809bd6697
'2011-12-21T22:43:45-05:00'
describe
'27274' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUU' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
0cbbff46c4f503a42a6ab80edc1bd689
4ac0034207013ce574145852491dd5b60018fe45
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUV' 'sip-files00019.tif'
4ac1839bd90abcd5e8e13c95a82ddc46
79097bc9fba83a7238f7245f884b0cf4d8c3b412
'2011-12-21T22:44:03-05:00'
describe
'1706' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUW' 'sip-files00019.txt'
63a0d795582e995e81145abbbfe57460
38a2c363ea67d510a00fe6cfbf3d404893f52880
'2011-12-21T22:41:36-05:00'
describe
'6331' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUX' 'sip-files00019thm.jpg'
d811b8a6a77078950f52754eb003dbeb
485e19c8e930961cf709d37b3499cc726f7749a8
'2011-12-21T22:43:27-05:00'
describe
'533969' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUY' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
614767523cd68474c4ae6d9fdeaef8d0
3c3dffd5bc5cb7e5615f466dfcf930af37a7dd45
describe
'101077' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFUZ' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
ea0bcfc3fe86fedaad7a682527126b5d
7bd25b39c638f49477c72af0e376b9e53c53b971
describe
'40403' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVA' 'sip-files00020.pro'
239859368c27f4c96cfc32e23bd72625
807f48f6deb499ea4a1ee17033c4334cb1fe0359
describe
'26430' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVB' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
d04bf930cb777778fffbd16b515f1bbf
8c5b1123bc2073afcb76118e5a89018ea17d5197
'2011-12-21T22:43:32-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVC' 'sip-files00020.tif'
b973fa2ead4c7f89ff46c3a21f805003
11906374d1b569d8060c65aaabbb7a1b8348018c
describe
'1622' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVD' 'sip-files00020.txt'
fe53abb8dd6dd34ab722a5db48bc6728
4a56cf246ba0b5b482872b36c41b636e191505e6
describe
'6226' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVE' 'sip-files00020thm.jpg'
7e49e16d66cddde2c5d0b43fd1ccebea
d9521f916071f0779748b80efbcdd50d73e280fd
describe
'533966' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVF' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
9c4b284c08d361dee1e5fc7648c40b68
de9c2405e5aaa7fb9a0007ce0b32d76a1a3fa28a
describe
'98572' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVG' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
051d1d665c1cd89aaf4f19be746a35c8
46509dac4d8f3423065b1f050c9c6f5c52b0dc63
describe
'39198' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVH' 'sip-files00021.pro'
8593d21b72d797830f3e42cc5d3e3b56
b389c7b6d9d16fa10081dfba250a88f668c36283
describe
'26216' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVI' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
6da6898610813dbe7893f2f7b2d356ca
5caf24675bd48de48c18242985bc1cbb6c7d5e19
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVJ' 'sip-files00021.tif'
31695e9294d8cdeaa9d648fb42e26b12
9200d2666861216554d29cf9fa31c88a7c4fce2f
'2011-12-21T22:43:09-05:00'
describe
'1552' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVK' 'sip-files00021.txt'
49a88438587e5701da0c9978417332d6
3f46c28c6aa676e98975d0abba29ee18f8d69a5a
'2011-12-21T22:41:34-05:00'
describe
'6407' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVL' 'sip-files00021thm.jpg'
6de06f38b39ab93fe55c489e70df22b4
9be48dc6f2c690666a49f539eeb5b829ff23c1d4
describe
'533918' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVM' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
e3e67a7e15519a08c84f79464a352cbc
fe16dce8ddba7d529139b1795a21d0f7da68af5e
describe
'95803' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVN' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
261530b42cefff788952487cc1f56a32
bbe302b13d3a071e8c18a7c3d2c1068569ffffa0
'2011-12-21T22:43:57-05:00'
describe
'39499' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVO' 'sip-files00022.pro'
8d68f003c442258a5c6e394418356461
b911743adc49c4215b6e4a28c9730fc5f396720c
'2011-12-21T22:43:25-05:00'
describe
'25220' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVP' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
6193dd81830465bb23604c67666ea140
f8284878df3868004c9db96b354d51a0384d976e
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVQ' 'sip-files00022.tif'
236e8c36476b19c35a0199d972daf6ce
c601890e490f4710213cf4282f9124ffc63c7024
'2011-12-21T22:43:22-05:00'
describe
'1567' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVR' 'sip-files00022.txt'
449903bf29cf64717633e1dc4b16685c
9ba4b3bec95be76918d20547aaba1a91dac38409
'2011-12-21T22:43:35-05:00'
describe
'5763' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVS' 'sip-files00022thm.jpg'
cde301c62b2391de0df989041fbe8a90
cc07c58a5bfd074ac5caa7a16dcdf0813f0a4c7d
'2011-12-21T22:41:42-05:00'
describe
'533965' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVT' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
f908eb151f2deff19e9972b9b2173dc0
0ecefcec8ec9488564ff437b36c3d99e623264c6
'2011-12-21T22:41:47-05:00'
describe
'100702' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVU' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
d2bf7513a3fe259d239437496daa5b91
9d85f3275f2ad41e2fef735e8402779c92be6a67
describe
'41785' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVV' 'sip-files00023.pro'
ab68918c860879b6ccccee4f74041a7b
a01829faecce77ce4d8c0a7e40337c9932635896
describe
'26313' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVW' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
015e7e4fda31ceac3f17186566b290f5
8885a114bfbd08b6996de7b80b8bee1ce5fd3916
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVX' 'sip-files00023.tif'
83ff4a208d45d0c6e541a78f49473d4a
e6711ba7602486e10babc3495c0d00fc24e3d07f
describe
'1669' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVY' 'sip-files00023.txt'
b8b630c5338d1858702d3cd5abe26735
4f5c8db1c4f91f762314eae8f83a41137bc6a3f2
describe
'6286' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFVZ' 'sip-files00023thm.jpg'
af17f94f407747a8a6954fe4305d5a45
584107569eb28f238d0756aa601b3e82786f3b7d
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWA' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
639f2d8ba99f2cd03317fbe500da1613
c3f710ddf59efffeeb0d48e7cce776443cb0ced5
describe
'99022' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWB' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
735c92f583ee5de980c8ef1127bc3c79
675a00c781330bf1edc3a4f6a5825d86920c4637
'2011-12-21T22:42:15-05:00'
describe
'41168' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWC' 'sip-files00024.pro'
b52720f1e077951254cebd974cf94676
d75ece0ac7c25742031478b1f957d00d3caf23c4
describe
'26048' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWD' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
8d9dd4ddb728b03c66ef695720bd0b7a
d7e6ffd9c24c7f639cdd5f1741d7610288fcaf40
'2011-12-21T22:42:22-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWE' 'sip-files00024.tif'
cbaae309e560bc3ba8f25ce2b58fd7af
360f5dc461304d0277eef0cc86aa7a0fd75c3f82
describe
'1635' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWF' 'sip-files00024.txt'
fd99c366fb08557e9abe805dbdd3a293
040366e94839d26d071bba6495a0295523712ba6
'2011-12-21T22:43:18-05:00'
describe
'6304' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWG' 'sip-files00024thm.jpg'
3fb5afdc3b38b3ffb506714d0a2d0cc9
5d9eb9c30cc40ba9321a18a27b5edbe400265342
describe
'533979' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWH' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
7358a9442da23439b92c2198951c2d21
77e7daa90ec05e7fca8b462671d415eceb09a624
describe
'94187' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWI' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
8a8242e3974197dcc774666cb4f29557
224a79dd007c7ac59d888bcd0906a96fc8b0b7f3
'2011-12-21T22:43:24-05:00'
describe
'38820' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWJ' 'sip-files00025.pro'
eebcc8bda0fdc15fbf207e49c7028ccc
8c8df9fad7808f82dd4ffa54912523f3dbcd58fd
'2011-12-21T22:42:16-05:00'
describe
'25079' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWK' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
b1d495f97f18c0c9179fd8fa444ae911
9e379fa0ba484099f1d34a70daab588b6d9dd092
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWL' 'sip-files00025.tif'
94e1538ffe5e588eeed5b122b4014d91
4cc19df95b90a1ea244610fded06acd6645e4cfb
'2011-12-21T22:42:17-05:00'
describe
'1546' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWM' 'sip-files00025.txt'
7d96c6024c546b9ececf46f871e8e8c0
31eb4f7647c839cfa0929a8dac6d97cabe3a44de
'2011-12-21T22:42:31-05:00'
describe
'5836' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWN' 'sip-files00025thm.jpg'
59d6f87578daaba65da4b15be7d205f3
b5f08b6e2ec26b2d925cbc038e3310f8b1b6b100
'2011-12-21T22:42:38-05:00'
describe
'533895' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWO' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
460afd6529287ae3651490a1bdbee10e
38ae69816c996ea350709eb4e5bfb653adad3aa0
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWP' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
d6a6dba49b237a7737d7a401e2c762a7
462e15a3da604010d7197808e6513d7411b2442f
'2011-12-21T22:42:14-05:00'
describe
'43023' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWQ' 'sip-files00026.pro'
18d4c35686b20eea1faf63bb983211d0
3b1392ec95e1059451af0f838d4ba19ab8dbd7c1
describe
'27474' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWR' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
6c3f95ee3e1c44c545bbc8dd35109e20
6f30f4f84ef014f6b32c82c75f63bbea63045ef8
'2011-12-21T22:43:50-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWS' 'sip-files00026.tif'
620d9fd6b4a15078195bb87febc8e374
e9a33b2a28aa266f911ee762df25fdf051824ee5
'2011-12-21T22:43:08-05:00'
describe
'1683' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWT' 'sip-files00026.txt'
64f3a9e1fc827fde3daf6625c029c9cc
9e4556eba6ba4779dc4d034244adecddc1ebfbe6
describe
'6294' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWU' 'sip-files00026thm.jpg'
f5096866c5d6a0437b576b1a5a24ad72
10fbc52c2b3ee6a300cbdc73a2ddd6862c94c52c
describe
'533948' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWV' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
7e90680cb90750930df120ab52bbd22b
8a7351485527d6c0daa384bfc4911a5f1115c6b1
describe
'95105' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWW' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
3ec3d7f9f7730006687318804882dc64
52840318526a4d83a674234c3ce170653b5fbde6
describe
'38889' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWX' 'sip-files00027.pro'
b29ae9e7f8850b41f250dd22070083e4
84f336a80c339b088e875338f3fe5fa88ea03302
describe
'25865' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWY' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
0d9f5056a4ee3912913e9fad9b9fa4b0
d2cbb185b3d9ab10d56d0844a3767ae03e3f4111
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFWZ' 'sip-files00027.tif'
c6d08f0464299952ea8ddf160c835fc4
a3d8a4883901e41e8d14edd3caf49911de0f2a57
'2011-12-21T22:41:35-05:00'
describe
'1561' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXA' 'sip-files00027.txt'
7d3719f3948798b17b03f6c495223628
6f0fff4c163537957f3ce950037abaff53dc985e
describe
'6218' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXB' 'sip-files00027thm.jpg'
e337ab57fc80dfcb9e220b307f7287bd
cfe66ef5474a4fa75b3e7567ccf4d3ba5dca5095
'2011-12-21T22:41:56-05:00'
describe
'533963' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXC' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
fb2bf512f77701394272bbe1fc010ccf
40ac1ae0fe006b71668158a1a8df7a8123c518de
describe
'97060' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXD' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
bb46e33df8c3b9839710ae60269ab9f3
9ac1ea90c79554ffbd282e50517451a9efbc4314
describe
'39549' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXE' 'sip-files00028.pro'
dde626fc445a80398d703e6ba53ccebd
e60301e4e092e3d902e50a89c80bf63c6d5a69f9
'2011-12-21T22:43:17-05:00'
describe
'25803' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXF' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
04785e78caeb9322f3ca5a446a2fdaf0
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXG' 'sip-files00028.tif'
5c46d16d938bcb2bfbdd43b56c357aac
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describe
'1562' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXH' 'sip-files00028.txt'
cff16a9b3fba83fea9833a31e8090bb4
d61a4acc5b8510a6c97203578938393d09a22b3a
'2011-12-21T22:42:05-05:00'
describe
'5879' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXI' 'sip-files00028thm.jpg'
ac243dc56b1731f37f76f6f5da8b6679
b0438e3b937302432a0bd092dbd77fd42254d601
'2011-12-21T22:43:01-05:00'
describe
'533913' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXJ' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
a4314f5275f0d6405710dbf685f61196
33778e7f059671751e983d0696870eaf08c6e082
describe
'97529' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXK' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
a62ae02a8d80a1fac56c256730542421
36b9eb2a7b3c3407fd211977dfb94becf7ceedb1
describe
'40861' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXL' 'sip-files00029.pro'
16b7176ade46b812c24cd74872015ef4
d6931bb2e369c4c042d12be16f6faa1001ff6014
describe
'25742' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXM' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
37a3c4172f109953b1e99c1d1f6234ce
05a60a7574ad11f4d7abd5998b75a530dc0d1902
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXN' 'sip-files00029.tif'
d2d453d24f1d70875d306e627fec4efe
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describe
'1629' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXO' 'sip-files00029.txt'
62fac3889ac99fcdd371bb0ab47d5c6d
1fef4fff0ee7245bee2a6fbe022ca3904efaf37c
describe
'6208' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXP' 'sip-files00029thm.jpg'
9b2aee51d03e360f0da45fa1806e9aa7
63335d3330e0e3ac7cdebcb1514a55c0f9dc8f2b
'2011-12-21T22:42:47-05:00'
describe
'533962' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXQ' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
a841f1fd56a7197b4aa442a2b6063e2a
e57ca9d75667dc7d8b22b13862bfb596588fb314
describe
'95503' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXR' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
f98bfb543512af23ecf003fbd19f101b
70b002bc18893d9b183f23fd25e27becea4f9ffa
'2011-12-21T22:43:52-05:00'
describe
'37809' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXS' 'sip-files00030.pro'
0614af9dce1b42d307a01b5491ce75c3
46c2ba2cb5810853910df1a1f82c9b482d08cf86
describe
'25554' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXT' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
2c61a9d82444a9d83abe1eab55fb1527
9246a0c76ece7c36f4a55790a8ca8e9fdb4a73e7
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXU' 'sip-files00030.tif'
aaf35403d54f1ffdc3e5d49d81e2d8b0
45b7bde75b032a5df82271ce7e062384683b9d74
describe
'1493' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXV' 'sip-files00030.txt'
ca66897247d340e4034b759578850847
995d964922901e4cba32107d83c21b8234ec3fac
'2011-12-21T22:44:09-05:00'
describe
'5911' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXW' 'sip-files00030thm.jpg'
7acbd402baa36b0681a7c9208d62b767
ee78f0d0bc32408d0758b271bff7301bd06c5c6f
'2011-12-21T22:42:09-05:00'
describe
'533996' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXX' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
a9dc768c3c9904d1c5e77d8c3ee9581f
d4b4a4533ddb270731e6f966008e54007f86f528
describe
'89609' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXY' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
5179190dcf2c63f5ab494a6a84f5f2d3
5d3739315e89b06942dfa416174bf103a3694d58
'2011-12-21T22:42:23-05:00'
describe
'36299' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFXZ' 'sip-files00031.pro'
0cee50b59e81f5aaa75a0439eb44d49b
7d8df114e6728b685ab49107aac5d6c1e669067c
describe
'24226' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYA' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
07fd9fc05fde9c5501cb531b951fe87a
2c388595f6800220ec86fd11b1cc86b4126c26a0
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYB' 'sip-files00031.tif'
648c79232b2b1a235c440297fb500e6d
d6e7772a39da48ee1200d82ffc1df46f2c5f7f0d
'2011-12-21T22:43:43-05:00'
describe
'1446' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYC' 'sip-files00031.txt'
6697e09df6e1aafc56a3590392d7b356
f1d5c9b7441c12a95f0fdea0b6a2706391f9ec9e
describe
'5794' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYD' 'sip-files00031thm.jpg'
3a342a6daa99cad6d8a3f908068b14fc
6a5a193b43a1720ef95540f92e7501351e446ed3
'2011-12-21T22:43:26-05:00'
describe
'533995' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYE' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
3cce05dcc730181d48f2c41f5b3b804b
39e1c1046636108691380d7bfb7654d9390f7ea2
'2011-12-21T22:43:53-05:00'
describe
'97391' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYF' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
8776e444bbf5a22b753625f9e6008640
ff514f7713a27a6e2f99d01139b3bfcd4aae4395
'2011-12-21T22:42:28-05:00'
describe
'39140' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYG' 'sip-files00032.pro'
4f5de654d2f21d378fef43494b9497b3
8bc624baec3949756dce5ff83521e66bf384f707
describe
'25876' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYH' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
ec84c31c5fbc8f2917d564971c77ba6b
e246a595996dbddccda959173f473e74f4b0972b
'2011-12-21T22:44:07-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYI' 'sip-files00032.tif'
eaea5571d003848aafe83d838498c93b
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describe
'1553' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYJ' 'sip-files00032.txt'
97fbdbd528aea395bf16264a61858a2e
382198afb06258774ea76533b1e161afb2e87cff
'2011-12-21T22:41:33-05:00'
describe
'6113' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYK' 'sip-files00032thm.jpg'
c8342b191aa4cae436edbdd1aa2fa13a
431751fb401af5f6a5c270d1fd29d062c0e0d86f
describe
'533830' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYL' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
600f02b9d709e5334ec2d1bdf92eb0b6
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describe
'84615' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYM' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
081da67dc81a286d08760c264c017b47
13fa83f9463dba6211cdeed0ca32537276518bfd
describe
'33606' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYN' 'sip-files00033.pro'
6c3030d3feca05f14c6dd1fbbd67c369
51636ba95902e12546250e2d7944d35b348185db
'2011-12-21T22:41:49-05:00'
describe
'23301' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYO' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
d21945802117a285eb713c8b8e607800
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYP' 'sip-files00033.tif'
49887c87c64930b08ec8df6f534c9e84
ba576e8932ce9e62ee63be86b20421ffdaa7af60
'2011-12-21T22:42:37-05:00'
describe
'1340' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYQ' 'sip-files00033.txt'
2eecbc81f9c1d1cd5f0d0fa171f6ab96
6273688f83790085cea654c19de3e4355a2bffd9
describe
'5629' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYR' 'sip-files00033thm.jpg'
ddf7cdbf38840663b790a4d5bc7dcb72
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describe
'533936' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYS' 'sip-files00034.jp2'
22a4d2a6c1ab1b5ae1fd54f19f190849
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describe
'91283' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYT' 'sip-files00034.jpg'
047e07d439ebb3516e04288d2e46e543
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'2011-12-21T22:41:50-05:00'
describe
'36051' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYU' 'sip-files00034.pro'
3a37484df9f9a77c410bb76a85e629b4
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describe
'24489' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYV' 'sip-files00034.QC.jpg'
7f3225dfeccefaa1661bb8b724c8aa70
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYW' 'sip-files00034.tif'
b46bdca6f2a60c623eaf7027662ab234
fdc6f4c9edb18edee58cc5cf59dcc6d5615eb44c
describe
'1451' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYX' 'sip-files00034.txt'
c7b949ad8afd1428493ac661c76027eb
a718ad9fe8099f3933c60a733b8f6d0f2495a0ac
describe
'5830' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYY' 'sip-files00034thm.jpg'
d48960c690f0c5079fc98420ee634371
5b19aec9b17082ab33f488dbff4147dd093e1191
describe
'533632' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFYZ' 'sip-files00035.jp2'
eddc604860c3f5ead0c09815600e2915
d22e5d26a6c7f790ae77ae303d11165744c9ed11
describe
'95545' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZA' 'sip-files00035.jpg'
66a30f445313ca05c190643c58e94949
449fc2a4e5c51cb69a7c2919b9979e85db08cd8e
'2011-12-21T22:41:38-05:00'
describe
'38401' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZB' 'sip-files00035.pro'
67401d4a20619997291262a765647d69
45481a8c8840c70a70f86d67078e4fdad6e11e5c
'2011-12-21T22:42:35-05:00'
describe
'25200' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZC' 'sip-files00035.QC.jpg'
5af5cd2aca65cc9cfd5fb293a2a26e17
fae3bf6d674a2a3d220f5fcc38ba940b782df3a0
'2011-12-21T22:44:01-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZD' 'sip-files00035.tif'
34332cd51e0f9646cc74b687b0c2e298
434172babcfa82334c36d72575c2e8d25ff0443d
'2011-12-21T22:42:48-05:00'
describe
'1520' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZE' 'sip-files00035.txt'
35899d23b3dbf06896d68bcc10b61981
5809efa164bf0c3930ab04f3b1042d59b826c590
describe
'6074' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZF' 'sip-files00035thm.jpg'
2d06c0b11d7da372c16dafc92c56119a
24436fd4925e70ed332d913ed36ceae05aaab273
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZG' 'sip-files00036.jp2'
bc7662d1bfd634bdcb6d135826abfece
801a5f4cb7c26ff5ac2aa4666434b71cbabe1f2d
describe
'96117' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZH' 'sip-files00036.jpg'
2467b5a9411738c9f5a1f5f259bd3ab8
97731d7c84195cbef7a455d10620a5bab8cf1745
'2011-12-21T22:42:58-05:00'
describe
'38241' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZI' 'sip-files00036.pro'
b729c19d96c2c8aa4fad788d2a6db232
6478b70552be6b2fba13ae6bed4467f9add0d214
describe
'25246' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZJ' 'sip-files00036.QC.jpg'
8a313c7eea56eca5c932385361d9144b
ff53f4369632b49e65e020c72d81fc674d1bae5a
'2011-12-21T22:43:37-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZK' 'sip-files00036.tif'
7e7b88cbdc4d42be6e361fb6f8f2fb28
8414ae129f70248f0ec3b2d1a609b29c9a194285
'2011-12-21T22:41:30-05:00'
describe
'1519' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZL' 'sip-files00036.txt'
0dcc1059fa5b99ab477a7b885320a1e5
b6c66a9e4f6759d6ce9a53e4713af87854751b9f
describe
'6263' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZM' 'sip-files00036thm.jpg'
fb526227de6c2a6b84e8262518ffa788
7e60ddf4350c586efb03d45c023e363b653bbe4c
describe
'533942' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZN' 'sip-files00037.jp2'
dbdbc9bf7734a0a85dbc4fa885894c3b
ba623424233be4ba13f103edc3fe09cf276ef972
describe
'98010' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZO' 'sip-files00037.jpg'
20adf428759c4359290535f1e97c14b1
6071e36b93d160b0d165436c79c1e59b7c82b907
describe
'39756' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZP' 'sip-files00037.pro'
7138da5172d9559894e1dee78bf02b4e
9b1b4cf77f425bfa56c0e547e91cfdeb618ec00b
describe
'26296' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZQ' 'sip-files00037.QC.jpg'
8e28418d72b79d75972d2c2bef1cd874
9c7b5a85219ecd052e84512f583f19a6374217fd
'2011-12-21T22:43:40-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZR' 'sip-files00037.tif'
f0e0e7c7eb7c6cec07d926251a14969c
01d805286021f39baecf054357a72e6bd7842734
describe
'1577' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZS' 'sip-files00037.txt'
a8b0cffee815b381fe9c4444d107f2c4
1dc7e7afa53d3f5ea71f761f09fab7d97dc37278
'2011-12-21T22:43:54-05:00'
describe
'6275' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZT' 'sip-files00037thm.jpg'
ee5059846cd3ec0fc1cefbec3aff0398
9797da35f9e83a49a5b650196e477ecd34c9f14c
'2011-12-21T22:42:25-05:00'
describe
'533959' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZU' 'sip-files00038.jp2'
0fce53ecd70bca714f40be083070a741
c970fc964bfca4fc431b0cfe6dbef308690ef1f0
describe
'102700' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZV' 'sip-files00038.jpg'
e63c575eb13f08f0071d85259c617014
318f37aa4b965e6aa315da664366476347caf32a
'2011-12-21T22:43:49-05:00'
describe
'41556' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZW' 'sip-files00038.pro'
0717456d27209b4215708dca43420acd
71a0ae10a9a4093244b60640c63dc8872b7d4b87
'2011-12-21T22:42:53-05:00'
describe
'27772' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZX' 'sip-files00038.QC.jpg'
3b6d0ad57a9edeb952a1a343a65f2899
71e15447812820701e1847cefefd351590c9f543
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZY' 'sip-files00038.tif'
86974e2c6ffa3d22500b33b148bd5a34
95beecddd06441720bd06c3aa3169dd3fce0d804
describe
'1638' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAFZZ' 'sip-files00038.txt'
37838fa03f0a811305f111350911bb9f
01d00da641f77b2c6e5c0b09ce3cf23fb1bea68e
describe
'6549' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAA' 'sip-files00038thm.jpg'
1de82f67dd9ff386676a256c67037b92
8976fb9964bd2b1d42cc80bc72a81d4b644b5471
describe
'533989' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAB' 'sip-files00039.jp2'
bcd32bf6a5bafc6c7d80194117741473
ced6cf52fd48e8ad96a8ad3966962a4df0fc6216
'2011-12-21T22:43:36-05:00'
describe
'99084' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAC' 'sip-files00039.jpg'
f6edf8fe8d06b7adc499efbb79748135
eb9bae0bd1c6d4a4afe2df5373a867a0a8832415
describe
'41191' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAD' 'sip-files00039.pro'
d344309d2ded6a5900f61a2580fff7ae
a84f0d10f99bdf463affc43614dca08d41d7ec8c
describe
'26149' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAE' 'sip-files00039.QC.jpg'
562ec984491bc0fe3771638dbc6f76da
3fa83334ecb4995eca11b1de1a2a4e400e8205cc
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAF' 'sip-files00039.tif'
2f961dbfb424f8798ee488d74dce8308
e37d03dbdf3a8979d48cc0cb05d4d75eefb19259
describe
'1640' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAG' 'sip-files00039.txt'
c000b4cbd82592620f54e621ba085d94
7646b97cca8ad2509e293491944978ff3b72bddc
'2011-12-21T22:43:48-05:00'
describe
'6255' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAH' 'sip-files00039thm.jpg'
b632685fa33b8d8717dfe7dad9b4ea25
0753ed7ff893228e6ca93844d830930956a09ca9
'2011-12-21T22:41:46-05:00'
describe
'503087' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAI' 'sip-files00040.jp2'
7168559e72e1a288dba93a55f7f8aa57
849589b5a642fb4b1e9a52af94506bb63be3ceb9
describe
'100847' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAJ' 'sip-files00040.jpg'
4bb7117885ab546c5966d73e559f59b5
5288f964bcb27e9fcf5c9f972886d6a5edb4aff2
describe
'38223' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAK' 'sip-files00040.pro'
d287e89fc51d4102f5138805bb3159a0
2dbca5d468b029c81f35bece27a498605c6040be
describe
'27903' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAL' 'sip-files00040.QC.jpg'
a459558bb6b9c0f61a23c5cc2c0bc416
9aad8a485904485a0f7582b1e1b81cd13c7cbf5f
'2011-12-21T22:43:41-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAM' 'sip-files00040.tif'
22b1a474fc140b53321e04fd3b669a1d
8f79922869c55f3a0639b67ebd373e4cb8ded645
describe
'1528' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAN' 'sip-files00040.txt'
f934d401cab14698371eb052fb1fdc4c
7627ea21bcdc63cdcf67e93e6d27adb0a7316a59
describe
'6517' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAO' 'sip-files00040thm.jpg'
d4c7df498dfec645249334867ac0d7f1
0b981c362c37abcb68b492105d41cb0542d41ddb
describe
'504877' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAP' 'sip-files00041.jp2'
de4a474c2564729964cfd9d34935cbc7
7769a49f03427cbb6ecc426abc56ccc158b2886f
'2011-12-21T22:43:31-05:00'
describe
'110862' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAQ' 'sip-files00041.jpg'
ddab0c47c2285393620204c8045a50cc
81919c1022616891a6874585a85e388a3eb6532f
describe
'41546' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAR' 'sip-files00041.pro'
f604e661c6b02f63daecf375387d1b36
ad2a1e91c53a14a2dd6c88d4b2a37c11c56cbe6b
describe
'30056' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAS' 'sip-files00041.QC.jpg'
7b9493ceed6aa60ebaa1316d336edad8
03811b964e9918016c3afb5d01dca7eb644c1798
describe
'4056096' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAT' 'sip-files00041.tif'
83406f68de6c2d1c1d98cb73fa65ec55
43da178339a25006cf12e1b91ccce893bfcb755d
describe
'1645' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAU' 'sip-files00041.txt'
365a566376350292eeb9c29937a65ee8
712a6bcdc29a439b942ee8c37f7fcfb7557504dc
describe
'6906' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAV' 'sip-files00041thm.jpg'
a01d0c5f4d948196ab382f62993d6139
958e5599e341ae9a2e5183a7ea3ae2a8be5c4fd7
describe
'533967' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAW' 'sip-files00042.jp2'
39d844bb07db894682e9a92519b533c5
1dcc3dfef57bc66e0c1a81d3f2cd569a1eb12af6
'2011-12-21T22:42:44-05:00'
describe
'92825' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAX' 'sip-files00042.jpg'
8ecfd5067ee36521210d94dad41b8b41
481745fd0c8585370797248285ba1ab3174f3e38
describe
'36641' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAY' 'sip-files00042.pro'
8227df6d54399609b6e81576d9ae47ae
28d344a6eab6a6c63ab872e215a9291358106c1f
describe
'24586' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGAZ' 'sip-files00042.QC.jpg'
0f1ef41d3a3bf2e5a844087e090914f8
23cbfb03bf5eb97bb6bb4938c0fadeed2279c488
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBA' 'sip-files00042.tif'
92ab6d3ca72f7f6210c836679ceda6d9
4b02ed3769308de85ebe7314d91810cf3506c328
'2011-12-21T22:43:44-05:00'
describe
'1463' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBB' 'sip-files00042.txt'
eb64a702994e5523b3ea5b0261bf555f
ec743df2bbd43a7d538a69eaa9549e9d1490b50b
describe
'6173' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBC' 'sip-files00042thm.jpg'
b29cefdc5cdbe53e3595f28d39e6b703
3f859b3abe56ebf7fefb4f5472f14a7d3687321c
'2011-12-21T22:42:41-05:00'
describe
'533947' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBD' 'sip-files00043.jp2'
86b752d6e68f8b5f288ea295c6fd7ac0
6a2d79182600712f114a1e0e5ff87080da32c812
describe
'100283' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBE' 'sip-files00043.jpg'
f0998896420abfcc3dacd11a29de9cd5
537a61c8d3dd01a08c85578cd8b53e745f43c08d
'2011-12-21T22:43:05-05:00'
describe
'39276' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBF' 'sip-files00043.pro'
37c21da13c0a8f30f545acc615e182d8
2f6097c3d4512df347a1c1192c38d3ae65298a45
'2011-12-21T22:44:00-05:00'
describe
'25998' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBG' 'sip-files00043.QC.jpg'
b4458ac12bf4e74db27e0a246622bbdc
dca70e455007ccbc66378856021f3265307b26f5
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBH' 'sip-files00043.tif'
29bd4bde869a877de6bd8d13b29871c7
b0976d21356f5a71e81a034b4f96204a847569f7
describe
'1551' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBI' 'sip-files00043.txt'
3cae6e89204c70a44e666796a3b22821
e2b32a60f70791fb7b816792b1ee31a3307c2bf2
'2011-12-21T22:43:12-05:00'
describe
'6539' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBJ' 'sip-files00043thm.jpg'
dcf0b82aa2cc8bdfebb5ca8154b47999
b75bfc2dbe701f889bee93ec506eebd788531030
describe
'533865' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBK' 'sip-files00044.jp2'
f1f5d7faf7cccd6a6174e09cf6fd54a8
abaad4a5577b909e13fb7f313e3e9dffeedf3f01
'2011-12-21T22:42:07-05:00'
describe
'90857' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBL' 'sip-files00044.jpg'
55684b623097aa2cfcf2543ad437c6f7
2679c7ab455d88ca1ea6b37bd047c80f3710d54d
'2011-12-21T22:43:21-05:00'
describe
'33478' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBM' 'sip-files00044.pro'
e9cc18ab567f1cf98717c5205d9457fd
8563055790953620b7917e408c3873f3f02fdc1c
describe
'24988' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBN' 'sip-files00044.QC.jpg'
e98effadb3f60e0c8564b87dfe42f1e3
0f01dfb98319da605dd3f984f13c305612873cb7
'2011-12-21T22:44:08-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBO' 'sip-files00044.tif'
7862bc800b15dbb7a2251ea32f828f27
521a7bb4fa931db3459eda8feb637734e60fae92
describe
'1346' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBP' 'sip-files00044.txt'
429709833e0127459f57bebf03fd16a4
750993c92cca838722d90d2ae297b20a44372828
describe
'6136' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBQ' 'sip-files00044thm.jpg'
89a4d5008919b9a8ef63765c6551abf4
d301a340559a64456985362feb20218a5e094acb
'2011-12-21T22:43:20-05:00'
describe
'533923' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBR' 'sip-files00045.jp2'
589ac2e9a38335a07f17f838013e5f94
03e19f8c6b92df1ccbe89ffd4469d9570fe189db
describe
'93479' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBS' 'sip-files00045.jpg'
20cbf5b32e46626cc08fdd7981d759ef
5ea8a0fac96ca908bc35c53273080694492de0b5
describe
'37368' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBT' 'sip-files00045.pro'
18adea8e8542e92cfcb73502a7555ded
e6e7d425f0b520f380cccc83a0fa013962d5b133
describe
'24811' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBU' 'sip-files00045.QC.jpg'
f6736e276ce6e63e4f0f2421271c5e32
6750569f41d7a00fb1567fb513d2cd58e2dda59e
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBV' 'sip-files00045.tif'
dc8811443da55a399ce79c9b0bcbd739
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describe
'1487' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBW' 'sip-files00045.txt'
d317fe19c2560c70c580dcd4f2b92368
abe6e7caf21ceb363a249b2e6d412fc85aa08f0a
describe
'6403' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBX' 'sip-files00045thm.jpg'
9c5f05588d56cee08ce971dc196919c4
5d41c203ab119bd70c818d024366c9216447a406
describe
'533992' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBY' 'sip-files00046.jp2'
7573c2df689f7833c353615b3a9eeae6
848266ed30870ba17bbb0b7d9c4f0624f1109d5d
describe
'98260' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGBZ' 'sip-files00046.jpg'
6eb84d7465873a9c686c0898de920e72
e69d315901ca6a3d4b34f37ca124151b4b479843
describe
'38461' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCA' 'sip-files00046.pro'
fc48ca84157b8a9dac3f69b077ff11f7
5e5d2fd7606960622c55cc2ff21ec6a90942a036
'2011-12-21T22:42:34-05:00'
describe
'25842' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCB' 'sip-files00046.QC.jpg'
c76b0c7bcc8fbe53ddb2997ea2cd88b4
4107f8fbe87e20f84c16c3125021198a9a1950d3
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCC' 'sip-files00046.tif'
dad7bf8e1598325388d0e98a06397705
e0fb3bae84c38a042308cc312fec4af2acea4a04
describe
'1534' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCD' 'sip-files00046.txt'
6899937a5912891e8ca7b1fafa27bc19
fe6fc50299ba763be604153513df597761d19142
'2011-12-21T22:43:38-05:00'
describe
'6225' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCE' 'sip-files00046thm.jpg'
cde283413339fe17fb888a5c93b55139
5a6b4287b1df17f6b820281c0606a9afb4132b4b
'2011-12-21T22:42:26-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCF' 'sip-files00047.jp2'
5c4bc545b932ce97af27f69c4b1ecda9
60ff78c98be997d6c8dafc6cedfb68b401462297
'2011-12-21T22:43:13-05:00'
describe
'93549' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCG' 'sip-files00047.jpg'
a824df7c54363c67e247c8825fa30855
6bf3459a7dd874196b0abcb727e1a8c4c11b6fbc
describe
'37872' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCH' 'sip-files00047.pro'
c781d9a21375ac91439810ab6cfae660
0a5919c8838e81b50382a2a612ad484587bcacf5
describe
'25172' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCI' 'sip-files00047.QC.jpg'
098cb48091e0024b3930efa0b1b630bf
86301925a37f2cb8a90dd210be3374df5effb6e1
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCJ' 'sip-files00047.tif'
e9c04daab312c5d17761e4519abecb78
abc8ca3d3af61b145ee9997af24fdf9364fb53b7
describe
'1515' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCK' 'sip-files00047.txt'
20b1b80f393726cbc34eef726412c4c8
8642ec8d5285756ddb805c7ace4e8f13a315638c
'2011-12-21T22:42:42-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCL' 'sip-files00047thm.jpg'
19e2bef79c00b4f00e70ea34325038da
11eff618f52513942ff679b9a6d04a61461ed318
describe
'533756' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCM' 'sip-files00048.jp2'
a7d49194bd762cfc81746167e3817dd1
f4ba347c87279f2f0320f4b28ba5432ac1b8b079
describe
'102971' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCN' 'sip-files00048.jpg'
93050d17f1e3a2222cd983ac06bce6ab
129a4aa71a385f2b1aadf5a39c70a202b040d92d
describe
'41121' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCO' 'sip-files00048.pro'
1842d55684ab79df708a2b21bbd407a4
a6e13c166e709c7bf8b018f7090aa3fa03c54551
describe
'27166' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCP' 'sip-files00048.QC.jpg'
0674eded3fc27e3b4f45adfbef7f52f0
84bf5f053593aca718cdac3b0d0aef92b103f45b
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCQ' 'sip-files00048.tif'
653a5f783763fc48aef45919474ae4a8
627623ba9f318f4b5cc99882df5040d9c1c38178
describe
'1652' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCR' 'sip-files00048.txt'
dd48188880a472f927936a2c3f895ff2
38050dcaab51639e8fa6d132668d2a3450ae966d
describe
'6387' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCS' 'sip-files00048thm.jpg'
c9c8998a265a72123a805d242c72f9c2
8b9857b7270e37b8a074be128a5599a23ea2f59c
'2011-12-21T22:42:00-05:00'
describe
'533986' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCT' 'sip-files00049.jp2'
c8effc0acf1fc669e6f2b3ffb93b25bf
8ff70faee5a028f3a7c68364e5b7350fad52f48e
describe
'104279' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCU' 'sip-files00049.jpg'
afd0c8ce31613c45f0d74090c59d8b34
9e874672f8d093b6c9daa3177d6561004d92cb20
'2011-12-21T22:42:49-05:00'
describe
'43566' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCV' 'sip-files00049.pro'
45fb25f879efb2ba589d9f9abdd25912
fa907bf56b3168746ce809cbf4ff69abc461e6a9
describe
'27621' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCW' 'sip-files00049.QC.jpg'
14cc48cafb1a2205aaa516d18d210ac8
c01184fa2bb5df5c2b82752c1557d1d2f7c67bd1
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCX' 'sip-files00049.tif'
79f4efadd0e4fb8f58237a553374dbe6
07e90f56f866a6ba2c00d8543b60ddba44991fb6
describe
'1729' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCY' 'sip-files00049.txt'
1788cf8fb985b2038d8150489019211c
07649ff0057d7c574dec642dab324da8c0763511
describe
'6370' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGCZ' 'sip-files00049thm.jpg'
7fe4164b3e5ade2ee9d11c4f34c00965
fada8d84a37254572a30160cedf77e39925bcfe2
describe
'533954' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDA' 'sip-files00050.jp2'
b9fd0b05895bfd3390fc9d1e3022aa5a
80c5879903576084f2d76ae6fbb565d9abe9a921
describe
'106778' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDB' 'sip-files00050.jpg'
6194677586529f8ebcee2cd8a9b080c7
49b392125d8aa6e32d5b5f223cb1f4f0a6742402
'2011-12-21T22:42:59-05:00'
describe
'44216' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDC' 'sip-files00050.pro'
a50379e352c14eff2d6b779102adf2a2
5ee0a32676012789ea69501d059011d4a9adb92b
describe
'28022' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDD' 'sip-files00050.QC.jpg'
4eda7c79ed447bfd706ee93d3d93c45e
8555f0aa459be6664211f4b621a10a33bdd515cd
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDE' 'sip-files00050.tif'
2da16fe100115fdebaf54ad039d93d14
8663fe58a0899cb92119689a5fc0e7307478621c
describe
'1748' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDF' 'sip-files00050.txt'
3f2fed1f164aefd54a5e7f26f849902c
a1f3ce1278bf585a6a02985528ba25691db3fe98
describe
'6383' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDG' 'sip-files00050thm.jpg'
a4d52677fddfa4efbe17ead6592692c1
ae3f751c29f14b668be8d2dc5745709466f08016
describe
'533971' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDH' 'sip-files00051.jp2'
9a9d88b6faecc15a39c673d36a510ec4
349613f46be69791d74dd14e1400d6a0a30f51ad
describe
'105061' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDI' 'sip-files00051.jpg'
a77b08a0922312d31cdd859a6f709e03
02bcdf7999f55b780a7af2c6e4fe79fdae9a6b1c
describe
'42526' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDJ' 'sip-files00051.pro'
0d7da6caf6a49bb374a0a4fcec80bf9f
8ba9ccc0a3a215302eabf75f13e32d094f0c9078
describe
'27861' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDK' 'sip-files00051.QC.jpg'
dee6043eb8bf514b54214a1daa4c740b
0d3d8289f22a8391883f9ec55ecfec8b05d43b7d
describe
'4288792' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDL' 'sip-files00051.tif'
3b820c666df337f659530d261b8fd51d
f17eaea310e2052b5bd14c52b72eb4cc0fa5a5d8
'2011-12-21T22:43:46-05:00'
describe
'1664' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDM' 'sip-files00051.txt'
dadf2a832d0f74dd467684aca934ea6a
db0a2fd2df7665deb3178182b16e84bcd197807c
describe
'6499' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDN' 'sip-files00051thm.jpg'
d87c8037585a98110d96c12435c0dc20
a7c49d20d015b8e02c3f972f5c7fc323a660ba2b
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDO' 'sip-files00052.jp2'
ad9cbbf9b2e536e4e9d3c303de5c5f0c
2b9d332c0f432ce9a6cf23f93052a6e5d9c62092
describe
'101411' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDP' 'sip-files00052.jpg'
5552cab0d1ba537a0f5ddf2acab87b50
9c35c53eba9565da62492b1925f69b340934e0e7
'2011-12-21T22:43:00-05:00'
describe
'36801' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDQ' 'sip-files00052.pro'
114665883e9171206843d1682bd63b2a
df1e6aef87862f41c9881851656df1076fc6cacc
describe
'27582' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDR' 'sip-files00052.QC.jpg'
b3104353fb964d190c6f6851087ab51e
e426393e3c00bf1544919c4a939667042cb34776
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDS' 'sip-files00052.tif'
23ca1bbdabc83b38ac415a37bc6acdbd
3312ba54175558531a144991333a5c6390f040d6
'2011-12-21T22:43:29-05:00'
describe
'1483' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDT' 'sip-files00052.txt'
067cf2b98996377a8ee2fe56422af58c
72e0292f661984130a256ef2b4d7da2e5d295341
describe
'6798' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDU' 'sip-files00052thm.jpg'
ac00cb20d87375ec54a9129bacabbb26
3303b4ad2d3036aaf43e0cea60ea136785754fb6
describe
'533977' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDV' 'sip-files00053.jp2'
a541a277d8b1d1e13ee374cf63ef0d2f
873876b0caa22256120a3d228615400d63e03429
describe
'107395' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDW' 'sip-files00053.jpg'
b028ea5a8928b4e6bf4b5548651463ed
a3badae8b63f58d1811cf3dc84bdec759f3e7ea0
describe
'40769' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDX' 'sip-files00053.pro'
66b832fbe0c0b58d7f84e0214d1c9589
cf31d2942bec12bf11b25f2bc69fed2a571b2133
describe
'28835' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDY' 'sip-files00053.QC.jpg'
6e0f4fa972466c49e585d7de87f98b32
04906acc66d03797673243ab54aa8495146b1cc0
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGDZ' 'sip-files00053.tif'
c630395585f4840c893f5def7303c9a5
8ea5fb2c35f19da1a8f1aea4db0e72aaebd09362
describe
'1606' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEA' 'sip-files00053.txt'
869bb415da952d3381e496da94642de8
09b14efa5893343d4472e7b559223dd14801f1fa
describe
'6557' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEB' 'sip-files00053thm.jpg'
71c4cb26849e2991e0ccf366693ca1a4
9f78d96902ebb8b8aff8fe1ebf1af8920524076b
describe
'533921' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEC' 'sip-files00054.jp2'
79ea6f549d8bd79430bf3f98c35ff2a0
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describe
'98283' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGED' 'sip-files00054.jpg'
3b190697d717f55645cd722d10ff3724
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describe
'38120' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEE' 'sip-files00054.pro'
67815e76e4505ac2e41a9f7ec005d88d
f088e31ce53ab49bf4161568f6cfc471b6063f34
describe
'25806' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEF' 'sip-files00054.QC.jpg'
541c40490f3f865648eee75abff5d703
9e089d78935e168030ad2cd2c44671528815f38c
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEG' 'sip-files00054.tif'
07fb0c607efc6e3d7e231905af68a400
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describe
'1517' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEH' 'sip-files00054.txt'
5158b9d39d1edf664f58b013b8178d75
daaf6719bbd0bc6de19a26411f7eac93acbd0c22
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEI' 'sip-files00054thm.jpg'
720f5183d371bc70ad8c17e57829e77d
68c40387e2b8e53de6adf744014b0f2f5d41026b
describe
'533744' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEJ' 'sip-files00055.jp2'
d9f860763eb05d69470eb92de70dd526
891d946122a81ecfa252c9ccf755e3ae0addb83f
describe
'100831' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEK' 'sip-files00055.jpg'
83ceb6f26bae25ba014ceb9fe2ee945a
f5d42c92f3eddf8260fbf2d1d7fa687f6a9cb64b
'2011-12-21T22:42:39-05:00'
describe
'42180' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEL' 'sip-files00055.pro'
f5a74d98105e9f1900783518c3c3ff55
30129b5338500a1ff2bfec7b1ae9804313aedae0
describe
'26248' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEM' 'sip-files00055.QC.jpg'
b28d7ea8e587b1b498bdb3fe4e03bee7
aa322f9b0290619709a4cefddc9b5fae536ece27
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEN' 'sip-files00055.tif'
c5bf21681de65a507b506dcaa794c12e
c7272fe84da751271e9d375c8f556e5d198dd36d
'2011-12-21T22:43:02-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEO' 'sip-files00055.txt'
64ec2b99574c3bd3171e713c90cab075
e5ceae21dd39fa76f5cc0c04b82c5a8864d4492b
'2011-12-21T22:43:10-05:00'
describe
'6083' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEP' 'sip-files00055thm.jpg'
01dd0d94759e46c9d67fdabba1aae7a5
ae7c3d9f2913b0b3958e7c62c34df433f63b2f1d
'2011-12-21T22:42:51-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEQ' 'sip-files00056.jp2'
246a3ad76cbbf101c1457874ddb4ad51
928f2e318fd243957b7cd9308fdbaa9f4d57883d
describe
'101045' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGER' 'sip-files00056.jpg'
2f6ba18ce0ab3ea248fd7c805728528b
2904e39891d1987673af24ee5f3db104f96c077b
describe
'38936' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGES' 'sip-files00056.pro'
48de895f0e0f2a0896800047faa1153d
34993196cd85d8bdbe758b3770891f164a624466
describe
'26754' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGET' 'sip-files00056.QC.jpg'
5c54cf9ffd2d2f8467f7c9e55b68fcfa
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEU' 'sip-files00056.tif'
043b921c9db0823ab0b9b72898bfdb7c
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describe
'1549' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEV' 'sip-files00056.txt'
7bb7e1d98f6271ebf59079036f02f8ba
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describe
'6575' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEW' 'sip-files00056thm.jpg'
6bbbd8fe9e1f16c4c16eaf258ed90a87
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describe
'533991' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEX' 'sip-files00057.jp2'
40b252da4fbd2d2dcbcc51b81452b9fd
502fb805f290a57ae2d9ced1015fa4009f075264
describe
'98183' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEY' 'sip-files00057.jpg'
9c6e8a3242b9f66a97d2d17e68cded7a
046863cd0de012743914b8bcbe24dc9214177dec
'2011-12-21T22:43:28-05:00'
describe
'37517' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGEZ' 'sip-files00057.pro'
d08316b6228c26a71fb808b81a5a1308
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describe
'25740' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFA' 'sip-files00057.QC.jpg'
13e75acf24ae699ad366ee3cd340f022
441bd4ecfae442a2c669196625c017652b2ad524
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFB' 'sip-files00057.tif'
418b233a68ca703dd3f9527223de0b65
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describe
'1495' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFC' 'sip-files00057.txt'
6c0638d142025206aa6955a9611dcae3
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describe
'6282' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFD' 'sip-files00057thm.jpg'
acf3a1d3a3ef820a8b6a3d1fa34fb64c
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describe
'533960' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFE' 'sip-files00058.jp2'
0b6a327fa48a1dc1ac92b6743fd8137d
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describe
'97809' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFF' 'sip-files00058.jpg'
eb733fee819a82497e566f823d30bf9a
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describe
'38432' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFG' 'sip-files00058.pro'
782c2796ed7a90b2500a078b1874d5bd
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describe
'25956' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFH' 'sip-files00058.QC.jpg'
eb8e22674d5b53a6ae3a1cf6f7991762
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFI' 'sip-files00058.tif'
4003e1696df52b7f8bf5222ff393095a
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFJ' 'sip-files00058.txt'
a88eb388711685d35c6b9c9cd9835e31
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describe
'6177' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFK' 'sip-files00058thm.jpg'
eb489ffd5d6188e019258129d86321cb
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describe
'533946' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFL' 'sip-files00059.jp2'
f61d55790af52a2cf32cec59ed955729
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describe
'98810' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFM' 'sip-files00059.jpg'
e2d57d4526678a011f798ff91d60c54a
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describe
'38756' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFN' 'sip-files00059.pro'
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describe
'26508' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFO' 'sip-files00059.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFP' 'sip-files00059.tif'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFQ' 'sip-files00059.txt'
a56e8109c33652c36579695bc29f6fb7
617e2e0f74580dff38ed87e9dee57219d872f21f
describe
'6502' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFR' 'sip-files00059thm.jpg'
9e1ce85e1be5c55c44c40e36a6e14e4f
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describe
'533910' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFS' 'sip-files00060.jp2'
05a448ee01dd6df2a6e867ed9cb52316
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describe
'102485' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFT' 'sip-files00060.jpg'
fb2e96699346acbf74229435dcdf3859
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describe
'40785' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFU' 'sip-files00060.pro'
e2157f66b4221a72946b74d5a6e75662
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describe
'27405' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFV' 'sip-files00060.QC.jpg'
5d24f1c9b70ea7716622371080e07b2e
54755b1c4e838325459f539ce48df1d0c32cb4c3
'2011-12-21T22:43:19-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFW' 'sip-files00060.tif'
91621911efee06cdc6e6b367e203aab8
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describe
'1611' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFX' 'sip-files00060.txt'
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describe
'6220' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFY' 'sip-files00060thm.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGFZ' 'sip-files00061.jp2'
a7b9f6c72682f9be32f2afe5ac6b2b56
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describe
'104449' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGA' 'sip-files00061.jpg'
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describe
'41190' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGB' 'sip-files00061.pro'
b8cb3e2e3a77b69d5b54121aa5e8472c
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describe
'27449' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGC' 'sip-files00061.QC.jpg'
8ae4762c6af1133936be353c7785aa39
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGD' 'sip-files00061.tif'
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describe
'1621' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGE' 'sip-files00061.txt'
a59ef09b2a1bb796de0d7d95a6aacdae
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describe
'6305' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGF' 'sip-files00061thm.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGG' 'sip-files00062.jp2'
55ee8cd2907f827e3f09ca4a69322c81
5d2714dd0a2abbf127bca8b97761a95bfee2dd53
'2011-12-21T22:43:42-05:00'
describe
'105342' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGH' 'sip-files00062.jpg'
bc14ff2bd59c294422a4f43bd86216c8
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describe
'42416' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGI' 'sip-files00062.pro'
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describe
'27888' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGJ' 'sip-files00062.QC.jpg'
1c7d21e7fc2e94feb3fb98a7a0cef2b4
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGK' 'sip-files00062.tif'
5db7a8c3fc20236bd21fc7d237eb3c94
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGL' 'sip-files00062.txt'
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describe
'6382' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGM' 'sip-files00062thm.jpg'
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describe
'533964' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGN' 'sip-files00063.jp2'
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describe
'103692' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGO' 'sip-files00063.jpg'
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describe
'42006' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGP' 'sip-files00063.pro'
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describe
'27078' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGQ' 'sip-files00063.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGR' 'sip-files00063.tif'
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describe
'1647' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGS' 'sip-files00063.txt'
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describe
'6493' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGT' 'sip-files00063thm.jpg'
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describe
'533973' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGU' 'sip-files00064.jp2'
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describe
'97042' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGV' 'sip-files00064.jpg'
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describe
'39042' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGW' 'sip-files00064.pro'
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describe
'26088' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGX' 'sip-files00064.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGY' 'sip-files00064.tif'
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describe
'1559' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGGZ' 'sip-files00064.txt'
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describe
'6174' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHA' 'sip-files00064thm.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHB' 'sip-files00065.jp2'
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describe
'100574' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHC' 'sip-files00065.jpg'
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describe
'40758' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHD' 'sip-files00065.pro'
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describe
'26849' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHE' 'sip-files00065.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHF' 'sip-files00065.tif'
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describe
'1614' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHG' 'sip-files00065.txt'
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describe
'6371' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHH' 'sip-files00065thm.jpg'
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describe
'533950' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHI' 'sip-files00066.jp2'
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describe
'100414' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHJ' 'sip-files00066.jpg'
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describe
'41876' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHK' 'sip-files00066.pro'
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describe
'26724' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHL' 'sip-files00066.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHM' 'sip-files00066.tif'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHN' 'sip-files00066.txt'
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describe
'6240' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHO' 'sip-files00066thm.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHP' 'sip-files00067.jp2'
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describe
'97113' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHQ' 'sip-files00067.jpg'
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describe
'38028' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHR' 'sip-files00067.pro'
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describe
'26239' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHS' 'sip-files00067.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHT' 'sip-files00067.tif'
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describe
'1514' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHU' 'sip-files00067.txt'
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describe
'6457' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHV' 'sip-files00067thm.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHW' 'sip-files00068.jp2'
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describe
'99865' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHX' 'sip-files00068.jpg'
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describe
'39888' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHY' 'sip-files00068.pro'
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describe
'26845' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGHZ' 'sip-files00068.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIA' 'sip-files00068.tif'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIB' 'sip-files00068.txt'
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describe
'6560' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIC' 'sip-files00068thm.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGID' 'sip-files00069.jp2'
d5176ea3fe1a7ca56169544c4d98eb42
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'2011-12-21T22:43:39-05:00'
describe
'95671' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIE' 'sip-files00069.jpg'
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describe
'37975' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIF' 'sip-files00069.pro'
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describe
'25856' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIG' 'sip-files00069.QC.jpg'
5a247bf2407cd7878bb5940f54ee98e5
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIH' 'sip-files00069.tif'
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describe
'1501' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGII' 'sip-files00069.txt'
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describe
'6251' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIJ' 'sip-files00069thm.jpg'
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describe
'533755' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIK' 'sip-files00070.jp2'
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describe
'63907' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIL' 'sip-files00070.jpg'
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describe
'23590' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIM' 'sip-files00070.pro'
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describe
'16872' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIN' 'sip-files00070.QC.jpg'
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describe
'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIO' 'sip-files00070.tif'
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describe
'936' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIP' 'sip-files00070.txt'
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describe
'4348' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIQ' 'sip-files00070thm.jpg'
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describe
'592079' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIR' 'sip-files00075.jp2'
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describe
'86682' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIS' 'sip-files00075.jpg'
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describe
'16269' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIT' 'sip-files00075.pro'
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describe
'20646' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIU' 'sip-files00075.QC.jpg'
0f3e0586ff66428bda1b946bc5adc8b2
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'2011-12-21T22:42:19-05:00'
describe
'14217592' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIV' 'sip-files00075.tif'
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describe
'757' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIW' 'sip-files00075.txt'
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describe
Invalid character
'5558' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIX' 'sip-files00075thm.jpg'
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describe
'592383' 'info:fdaE20081204_AAADCXfileF20081208_AAAGIY' 'sip-files00076.jp2'
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describe
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Bena ee ag gaa eee :
BY OUIDA

A Doc oF FLANperS, AND OTHER Srortes.
Bist.
Two Lirrrte Wooven SuHogs.

With illustrations by Edmund H Garrett.
Suall Quarto. Cloth, $1.50 per volume.

STORIES FOR CHILDREN.

Tue NiUrnperc STove.

MovurF1ou, anp OTHER STORIES.

Tue Littce Earv.

A Doc oF Fianpers,

In rHe ApeLe-CouNTRY AND FINDELKIND.

With illustrations by Edutund H. Garrett.
Sutall Quarto. Cloth, 60 cents per volume.

In her manner of telling these little tales
there is a remarkable resemblance to Haw-
thorne’s writings for the young, while in inven-
tion and imagination the author pushes closely
the writers of classic juveniles. Moreover,
each one of the stories contains a wise moral,
Mr. Garrett has well illustrated the volumes.
THE LITTLE EARL.







1 eRe

Se Si







“WILL YOU BE SO KIND AS TO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU ARE EATING?”
Tae LIPILE EARL

BY

LOUISA DE LA RAME
(OUIDA)

ILLUSTRATED BY

EDMUND H. GARRETT



PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1898
Coprrient, 1892,
BY
J.B. Lippincott Company.
THE LITTLE EARL.

THE little Earl was a very little one indeed, as
far as years and stature were, but he was a very big
one if you consider his possessions and his impor-
tance. He was only a month old when his father
died, and only six months old when his mother, too,
left him for the cold damp vault, with its marbles
and its rows of velvet coftins,—a vault that was very
grand, but so chilly and so desolate that when they
took the little Earl there on holy-days to lay his
flowers down upon the dead he could never sleep for
nights afterwards, remembering its darkness and
solemnity.

The little Earl was called Hubert Hugh Lupus
Alured Beaudesert, and was the Earl of Avillion and
Lantrissaint ; but by his own friends and his grand-
mother and his old nurse he was called only Bertie.

He was eight years old in the summer-time, when
there befell him the adventure I am going now to relate
to you, and he was, for his age, quite a baby; he was
slender and slight, and he had a sweet little face like a
flower, with very big eyes, and a quantity of fair hair
cut after the fashion of the Reynolds and Gains-
borough children. He had always been kept as if he

. were a china doll that would break at a touch. His

7
8 THE LITTLE EARL.

grandmother and his uncle had been left the sole charge
of him; and as they were both invalids, and the latter
a priest, and both dwelt in great retirement at the castle
of Avillion, the little Earl’s little life had not been a
boy’s life.

He had always been tranquil, for every one loved
him, and he had all things that he wished for; yet he
was treated more as if he were a rare flower or a most
fragile piece of porcelain, than a little bright boy of
real flesh and blood; and, without knowing it, he was
often tired of all his cotton-wool. He was such a tiny
fellow, you see, to be the head of his race, and the last
of it too; for there were no others of this great race
from which he had sprung, and his uncle, as a priest,
could never marry. ‘Thus so much depended on this
small short life that the fuss made over him, and the
care taken of him, had ended in making him so in-
capable of taking any care of himself that if he had
ever got out alone in a street he would have been run
over to a certainty, and as he grew older he grew sad
and feverish, and chafed because he was never allowed
to do the things that all boys by instinct love to do.
By nature the little Earl was very brave, but he was
made timid by incessant cautions; and as he was, too,
by nature very thoughtful, the seclusion from other
children in which he was brought up made him too
serious for his age.

Avillion was deep-bosomed in woods, throned high
above a lake and moors and mountains, and setting its
vast stone buttresses firmly down into the greenest,
smoothest turf in all the green west country of Eng-
land; a grand and glorious place, famous in history,
THE LITTLE EARL. 9

full of majesty and magnificence, and sung to, forever,
by the deep music of the Atlantic waves. Once upon
a time the Arthurian Court that Mr. Tennyson has told
you of so often had held its solemn jousts and its blame-
less revels there; at least, so said the story of Avillion,
as told in ballads of the country-side,—more trust-
worthy historians than most people think.

All those ballads the little Earl knew by heart, and
he loved them more than anything, for Deborah, his
nurse, had crooned them over his cradle before ever he
could understand even the words of them; so that
Arthur and Launcelot, and Sir Gawain and Sir Gala-
had, and all the knightly lives that were once at Tin-
tagel, were more real to him than the living figures
about him, and these fancies served him as his play-
mates,—for he had few others, except his dog Ralph and
his pony Royal. His relatives were ailing, melancholy,
attached to silence and solitude, and though they would
have melted gold and pearls for Bertie’s drinking if
he could have drunk them, never bethought themselves
that noise and romps and laughter and fun and a little
spice of peril are all things without which a child’s life
is as dead and spiritless as a squirrel’s in a cage. And
Bertie did not know it either. He studied under his
tutor, Father Philip, a noble and learned old man, and
he was caressed and cosseted by his nurse Deborah, and
he wore beautiful little dresses, most usually of velvet
and he had wonderful toys that were sent from Paris,
automatons that danced and fenced and played the
guitar, and animals that did just what live animals do,
and Punches and puppets that played and mimicked by
clock-work, and little yachts that sailed by clock-work
10 5 THE LITTLE EARL.

and whole armies of soldiers, and marvellous games
costly and splendid; but he had nobody to play at all
these things with, and it was dull work playing with
them by himself. Deborah played with them in the
best way she knew, but she was not a child, being sixty-
six years old, and was of a slow imagination and of
rheumatic movements.

“ Run and play,” Father Philip would often say to
him, taking him perforce from his books; but the
little Earl would answer, sadly, “I have nobody to
play with !”

That want of his attracted no attention from all
those people who loved the ground his little feet trod
on; he was surrounded with every splendor and indul-
gence, he had half the toys of the Palais Royal in his
nursery, and he had a bed to sleep in of ivory inlaid
with silver, that had once belonged to the little King
of Rome; millions of money were being stored up for
him, and lands wide enough to make a principality
called him lord: it never occurred to anybody that the
little Earl of Avillion was not the most fortunate child
that lived under the sun.

“Why do people all call me ‘my lord’?” he asked
one day, suddenly becoming observant of this fact.

“ Because you are my lord,” said Deborah,—which
did not content him.

He asked Father Philip.

“My dear little boy, it is your title: think not of
it save as an obligation to bear your rank well and
without stain.”

At last the little Earl grew so pale and thin and so
delicate in health that the physician who was always
THE LITTLE EARL. 11

watching over him said to his grandmother that the boy
wanted change of air, and advised the southern coast
for him, and cessation of almost all study; which order
grieved Father Philip sorely, for Bertie could read his
Livy well, and was beginning to spell through his
Xenophon, and it cut the learned gentleman to the
heart that his pupil should give up all this and go back
on the royal road to learning. For both he and his
uncle were resolved that the little Earl should be very
learned, and the boy was eager enough to learn, only
he liked still better knowing how the flowers grew, and
why the birds could fly while he could not, and how
the wood-bee made his neat house in the tree-trunk, and
the beaver built his dam across the river,—inquiries
which everybody about him was inclined to discourage.
Natural science was not looked on with favor in the
nursery and school-room of Avillion. It was considered
to lead people astray.

So the little Earl was moved southward, with his
grandmother, and his nurse, and his physician, and
Ralph and Royal,—for he would not go without them,
—and several servants as well. They were to go to
Shanklin in the Isle of Wight, and they made the
journey by sea in the beautiful sailing-yacht which was
waiting for Bertie’s manhood, after having been the
idol of his father’s. On board, the little Earl was well
amused; but he worried every one about him by ques-
tions as to the fishes.

“Lord, child! they are but nasty clammy things,
only nice when they are cooked,” said his nurse; and
his grandmamma said to him, “ Dear, they were made
_ to live in the sea, just as the birds are made to fly in
12 THE LITTLE EARL,

the air.” And this did not satisfy the little man at all;
but he could get no more information, for the doctor,
who could have told him a good deal, was under the
thumb of his stately mistress, and Lady Avillion had
said very sternly that the boy was not to be encouraged
in his nonsense: what he must be taught were the
duties of his position and all he owed to the country,—
the poor little Earl!

He was a very small, slender, pale-cheeked lord in-
deed, with his golden hair hanging over his puzzled
forehead, that used to ache sometimes with carrying
Xenophon and Livy, and underneath the hair two
great wondering blue eyes, of a blue so dark that they
were like wet violets. His hands were tiny and thin,
and his legs, clad in their red-silk stockings and black-
velvet breeches, were like two sticks: people who saw
him go by whispered about him and said all the poor
little fellow’s rank and riches would not keep him long
in the land of the living. Once the little Earl heard
that said, and understood what it meant, and thought
to himself, “I shouldn’t mind dying if I could take
Ralph: perhaps there would be somebody to play with
there.”

It was May, and there were not many folks at
Shanklin: still, there were two or three children he
might have played with, but his grandmamma thought
them vulgar children, not fit playmates for him; and
so the poor little Earl, with the burden of his great-
ness, had to walk soberly and sadly past them, with
his little tired red-stockinged legs, while the little girls
said to each other, ina whisper, “There’s a little lord !”
and the boys hallooed out, “ He’s the swell that owns
THE LITTLE EARL. 13

the schooner.” Bertie would sigh, as he heard: what
was the use of owning the schooner, when you had no
one to play with on it, and never could do what you
liked ?

You have never seen Shanklin, for you have never
been in England; and if you do go now, you will
never see it as it was when Bertie walked there, when
it was the prettiest and most primitive little place in
England; now, they tell me, it has been made into a
watering-place, with a pier and an esplanade.

Shanklin used to be a little green mossy village cov-
ered up in honeysuckle and hawthorn ; low long houses,
green too with ivy and creepers, hid themselves away
in sweet-smelling old-fashioned gardens; yellow roads
ran between high banks and hedges out to the green
down or downward to the ripple of the sea; and the
cool brown sands, glistening and firm, twice a day felt
the kiss of the tide. The cliffs were brown too, for the
most part; some were white; the gray sea stretched in
front; and the glory of the place was its leafy chine
and ravine that severed the rocks and was full of
foliage and of the sound of birds. It used to be all
so quiet there; now and then there passed in the offing
a brig or a yacht or a man-of-war; now and then
farmers’ carts came in from the downs by Appuldur-
combe or the farms beyond the Undercliff; there were
some fishing-cabins by the beach, and one old inn with
a long grassy garden, where the coaches used to stop
that ran through the quiet country from Ryde to
Ventnor. It was so green, so still, so friendly, so
fresh ; when I think of it I hear the swish of its lazy
‘vaves, and I smell the smell of its eglantine hedges,
14 THE LITTLE EARL,

and I see the big brown eyes of my gallant dog as he
came breathless up from the sea.

Alas! you will never see it so. The hedges are
down, they tell me, and the grand dog is dead, and the
hateful engine tears through the fields, and the sands
are beaten to make an esplanade, and the beach is
noisy and hideous with the bray of bands and the
laughter of fools.

What will the world be like when you are twenty?
Very frightful, I fear. This is progress, they say ?

But what of the little Earl? you ask.

Well, the little Earl knew Shanklin as I knew it,—
when the blackbirds and thrushes sang in the quiet
chine, and the sense of an infinite peace dwelt on its
simple shores. His grandmamma had taken for the
summer the house that stands in its woods at the head
of the chine and looks straight down that rift of
greenery to the gray sea. I know not what that house
is now; then it was charming, chalet-like, yet spa-
cious.

Here the little Earl was set free of his studies and
kept out in the air when it was fine, and when it
rained was sent, not to his books, but to his toys. Yet
it did not seem to him any great change; for when he
rode, James was with him; and when he walked,
Deborah was with him ; and when he bathed, William
was with him; and when he was only in the garden,
there was grandmamma.

He was never alone. Oh, how he longed to be alone
sometimes! And he never had any playfellows: how
he would watch those two or three vulgar little boys

building sand-castles and sailing their boats! He
22
THE LITTLE EARL. 15

would have given all his big schooner and its crew te
be one of those little boys.

He had a cruise now and then off the island, and the
skipper came up bare-headed and hoped my lord en-
joyed the sail; but he did not enjoy it. William and
Deborah were always after him, telling him to mind
this, and take care of that, till he wished his pretty
snow-white sailor dress with the gold buttons were
only rags and tatters! For the poor little Earl was
an adventurous and curious little lad at heart, and had
a spirit of his own, though he was so meek; and he
was tired of being treated like a baby.

His eighth birthday came round in June, and won-
derful and magnificent were the presents he had sent
him ; but he only felt a little more tired than he had
done before; the bonbons he was not allowed to eat,
the splendidly-bound books seemed nonsense to a little
classic who read Livy; the toys he did not care for,
and the gold dressing-case his grandmamma gave him
was no pleasure: he had one in silver, and his very
hair he was never permitted to brush himself.

“ As I may not eat the bonbons, might I send them
all to the children on the sands?” he asked wistfully
of his grandmother.

“Tmpossible, my love,” she answered. “We do not
know who they are.”

“‘May I give them to the poor children then?” said
the little lad.

“That would hardly be wise, dear. It would give
them a taste for luxuries.”

Bertie sighed: life on this his eighth birthday seemed

' very empty.
16 THE LITTLE EARL.

“Why are people strangers to each other? Why
.oes not everybody speak to every one else ?” he said
at last, desperately. “St. Paul says we are all brothers,
and St. Francis ——”

“ My dear child, do not talk nonsense,” said Lady
Avillion. “We shall have you a Radical when you
are of age!”

“¢ What is that?” said Bertie.

“The people who slew your dear Charles the First
were Radicals,” said his grandmother, cleverly.

He was discouraged and silent. He went sorrow-
fully and leaned against one of the windows and looked
down the green vista of the chine. It was raining, and
they would not let him go out of doors. He thought
to himself, “ What use is it calling me ‘my lord,’ and
telling me I own so much, and bowing down before
me, if I may never do once, just once, as I like? I
know I am a little boy; but then, if I am an Earl, if
I am good enough to be that, I ought to be able to do
once as I like. Else, if not, what is the use? And
why does the skipper say always to me, ‘ Your lord-
ship is owner here’ ?”

And then a fancy came into his little head. Was
he like the Princes in the Tower? Was he a prisoner,
after all? His little mind was full of the pageant of
history, and he made his mind up now that he was a
princely captive watched and warded.

“Tell me, dear Deb,” he said, catching his nurse
by the sleeve as she turned from his bed that night,
“tell me, is it not true that I am in prison, though

you are all so kind to me; that somebody else wants
my throne ?”


THE LITTLE EARL, 17

Nurse Deborah thought he was “ off his head,” and
ran to the physician for a cooling draught, and sat up
in fright all the night, not even reassured by his sound
tranquil sleep.

Bertie asked her nothing more.

He was more sure than ever that a captive he was,
kept in kindly and honorable durance, like James of
Scotland in the Green Tower.

Whilst he was lying awake, a grand and startling
idea dawned on him: What if he were to go out and
see the world for himself? This notion has fascinated
many a child before him. Did not St. Teresa of Spain,
when she was a little thing, toddle out with a tiny
brother over the brown sierras? So absolutely now
did this enterprise dazzle and conquer the little Earl
that before night was half-way over he had persuaded.
himself that a prisoner he was, and that his stolen
kingdom he would go and find, just as the knights in
his favorite tales sallied forth to seek the Holy Grail.
The passion for adventure, for escape, for finding out
the truth, grew so strong on him that at the first flush
of daybreak he slid out of bed and resolved that go
alone he would. He longed to take Ralph, but he
feared it would not be right: who knew what perils or
pains awaited him?—and to make the dog sharer in
them seemed selfish. So he threw a glove of his own
for Ralph to guard, bade him be still, and set about
his own flight.

He made a sad bungle of dressing himself, for he
had never clothed himself in his life; but at last he
got the things on somehow, and most of them hind-
_part-before. But he did it all without awaking Deb-
18 THE LITTLE EARL.

orah, and, taking his sailor-hat, he managed to drop
out of the window on to the sward below without any
one being aware.

It was quite early day; the sky was red, the shadows
and the mists were still there, the birds were piping
good-morrow to each other.

“How lovely it is!” he thought. “Ob, why doesn’t
everybody get up at sunrise ?”

He knew, however, that if he wanted to see the
world by himself he must not tarry there and think
about the dawn. So off he set, as fast as his not very
strong legs could carry him, and he got down to the
shore.

The fog was on the sea and screened it from his
sight, and there was no one on the beach except a boy
getting nets ready in an old boat. To the boy ran
Bertie, and held to him two half-crowns. “ Will you
row me to Bonchurch for that?” he asked.

The boy grinned. “For sure, little master; and
I’d like to row a dozen at the price.”

Into the boat jumped the little Earl, with all the
feverish agility given to prisoners, who are escaping,
by their freed instincts. It was a very old, dirty boat,
and soiled his pretty white clothes terribly, but he had
no eyes for that, he so enjoyed that delicious sense of
‘being all alone and doing just as he liked. The boy
was a big boy and strong, and rowed with a will; and
the old tub went jumping and bobbing and splashing
through the rather heavy swell. The gig of his yacht
was a smart, long boat, beautifully clean, and with
rowers all dressed in red caps and white jerseys; but

the little Earl had never enjoyed rowing in that half
r 22*
THE LITTLE EARL. 19

so much. There had been always somebody to look
after him and say, “Don’t lean over the side,” or,
“Mind the water does not splash you,” or, “Take
care!” Qh, that tiresome “Take care!” It makes a
boy want to jump head-foremost into the sea, or fling
himself head-downwards from the nearest apple-tree!
I know you have felt so yourself twenty times a week,
though I do not tell you that you were right.

Nothing is prettier than the Undercliff as you look
up at it from the sea,—a tangle of myrtle and laurel
and beech and birch coming down to the very shore,
all as Nature made it. Bertie, as the boat wabbled
along like a fat old duck, looked up at it and was en-
chanted, and then he looked at the white wall of mist
on the waters, and was enchanted too. It was like
Wonderland. His dreams were broken by the fisher-
lad’s voice :

“T’'ll have to put you ashore at the creek, little mas-
ter, and get back, or daddy ’Il give me a hiding.”

“Who is ‘ daddy’ ?”

“Father,” said the boy. “He'll lick me, for the
tub’s his’n.”

Bertie was perplexed. He had heard of bears being
licked into shape by their fathers and mothers, but this
boy, though rough and rather shapeless, looked too old
for such treatment.

“You were a wicked boy to use the boat, then,” he
said, with great severity.

The Jad only grinned.

“ Little master, you tipped me a crown.”

“T did not mean to tempt you to do wrong,” said
Bertie, very seriously still; and then he colored, for
20 THE LITTLE EARL.

was he very sure that he was not doing wrong him-
self ?

The old boat was grinding on the shingle then, and
the rower of it was putting him ashore at a little creek
that was wooded and pretty, and up which the sea ran
at high tide; there was a little cottage at the head cf
it. I have heard that this wood-glen used to be in the
old time a very famous place for smugglers, and it is
still solitary and romantic, or at least was so still
when the little Earl was set down there. “ Where
am 1?” he asked the boy. But the wicked boy
only grinned, and began to wabble back through the
water as fast as his long slashing strokes could carry
him. The little Earl felt rather foolish and rather
helpless.

He was not far on his way towards seeing the world,
and he began to wish for some breakfast. There was
smoke going out of a chimney of the cottage, and the
door of it stood open, but he was afraid the people there
might stop him if he asked for anything, and, besides,
the path up to it through the glen looked rocky and
thorny and impassable, so he kept along by the beach,
finding it heavy walking, for there were more stones
than sands, and the beach was strewn with rocks, large
and small, and stiff prickly furze. But he had the sea
beside him and the world before him, and he walked
on bravely, and in a little while he came into Bon-
church. It was very early yet, and Bonchurch was
asleep, and most of its snug thatched houses, hidden
away in their gardens and fuchsia hedges, were shut
up snugly; the tall trees of its one street made a deep
shadow in it, and the broad placid water of its great
THE LITTLE BARL. 21

pool was green with their reflection: it was a sweet,
quiet place, leafy as any haunt for fairies, yet on the
very edge of the sea.

At a baker’s shop, a woman was lifting down the
shutters. The little Earl took his hat off very prettily
and said to her,—

“Tf you please, will you be kind enough to sell me
some bread-and-milk ?”

The woman stared, then laughed.

“Lord bless your pretty face! I only sell bread, but
T’ll give you some milk in, for sake of your pinched
cheeks. Come along inside, little gentleman.”

He went inside; it seemed a very funny place to
him, so small and so dark, and so dusty with flour ;
but the smell of baking was sweet, and he was hungry.

She bustled about a little, and set before him a bowl
of bread-and-milk, with a wooden spoon to eat it with.
The little Earl put his hand in his pocket to pay for it ;
lo! he had not a farthing !

He turned very red, and then very white, and thought
to himself that the money must have tumbled into the
sea with his watch, which was missing too.

Tt did not occur to him that the wicked boy had
taken both ; yet such was the sad fact.

He rose, very sorrowful and confused and ashamed.

“Madam, I beg your pardon,” he said, in his little
ceremonious way: “I thought I had money, but I
have lost it. Thank you very much, but I cannot
take the food.”

The woman was good-natured and shrewd.

“Lord !\sup it up, my dear little gentleman,” she
said to him. “You are welcome to it,—right wel-
22 THE LITTLE EARL.

come, you are; and your pa and your ma can pay for
it.”

“ No, no,” murmured Bertie, getting very red; and,.
fearing lest his longing for the meal should overcome
his honor, he stumbled out of the baking-house door
and ran up the tree-shadowed road faster than ever he
had run in his life.

To be sure, he had plenty of money of his own;
they all said so; but he never knew well where it was,
or what it meant; and, besides, he intended never to
go back to his grandmother and Deborah and Ralph
and Royal any more, till he had found out the truth
and seen his kingdom.

So he ran on through Bonchurch and out of it, leav-
ing its pleasant green shade with a little sigh, half of
impatience, half of hunger. He did not go on by the
sea, for he knew by hearsay that this way would take
him to Ventnor, and he was afraid people in a town
would know him and stop him; so he set forth inland,
where the deep lanes delve through the grassy downs ;
and here, sitting on a stile, the little Earl saw the
ploughboy eating something white and round and big
that he himself had never seen before.

“Tt must be something very delicious to make him
enjoy it so much,” thought the little Earl, and then
suriosity entered so into him, and he longed so much
to taste this wonderful unknown thing, that he went
up to the boy and said to him,—

“Will you be so kind as to let me know what you
are eating ?”

The ploughboy grinned from ear to ear.

“ For certain, little zurr,” he said, with a burr and
THE LITTLE EARL, 23

a drawl in his speech, and he gave the thing to Bertie,
which was neither more nor less than a peeled turnip.

The little Earl looked at it doubtfully, for he did
not much fancy what the other had handled with
his. big brown hands and bitten with his big yellow
teeth. But then, to enjoy anything as much as that
other had enjoyed it, and to taste something quite
unknown !—this counterbalanced his disgust-and over-
ruled his delicacy. One side of the great white thing
was unbitten; he took an eager tremulous little bite
out of that.

“But, oh!” he cried in dismay as he tasted, “it has
no taste at all, and what there is is nasty !”

“Turnips is main good,” said the boy.

“Oh, no!” said the little Earl, with intense horror ;
and he threw the turnip down amongst the grass, and
went away sorely puzzled.

“Tittle master,” roared Hodge after him, “I'll bet
as you aren’t hungry.”

That was it, of course.

The little Earl was not really hungry,—never had
been really hungry in all his life. But this explana-
tion of natural philosophy did not occur to him, not
even when the boy hallooed it after him. He only said
to himself, “How can that boy eat that filthy thing?
and he really did look as if he liked it so!”

Presently, after trotting a mile or so, he passed a
little shop set all by itself at the end of a lane,—sure.y
the tiniest, loneliest shop in Great Britain. But a
cheery-looking old woman kept it, and he saw it had
bread in it, as well as many other stuffs, and tin canis-
ters that were to him incomprehensible.
94 THE LITTLE EARL.

“Tf you please,” he said, rather timidly, offering the
gold anchor off the ribbon of his hat, “I have lost my
money, and could you be so kind as to give me any
breakfast for this ?””

The old woman smelt the anchor, bit it, twinkled
her eyes, and then drew a long face. “ It ain’t worth
tuppence, master,” she said; “but ye’re mighty small
to be out by yourself, and puny like: I don’t say as
how I won’t feed yer.”

“Thanks,” said Bertie, who did not know at all
what his anchor was worth.

“Come in out o’ dust,” said the old woman, smartly,
and then she bustled about and set him down in her
little den to milk, bread, and some cold bacon.

That he had no appetite was the despair of his people
and physician at home, and cod-liver oil, steel, quinine,
and all manner of nastiness had been administered to
provoke hunger in him, with no effect: by this time,
however, he had almost as much hunger as the boy who
had munched the turnip.

Nothing had ever tasted to him half so good in his
life.

The old woman eyed him curiously. “You’s a
runaway,” she thought; “but J’ll not raise the
cry after ye, or they’ll come spying about this bit 0’
gold.”

She said to herself that the child would come to no
harm, and when a while had gone by she would step
over to Ryde or Newport and get a guinea on the
brooch.

Her little general shop was not a very prosperous
business, though useful to the field-folk; and sanding
THE LITTLE EARL. 25

her sugar, and putting clay in her mustard, and adding
melted fat to her butter, had not strengthened her moral
principles.

As Bertie was eating, there came a very thin, scantily-
clad, miserable-looking woman, who held out a half-
penny. “A sup 0’ milk for Susy, missus,” she said, in
a very pitiful faint voice.

“How be Sue?” asked the mistress of the shop.
The woman shook her head with tears running down
her hollow cheeks.

“ My boy he’s gone in spinney,” she murmured, “to
try and catch summat, if he can: will you change it,
missus, if he git a good bird ?”

The old woman winked, frowned, and glanced at
Bertie.

“Birds aren’t good eatin’ on fust of July,” she ob-
served, as she handed the milk. The woman paid the
halfpenny and hurried away with the milk.

“TI think that woman is very poor,” said Bertie,
questioningly and solemnly.

The old dame chuckled.

“No doubts o’ that, master.”

“Then you are cruel to take her money: you should
have given her the milk.”

“ Ho, ho, little sir! be you a parson in a gownd?
I’m mappen poor as she, and she hiy desarved all she
gits, for her man he were a poacher, and he died in jail
last Jannivery.”

“A poacher!” said Bertie, with the natural in-
stinctive horror of a landed gentleman. “And her
son was going to snare a bird!” he cried, with light
~ breaking in on him ; “ nd you would give them things
26 THE LITTLE EARL

in exchange for the bird! Oh, what a very cruel,
what a very wicked woman you are!”

For an answer she shied at him a round wooden
trencher, which missed its aim and struck a basket of
eggs and smashed them, and one of the panes of her
shop-window as well.

Bertie got up and walked slowly out of the door,
keeping his eyes upon her.

“When I see a magistrate, I shall tell him about
you,” he said, solemnly: “you tempt poor people: that
is very dreadful.”

The enraged woman, in her outraged feelings, threw
a pail of dirty water after him, some of which splashed
him and completed the disfigurement of his white suit.
He looked up and down to see for the poor woman with
the milk, that he might console her poverty and open
her eyes to her sins; but she was not within sight; and
Bertie reflected that if he stopped to correct other
people’s errors he should never see the world and find
his kingdom.

He had eaten a hearty meal, and his spirits rose and
his heart was full of hope and valor; and if he had
only had Ralph with him, he would have been quite
happy.

So he went away valorously across a broad rolling
down, and about half a mile farther on he came to a
little shed. In the shed were a fire, and a man, and a
pig; in the fire was an iron, and the pig was tied by a
rope to a ring. Bertie saw the man take the red-hot
iron and go up to the pig: Bertie’s face grew blanched
with horror.

“Stop, stop! what are you doing to the pig?” he

M q 23
THE LITTLE EARL, 27

screamed, as he ran in to the man, who looked up and
stared.

“T be branding the pig. Get out, or Til brand
you!” he cried. Bertie held his ground; his eyes
were flashing.

“You wicked, wicked man! Do you not know that
' poor pig was made by God?”

“Dunno,” said the wretch, with a grin. “She'll be
eat by men, come Candlemas! I be marking of her,
’cos T’ll turn her out on the downs with other. Git
out, youngster! you’ve no call here.”

Bertie planted himself firmly on his feet, and doubled
his little fists.

“T will not see you do such a cruelty to a poor dumb
thing,” he said, while he grew white. as death, “I will
not.”

The man scowled and yet grinned.

“Will you beat me, little Hop-o’-my-thumb ?”

Bertie put himself before the poor black pig, who
was squealing from mere fright and the scorch of the
fire.

“You shall not er the pig without killing me first,
‘You are a cruel man.’

The man grew angry.

“Tell you what, youngster: I’ve a mind to try the
Jumping-irons on you for your impudence. You look
like a drowned white kitten. Clear off, if you don’t
want to taste something right red hot.”

Bertie’s whole body grew sick, but he did not move
and he did not quail.

“TY would rather you did it to me than to this poor
thing,” he answered.
98 THE LITTLE EARL.

“T’m blowed!” said the man, relaxing his wrath
from sheer amazement. “ Well, you’re a good plucked
one, you are.”

“Tdo not know what you mean,” said Bertie, a little
haughtily ; ‘but you shall not hurt the pig.”

“Darn me!” yelled the man; “TI’ll burn you, sure
as you live, if you don’t kneel on your bare bones and
beg my pardon.”

“J will not do that.”

“You won’t beg my pardon for cheeking me?”

“No: you are a wicked man.”

Bertie’s eyes closed ; he grew faint ; he fully believed
that in another instant he would feel the hissing fire
of the brand. But he did not yield.

The man’s hand dropped to his side.

“You are a plucked one,” he said, once more.
“ Lord, child, it was a joke. You're such a rare game
un, to humor you, there, [ll let the crittur go without
marking her. But you’re a rare little fool, if you’re
not an angel down from on high.”

- Bertie’s eyes filled with tears. He held his hand out
royally to be kissed, as he was used to do at Avillion.

The big, black-looking man crushed it in his own
brown paw.

“My! you're a game un!” he muttered, with
wonder and awe.

“And you will never, never, never burn pigs any
more?” said Bertie, searching his face with his own
serious large eyes.

“Tl ne’er brand this un,” said the man, with a
shamefaced laugh. “Lord, little sir, you’re the first
as ever got as much as that out of me!”
THE LITTLE EARL. 29

“But you never must do it,” said Bertie, solemnly.
“Tt is wicked of you, and God is angry; and it is
‘very mean for you, such a big man and so strong,
to hurt a defenceless dumb thing. You must never
do it.”

“What is your name, little master?” said the big
man, humbly.

“They call me Avillion.”

“William? Then T’ll say William all the days of
my life at my prayers o’ Sundays,” said the man, with
some emotion, and murmured to himself, “Such a game
un I never seed.”

“Thanks very much,” said Bertie, gently, and then
he lifted his hat politely, and went out of the shed
before the man could recover from his astonishment.
When the little Earl looked back, he saw the giant
pouring water on the fire, and the pig was loose.

“T was afraid,” thought Bertie. “But he should
have burnt me all up every bit: I never would have
given in.”

And something seemed to say in his ear, “The
loveliest thing in all the world is courage that goes
hand in hand with mercy ; and these two together can
work miracles, like magicians.”

By this time Bertie, except for a certain inalienable
grace and refinement that were in his little face and
figure, had few marks of a young gentleman. His
snowy serge was smirched and stained with black-
berries ; his red stockings, from the sea-water and the
field-mud, had none of their original color; his hat
had been bent and crumpled by his fall, and his hair
was rough. Nobody passing him could have dreamt
30 THE LITTLE EARL.

that this sorry wanderer was a little earl. Neverthe-
less, when he had been dressed in his little court suit
and had been taken to see the queen once at Balmoral,
he had never been a quarter so proud nor a tenth part
80 happy. He longed to meet Cromwell, and Richard
the Third, and Gessler, and Nero. He began to feel
like all the knights he had ever read of, and those
were many.

Presently he saw a little maiden weeping. She was
an ugly little maiden, with a shock head of red hair,
and a wide mouth, and a brickdust skin; but she was
crying. In his present heroic mood, he could not pass
her by unconsoled.

“Little girl, why do you cry?” he said, stopping in
the narrow green lane.

She looked at him out of a sharp little eye, and her
face puckered up afresh.

“T’se going to schule, little master !”

“To school, do you mean? And why does that
make you ery? Can you read?”

“Naw,” said the maiden, and sobbed loudly.

“Then why are you not glad to go and learn?” said
Bertie, in his superior wisdom.

“There’s naebody to do nowt at home,” said the red-
haired one, with a howl. “ Mother’s abed sick, and
Tam’s hurt his leg, and who'll mind baby? He’ll
tumble the kittle o’er hisself, I know he will, and
he’ll be scalt to death, ’I1 baby !”

“Dear, dear!” said Bertie, sympathetically. “But
why do you go to school then ?”

“’Cos I isn’t thirteen,” sobbed the shock-haired

nymph: “1’se only ten. And daddy was had up lag
23*
THE LITTLE bAnu. 31

week and pit in prison ’cos he kept me at home. And
if I ain’t at home, who'll mind baby, and who'll bile
the taters, and who'll 2? Oh, how I wish I was
thirteen !”

Bertie did not understand. He had never heard of
the School Board.

“What does your father do?” he asked.

“Works i’ brick-field. All on us work i’ brick-
field. I can take baby to brick-field; he sit in the
clay beautiful, but they awn’t let me take him to
schule, and he’ll be scalt, I know he’ll be scalt. He'll
allers get a-nigh the kittle if he can.”

“ But it is very shocking not to know how to read,”
said the little Earl, very gravely. “You should have
learned that as soon as you could speak. I did.”

“Maybe yours aren’t brick-field folk,” said the little
girl, stung by her agony to sarcasm. “I’ve allers had
a baby to mind, ever since I toddled; first ’twas Tam,
and then ’twas Dick, and now ’tis this un. I dunno
want to read; awn’t make bricks a-readin’,”

“Oh, but you will learn such beautiful things,” said
Bertie. “IJ do think, you know, that you ought to go
to school.”

“So the gemman said as pit dad in th’ lock-up,” said
the recalcitrant one, doggedly. “ Butiful things aren’t
o’ much count, sir, when one’s belly’s empty. I oodn’t
go to the blackguds now, if ’tweren’t as poor dad says
as how I must, ’cos they lock him up.”

“Tt seems very hard to lock him up,” said Bertie,
with increasing sympathy ; “and I think you ought to
obey him and go. I will see if I can find the baby.
Where do you live?”


39 THE LITTLE EARL

She pointed vaguely over the copses and pastures:
“Go on a mile, and you'll see Jim Bracken’s cottage ;
but, Lord love you! you'll ne’er manage baby.”

“T will try,” said Bertie, sweetly. His fancy as well
as his charity was stirred; for he had never, that he
knew of, seen a baby. “But indeed you should go to
school.”

“T’m a-going,” said the groaning and blowsy hero-

ine with a last sob, and then she set off running as

quickly as a pair of her father’s boots, ten times too
large, allowed her, her slate and her books making a
loud clatter as she struggled on her way.

He was by this time very tired, for he was not used
to such long walks; but curiosity and compassion put
fresh spirit into his heart, and his small legs pegged
valorously over the rough ground, the red stockings
and the silver buckles becoming by this time much
begrimed with mud.

He knocked at one cottage door, and saw only a
very cross old woman, who flourished a broom at him.

“No, it bean’t Jim Bracken’s. Get you gone!—yoa
look like a runaway.”

Now, a runaway he was; and, as truth when we are
guilty is always even as a two-edged sword, Bertie
colored up to the roots of his hair, and bolted off as
fast as he could to the only other cottage visible, be-
yond a few acres of mangel-wurzel and all the lucern
family, which the little Earl fancied were shamrocks.
For he was far on in Euclid, could speak German well,
and could spell through Tacitus fairly, but about the
flowers of the field and the grasses no one had ever
thought it worth while to tell him anything at all.


THE LITTLE EARL, 33

Indeed, to tell you the truth, I do not think his tutors
knew anything about them themselves,

This other cottage was so low, so covered up in its
broken thatch, which in turn was covered with lichen,
and was so tumble-down and sorrowful-looking, that
Bertie thought it was a ruined cow-shed. However,
it stood where the school-girl had pointed: so he took
his courage in both hands, as we say in French, and
advanced to it. The rickety door stood open, and he
saw a low miserable bed with a miserable woman lying
on it; a shock-headed boy sprawled on the floor, an-
other crouched before a fire of brambles and sods, and
between the legs of this last boy was a strange, uncouth,
shapeless object, which, but for the fact that it was
crying loudly, never would have appeared to his as-
tonished eyes as the baby for whom was prophesied a
tragic and early end by the kettle. The boy who had
this object in charge stared with two little round eyes.

“ Mamsey, there’s a young gemman,” he said, in an
awed voice.

Bertie took off his hat, and went into the room with
his prettiest grace.

“Tf you please, are you very ill?” he said, in his
little soft voice, to the woman in bed. “I met—I
met—a little girl who was so anxious about the baby,
and I said I would come and see if I could be of any
use a

The woman raised herself on one elbow, and looked
at him with eager, haggard eyes.

“Lord, little sir, there’s naught to be done for us;
—leastways, unless you had a shillin’ or two et

“T have no money,” murmured Bertie, feeling very




34 THE LITTLE EARL.

unlike a little earl in that moment. The woman gave
a weary angry sigh and sank back indifferent.

“Can I do nothing ?” said Bertie, wistfully.

“ By golly!” said the boy on the floor, “ unless you’ve
got a few coppers, little master A

“ Coppers ?” repeated the little Earl.

“ Pence,” said the boy, shortly ; then the baby began
to howl, and the boy shook it.

“Do please not make it scream so,” said Bertie.
“That is what you call the baby, is it not?”

“Ts,” said the boy Dick, sullenly. “This here’s
baby, cuss him! and what bisness be he of yourn ?”

For interference without coppers to follow was a
barren intruder that he was disposed to resent.

“T thought I could amuse him,” said Bertie, timidly.
“T told your sister I would.”

Dick roared into loud guffaws.

“ Baby’d kick you into middle o’ next week, you
poor little puny spindle-shanks !” said this rude boy ;
and Bertie felt that he was very rude, though he had
no idea what was meant by spindle-shanks.

The other boy, who was lying on his stomach,—a
sadly empty little stomach,—here reversed his position
and stared up at Bertie.

“JT think you’re a kind little gemman,” he said,
“and Dick’s cross ’cos he’s broke his legs, and we’ve
had no vittles since yesternoon, and only a sup o’ tea
Peg made afore she went, and mother’s main bad, that
she be.”

And tears rolled down this gentler little lad’s dirty
cheeks.

“Oh, dear, what shall I do?” said Bertie, with a

3


THE LITTLE EARL. 35

sigh: if he had only had the money and the watch
that had fallen into the sea! He looked round him
and felt very sick ; it was all so dirty, so dirty !—and
he had never seen dirt before; and the place smelt
very close and sour, and the children’s clothes were
mere rags, and the woman was all skin and bone, on
her wretched straw bed; and the unhappy baby was
screaming loudly enough to be heard right across the
sea to the French coast.

“Baby, poor baby, don’t ery so !” said Bertie, very
softly, and he dangled the ends of his red sash before
its tearful eyes, and shook them up and down: the at-
tention of the baby was arrested, it ceased to howl, and
put out its hands, and began to laugh instead! Bertie
was very proud of his success, and even the sullen Dick
muttered, “ Well, I never !”

The little Earl undid his scarf and let the baby pull
it towards itself. Dick’s eyes twinkled greedily.

“ Master, that’d sell for summat!”

“Oh, you must not sell it,” said the little Earl,
eagerly. “Tt is to amuse the poor baby. And what
pretty big eyes he has! how he laughs!”

“Your shoes ’ud sell,” muttered Dick.

“Dick! don’t, Dick ! that’s begging,” muttered Tam.
Bertie stared in surprise. To sell his shoes seemed as
odd as to be asked to sell his hair or his hands. The
woman opened her fading, glazing eyes.

“They’re honest boys, little sir: you’ll pardon of
’em; they’ve eat nothing since yesternoon, and then
“twas only a carrot or two, and boys is main hungry.”

“ And have you nothing ?” said Bertie, aghast at the
misery in this unknown world. .
36 THE LITTLE EARL.

How’d we have anything?” said the sick woman,
grimly. “They’ve locked up my man, and Peg’s sent
to school while we starve; and nobody earns nothin’,
for Dick’s broke his leg, and I’ve naught in my breasts
for baby: u

“But would not somebody you work for—or the
priest—?” began Bertie.

“ Passon don’t do nowt for us,—my man’s a Meth-
ody ; and at brick-field they don’t mind us; if we be
there, well an’ good,—we work and get paid; and if
we isn’t there, well—some un else is. That’s all.”
Then she sank back, gasping.

Bertie stood woe-begone and perplexed.

“Did you say my shoes would sell ?” he murmured,
wery miserably, his mind going back to the history of
St. Martin and the cloak.

Dick brightened up at once.

“ Master, I’ll get three shillin’ on *em, maybe more,
down in village yonder.”

“You mus’n’t take the little gemman’s things,” mur-
mured the mother, feebly ; but faintness was stealing
on her, and darkness closing over her sight.

“ Three shillings !” said Bertie, who knew very little
of the value of shillings; “that seems very little! I
think they cost sovereigns. Could you get a loaf of
bread with three shillings?”

“Gu-r-r-r!” grinned Dick, and Bertie understood
that the guttural sound meant assent and rapture.

“ But I cannot walk without shoes.”

“Walk! yah! ye’ll walk better. We niver have no
shoes !” said Dick.

“ Don’t you, really ?”


THE LITTLE EARL. 37

“Golly! no! Ye’ll walk ten times finer; ye won’t
trip, nor stumble, nor nothin’, and ye’ll run as fast
again.”

“ Oh, no, I shall not,” murmured Bertie, and he was
going to say that he would be ashamed to be seen with-
out shoes, only he remembered that, as these boys had
none, that would not be kind. A desperate misery
came over him at the thought of being shoeless, but
then he reasoned with himself, “To give was no
charity if it cost you nothing: did not the saints strip
themselves to the uttermost shred for the poor?”

He stooped and took off his shoes with the silver
buckles on them, and placed them hastily on the floor.

“Take them, if they will get you bread,” he said,
with the color mounting in his face.

Dick seized them with a yell of joy. “ Tarnation
that I can’t go mysel’. Here, Tam, run quick and sell
em to old Nan; and get bread, and meat, and potatoes,
and milk for baby, and Lord knows what; p’raps a gill
' of gin for mammy.”

“JT don’t think we ought to rob little master,
Dick,” murmured little Tam. His brother hurled a
crutch at him, and Tam snatched up the pretty shoes
and fled.

“ My blazes, sir,” said Dick, with rather a shame-
faced look, “if you’d a beast like a lot of fire gnawing
at your belly all night long, yer wouldn’t stick at nowt
to get bread.”

Bertie only imperfectly comprehended. The baby,
tired of the sash, began to cry again; and Dick, grown
good-natured, danced it up and down.

“ How old are you ?” said Bertie.
38 THE LITTLE EARL,

‘ Nigh on eight,” said Dick.

“ Dear me!” sighed the little Earl; this rough, mas-
terful, coarse-tongued boy seemed like a grown man ta
him.

“You won’t split on us?” said Dick, sturdily.

“What is that?” asked Bertie.

“Not tell anybody you give us the shoes: there’d be
a piece of work.”

“ As if one told when one did any kindness!” mur-
mured Bertie, with a disgust he could not quite conceal.
“T mean, when one does one’s duty.”

“But what'll you gammon ’em with at home ?—
they’ll want to know what you’ve done with your
shoes.”

“T am not going home,” said the little Earl, and
there was a something in the way he spoke that silenced
Dick’s tongue,—which he would have called his clap-
per.

“What in the world be the little swell arter?”
thought Dick.

Bertie meanwhile, with some awe and anxiety, was
watching the livid face of the sick woman: he had
never seen illness or death, but it seemed to him that
she was very ill indeed.

“ Are you not anxious about your mother ?” he asked
of the rough boy.

“Yes,” said Dick, sulkily, with the water coming
in his eyes. “Dad’s in the lock-up: that’s wuss still,
young sir.”

“ Not worse than death,” said Bertie, solemnly. “He
will come back.”

“Oh, she’ll come round with a drop of gin and a sup
24
THE LITTLE EARL, 39

of Lroth,” said Dick, confidently. “?Tis all hunger and
frettin’, hers is.”

“JT am glad I gave my shoes,” thought Bertie.
Then there was a long silence, broken only by the
hissing of the green brambles on the fire and the yelps
of the baby.

“Maybe, sir,” said Dick, after a little, “you’d put
the saucepan on? I can’t move with this here leg.
If you’d pit some water out o’ kittle in him, he’ll be
ready for cookin’ when the vittles come.”

“T will do that,” said Bertie, cheerfully, and he set
the saucepan on by lifting it with both hands: it was
very black, and its crock came off on his knicker-
bockers. Then, by Dick’s directions, he found a pair
of old wooden bellows, and blew on the sticks and
sods ; but this he managed s0 ill that Dick wriggled
himself along the floor closer to the fire and did it
himself.

“You're a gaby !” he said to his benefactor.

“ What is that ?” said Bertie.

But Dick felt that it was more prudent not to ex-
plain.

In half an hour Tam burst into the room, breathless
and joyous, his scruples having disappeared under the
basket he bore.

“She gived me five shillin’ !” he shouted ; “and T’s
sure they’s wuth a deal more, ’cos her eyes twinkled
and winked, and she shoved me a peg-top in !”

“Gie us o’t !” shrieked Dick, in an agony at being
bound to the floor with all these good things before his
sight.

- Little Tam, who was very loyal, laid them all out
40 THE LITTLE EARu.

on the ground before his elder: two quartern loaves,
two pounds of beef, onions, potatoes, a bit of bacon,
and a jug of milk.

Dick poured some milk into an old tin mug, and
handed it roughly to Bertie.

“Feed the baby, will yer, whiles Tam and me
cooks ?”

The little Earl took the can, and advanced to the
formidable bundle of rags, who was screaming like a
very hoarse raven.

“T think you should attend to your mother first,”
he said, gently, as the baby made a grab at the little
tin pot, the look of which it seemed to know, and
shook half the milk over itself.

“ Poor mammy !” said Tam, who was gnawing a bit
of bread ; and, with his bread in one hand, he got up
and put a little gin and water quite hot between his
mother’s lips. She swallowed it without opening her
eyes or seeming to be conscious, and Tam climbed down
from the bed again with a clear conscience.

“We'll gie her some broth,” he said, manfully,
while he and Dick, munching bread and raw bacon,
tumbled the beef in a lump into the saucepan, drowned
in water with some whole onions, in the common
fashion of cottage-cooking. The baby, meanwhile, was
placidly swallowing the milk that the little Earl held
for it very carefully, and, when that was done, accepted
a crust that he offered it to suck.

The two boys were crouching before the crackling
fire, munching voraciously, and watching the boiling
of the old black pot. They had quite forgotten their
benefactor.
THE LITTLE EARL. 41

“My! What’ll Peg say when she’s to home?”
chuckled Tam.

“She'll say that she’d ha’ cooked better,” growled
Dick. “Golly! ain’t the fat good ?”

Bertie stood aloof, pleased, and yet sorrowful because
they did not notice him.

Even the baby had so completely centred its mind
in the crust that it had abandoned all memory of the
red scarf.

Bertie looked on a little while, but no one seemed to
remember him. The boys’ eyes were glowing on the
saucepan, and their cheeks were filled out with food as
the cherubs in his chapel at home were puffed out with
air as they blew celestial trumpets.

He went to the door slowly, looked back, and then
retreated into the sunshine.

“Tt would be mean to put them in mind of me,” he
thought, as he withdrew.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through him: a stone
had cut his unshod foot.

“Oh, dear me! how ever shall I walk without any
shoes or boots!” he thought, miserably; and he was
very nearly bursting out crying.

On the edge of these fields was a wood,—a low,
dark, rolling wood,—which looked to the little Earl,
who missed his own forests, inviting and cool and
sweet. By this time it was getting towards noon, and
the sun was hot, and he’ felt thirsty and very tired.
He was sad, too: he was glad to have satisfied those
poor hungry children, but their indifference to him
when they were satisfied was chilling and melancholy.

“But then we ought not to do a kindness that wa
42, THER LITTLE EARL.

may be thanked,” he said to himself. “It is a proper
punishment to me, because I wished to be thanked,
which was mean.”

So he settled, as he usually did, that it was all his
own fault.

Happily for him, the ground was soft with summer
dust, and so he managed to get along the little path
that ran from’ the cottage through the lucern-fields,
and from there the path became grass, which was still
less trying to his little red stockings.

Yet he was anxious and troubled; he felt heavily
weighted for his battle with the world without any
shoes on, and he felt he must look ridiculous. For the
first time, St. Martin did not seem to him so very
much of a hero, because St. Martin’s gift was only a
cloak. Besides, without his sash, the band of his
knickerbockers could be seen; and he was afraid this
was indecent.

Nevertheless, he went on bravely, if lamely. Believe
me, nothing sets the world more straight than thinking
that what is awry in it is one’s self.

The wood, which was a well-known spinney famous
for pheasants, was reached before very long, though
with painful effort. It was chiefly composed of old
- hawthorn-trees and blackthorn, with here and there a
larch or holly. The undergrowth was thick, and the
sunbeams were playing at bo-peep with the shadows.
Far away over the fields and thorns was a glimmer of
blue water, and close around were all manner of ferns,
of foxgloves, of grasses, of boughs. The tired little
Earl sank downward under one of the old thorns with

feet that bled. A wasp had stung him, too, through
24%
THE LITTLE EARL. 43

his stocking, and the stung place was smarting furiously.
“But how much more Christ and the saints suffered !”
thought Bertie, seriously and piously, without the
smallest touch of vanity.

Lying on the moss under all that greenery, he felt
refreshed and soothed, although the foot the wasp had
stung throbbed a good deal.

There were all sorts of pretty things to see: the
pheasants, who were lords of the manor till October
came round, did not mind him in the least, and swept
smoothly by with their long tails like court mantles
sweeping the grass. Blackbirds, those cheeriest of all
birds, pecked at worms and grubs quite near him.
Chaffinches were looking for hairs under the brambles
to make their second summer nest with. Any hairs
serve their purpose,—cows’, horses’, or dogs’; and if
they get a tuft of hare-skin or rabbit-fur they are
furnished for the year. A pair of little white-throats
were busy in a low bush, gathering the catch-weed that
grew thickly there, and a goldfinch was flying away
with a lock of sheep’s wool in his beak. There were
other charming creatures, too: a mole was hurrying to
his underground castle, a nuthatch was at work on a
rotten tree-trunk, and a gray, odd-looking bird was
impaling a dead field-mouse on one of the thorn-
branches. Bertie did not know that this gentleman
was but the gray shrike, once used in hawking ; indeed,
he did not know the names or habits of any of the
birds; and he lay still hidden in the ferns, and watched
them with delight and mute amazement. There were
thousands of such pretty creatures in his own woods
‘and brakes at home, but then he was never alone: he
44 THE LITTLE EARL.

was always either walking with Father Philip or riding
with William, and in neither case was he allowed to
stop and loiter and lie in the grass, and the sonorous
voice of the priest scattered these timid dwellers in the
greenwood as surely as did the tread of the pony’s
hoofs and the barking of Ralph.

“When I am a man I will pass all my life out of
doors, and I will get friends with all these pretty
things, and ask them what they are doing,” he thought;
and he was so entranced in this new world hidden away
under the low hawthorn boughs of this spinney that he
quite forgot he had lost his shoes and did not know
where he would sleep when night came. He had quite
forgotten his own existence, indeed; and this is just
the happiness that comes to us always, when we learn
to love the winged and four-footed brethren that
Nature has placed so near us, and whom, alas! we so
shamefully neglect when we do not do even worse and
persecute them. Bertie was quite oblivious that he
was a runaway, who had started with a very fine idea
or finding out who it was that kept him in prison, and
giving him battle wherever he might be: he was much
more interested in longing to know what the great gray
shrike was, and why it hung up the mouse on the thorn
and flew away. If you do not know any more than
he did, I may tell you that the shrikes are like your
father, and like their game when it has been many
days in the larder. It is one of the few ignoble tastes
in which birds resemble mankind.

The shrike flew away to look for some more mice,
or frogs, or little snakes, or cockroaches, or beetles, for
he is a very useful fellow indeed in the woods, though
THE LITTLE EARL. 45

the keepers are usually silly and wicked encugh to try
and kill him. His home and his young ones were
above in the thicket, and he had stuck all round their
nests insects of all kinds: still, he was a provident
bird, and was of opinion that every one should work
while it is day.

When the shrike flew away after a bumble-bee, the
little Earl fell asleep: what with fatigue, and excite-
ment, and the heat of the sun, a sound, dreamless
slumber fell upon him there among the birds and the
sweet smell of the May buds; and the goldfinch sang
to him, while he slept, such a pretty song that he
heard it though he was so fart asleep. The goldfinch,
though, did not sing for him one bit in the world; he
sang for his wife, who was sitting among her callow
brood hidden away from sight under the leaves, and
with no greater anxiety on her mind than fear of a
possible weasel or rat gnawing at her nest from the
bottom.

When the little Earl awoke, the sun was not full
and golden all about him as it had been; there were
long shadows slanting through the spinney, and there
was a great globe descending behind the downs of the
western horizon. It was probably about six in the
evening. Bertie could not tell, for, unluckily for him,
he had always had a watch to rely upon, and had never
been taught to tell the hour from the “shepherd’s
hour-glass” in the field-flowers, or calculate the time
of day from the length of the shadows. Even now,
though night was so nigh, the thought of where he
should find a bed did not occur to him, for he was
absorbed in a little boy who stood before him,—a very
46 THE LITTLE EARL.

miserable little black-haired, brown-cheeked boy, who
was staring hard at him.

“ Now, he, I am sure, is as poor as Dick and Tam,”
thought the little Earl, “and I have nothing left to
give him.”

The little boy was endeavoring to hide behind his
back a bright bundle of ruffled feathers, and in his
other hand he held a complicated arrangement of twine
and twigs with a pendent noose.

That Bertie did know the look of, for he had seen
his own keepers destroy such things in his own woods,
and had heard them swear when they did so. So his
land-owner’s instincts awoke in him, though the land
was not his.

“Oh, little boy,” he said, rubbing his eyes and
springing to his feet, “what a wicked, wicked little
boy you are! You have been snaring a pheasant !”

The small boy, who was about his age, looked
frightened and penitent: he saw his accuser was a little
gentleman.

“Please, sir, don’t tell on me,” he said, with a
whimper. “T’ll gie ye the bird if ye won’t tell on
me.”

“TI do not want the bird,” said Bertie, with magis-
terial gravity. ‘You are a wicked little boy to offer
it tome. It is not your own, and you have killed it.
You are a thief !”

“Please, sir,” whimpered the little poacher, “dad
allus tooked ’em like this.”

“Then he is a thief’ too,” said Bertie.

“He was a good un to me,” said the small boy, and
then fairly burst out sobbing. “ He was a good un to


THE LITTLE EARL, 47

me, and he’s dead a year come Lady-day, and mother
she’s main bad, and little Susie’s got the croup, and
there’s nowt to eat to home; and I hear Susie cryin’,
cryin’, cryin’, and so I gae to cupboard where dad’s
old tackle be kep, and I gits out this here, and says I
to myself, maybe I’ll git one of them birds i’ spinney,
’cos they make rare broth, and we had a many on ’em
when dad was alive, and Towser.”

“Who was Towser ?”

“He was our lurcher; keeper shot him; he’d bring
of ’em in his mouth like a Chrisen; and gin ye’ll tell
on me, they’ll clap me in prison like they did dad, and
it’s birch rods they’d give yer, and mother’s nowt but
me.”

“T do not know who owns this property,” said Ber-
tie, in his little sedate way, “so I could not tell the
owner, and I should not wish to do it if I could; but
still it is a very wicked thing to snare birds at all, and
when they are game-birds 1t is robbery.”

“T know as how they makes it so,’ demurred the
poacher’s son. “ But dad said as how iy

“No one makes it so,” said Bertie, with a little
righteous anger; “it is so: the birds are not yours,
and so, if you take them, you are a thief.”

The boy put his thumb in his mouth and dangled
his dead pheasant.

A discussion on the game-laws was beyond his pow-
ers, nor was even Bertie conscious of the mighty sub-
ject he was opening, though the instincts of the land-
owner were naturally in him, and it seemed to him so
shocking to find a boy with such views as this as to
meum and tuum, that he almost fancied the sun would


48 THE LITTLE EARL.

fall from the sky. The sun, however, glowed on, low
down in the wood beyond a belt of firs, and the green
downs, and the gray sea; and the little sinner stood
before him, fascinated by his appearance and fright-
ened at his words.

~ Do you know who owns this coppice?” asked Ber-
tie; and the boy answered him, reluctantly,—

“Yes: Sir Henry.”

“Then, what you must do,” said Bertie, “is to go
directly with that bird to Sir Henry, and beg his par-
don, and ask him to forgive you. Goat once. That
is what you must do.”

The boy opened eyes and mouth in amaze.

“That I won’t never do,” he said, doggedly: “I’d
be took up to the lodge afore I’d open my mouth.”

“Not if I go with you,” said Bertie.

“Be you one of the fam’ly, sir?”

“No,” said Bertie, and then was silent in some con-
fusion, for he bethought him that, without any shoes
on, he might also be arrested at the lodge gates.

“T thought as not, ’cos you’re barefoot,” said the
brown-cheeked boy, with a little contempt supplying
the place of courage. “Dunno who you be, sir, but
seems to I as you’ve no call to preach to me: you be
a-trespassin’ too.”

Bertie colored.

“T am not doing any harm,” he said, with dignity ;
‘you are: you have been stealing. If you are not really
a wicked boy, you will take the pheasant straight to
that gentleman, and beg him to forgive you, and I
dare say he will give you work.”

“There’s no work for my dad’s son,” said the little
THE LITTLE EARL, 49

poacher, half sadly, half sullenly: “ the keepers are all
agen us: “tis as much as mother and me and Susie can
do to git a bit o’ bread.”

“What work can you do?”

“T can make the gins,” said the little sinner, touch-
ing the trap with pride. “Mostwhiles, I never come,
out o’ daylight; but all the forenoon Susie was going -
off her head, want o’ summat t’ eat.”

“T’m sorry for Susie and you,” said the little Earl,
with sympathy. “But indeed, indeed, nothing can ex-
cuse a theft, or make God fe

“The keepers!” yelled the boy, with a scream like
a hare’s, and he dashed head-foremost into the bushes,
casting on to Bertie’s lap the gin and the dead bird.
Bertie was so surprised that he sat perfectly mute and
still: the little boy had disappeared as fast as a rabbit
bolts at sight of a ferret. Two grim big men with
dogs and guns burst through the hawthorn, and one
of them seized the little Earl with no gentle hand.

“You little blackguard! you’ll smart for this,” yelled
the big man. “Treadmill and birch rod, or I’m a
Dutchman.”

Bertie was so surprised, still, that he was silent.
Then, with his little air of innocent majesty, he said,
simply, “You are mistaken: I did not kill the bird.”

Now, if Bertie had had his usual nicety of apparel,
or if the keeper had not been in a fuming fury, the
latter would have easily seen that he had accused and
apprehended a little gentleman. But no one in a vio-
lent rage ever has much sense or sight left to aid him,
and Big George, as this keeper was called, did not
notice that his dogs were smelling in a friendly way at


50 . THE LITTLE EARL.

his prisoner, but only saw that he hal to do with a
pale-faced lad without shoes, and very untidy and
dusty-looking, who had snares and a snared pheasant
at his feet.

Before Bertie had even seen him take a bit of cord
out of his pocket, he had tied the little Earl’s hands
behind him, picked up the pheasant and the trap,
and given some directions to his companion. The
real culprit was already a quarter of a mile off, bur-
rowing safely in the earth of an old fox killed in
February,—a hiding-place with which he was very
familiar.

Bertie, meanwhile, was quite silent. He was think-
ing to himself, “If I tell them another boy did it, they
will go and look for him, and catch him, and put him
in prison; and then his mother and Susie will be so
miserable,—more miserable than ever. I think I
ought to keep quiet. Jesus never said anything when
they buffeted him.”

“Ah, you little gallows-bird, you’ll get it this time!”
said the keeper, knotting the string tighter about his
wrists, and speaking as if he had had the little Earl
very often in such custody.

‘You are a very rude man,” said Bertie, with the
angry color in his cheeks; but Big George heeded him _
not, being engaged in swearing at one of his dogs,—a
young one, who was trotting after a rabbit.

“JT know who this youngster is, Bob,” he said to his
companion: “ he’s the Radley shaver over from Black-
gang.”

Bertie wondered who the Radley shaver was that
resembled him,

no 25
THE LITTLE EARL. 51

“ He has the looks on him,” said the other, pru-
dently.

“Sir Henry’s dining at Chigwell to-night, and he’ll
have started afore we get there,” continued Big George.
“Go you on through spinney far as Edge Pool, and
T’ll take and lock this here Radley up till morning.
Blast his impudence,—a pheasant! think of the likes
of it! A pheasant! If ’t had been a rabbit, ’t had
been bad enough.”

Then he shook his little captive vigorously.

Bertie did not say anything. He was not in trepi-
dation for himself, but he was in an agony of fear lest
the other boy should be found in the spinney.

“March along afore me,” said Big George, with
much savageness. “ And if you tries to bolt, Pl blow
your brains out and nail you to a barn-door along 0’
the owls.”

The little Earl looked at him with eyes of scorn and
horror.

“ How dare you touch Athene’s bird ?”

“How dare I what, you little saucy blackguard ?”
thundered Big George, and fetched him a great box on
the ears which made Bertie stagger.

“You are a very bad man,” he said, breathlessly.
“You are a very meau man. You are big, and so you
are cruel: that is very mean indeed.”

“You've the gift of the gab, little devil of a Rad-
ley,” said the keeper, wrathfully; “but you’ll pipe
another tune when you feel the birch and pick oakum.”

Bertie set his teeth tight to keep his words in: he
walked on mute.

“You've stole some little gemman’s togs as well
52 THE LITTLE EARL.

as my pheasant,” said Big George, surveying him.
“Why didn’t you steal a pair of boots when you was
about it ?”

Bertie was still mute.

“J will not say anything to this bad man,” he
thought, “ or else he will find out that it was not I.”

The sun had set by this time, leaving only a sil-
very light above the sea and the downs: the pale
long twilight of an English day had come upon the
earth,

Bertie was very white, and his heart beat fast, and
he was growing very hungry; but he managed to stum-
ble on, though very painfully, for his courage would
not let him repine before this savage man, who was
mixed up in his mind with Bluebeard, and Thor, and
Croquemitaine, and Richard IITI., and Nero, and all
the ogres that he had ever met with in his reading,
and who seemed to grow larger and larger and larger
as the sky and earth grew darker.

Happily for his shoeless feet, the way lay all over
grass-lands and mossy paths; but he limped so that
the keeper swore at him many times, and the little
Earl felt the desperate resignation of the martyr.

At last they came in sight of the keeper’s cottage,
standing on the edge of the preserves,—a thatched and
gabled little building, with a light glimmering in its
lattice window.

At the sound of Big George’s heavy tread, a woman
and some children ran out.

“Lord ha’ mercy! George !” cried the wife. “What
scarecrow have you been and got?”

“A Radley boy,” growled George,—“ one of the
THE LITTLE EARL. 53

eussed Radley boys at last,—and a pheasant snared
took in his very hand 1”

“You don’t mean it!” cried his wife; and the small
children yelled and jumped. “ What’ll be done witb
him, dad ?” cried the eldest of them.

“Tl put him in fowl-house to-night,” said Big
George, “and up he'll go afore Sir Henry fust thing
to-morrow. Clear off, young uns, and let me run him
ine

Bertie looked up in Big George’s face.

“T had nothing to do with killing the bird,” he said,
in a firm though a faint voice. “ You quite mistake.
Iam Lord Avillion.”

“Stop your pipe, or T’ll choke yer,’ swore Big
George, enraged by what he termed the “ darned
cheek” of a Radley boy; and without more ado he
laid hold of the little Earl’s collar and lifted him into
the fowl-house, the door of which was held open
eagerly by his eldest girl.

There was a great flapping of wings, screeching of
hens, and piping of chicks at the interruption, where
all the in:nates were gone to roost, and one cock set up
his usual salutation to the dawn.

“ That’s better nor you’ll sleep to-morrow night,”
said Big George, as he tumbled Bertie on to a truss
of straw that lay there, when he went out himself,
slammed the door, and both locked and barred it on
the outside.

Bertie fell back on the straw, sobbing bitterly: his
feet were cut and bleeding, his whole body ached like
_ one great bruise, and he was sick: and faint with hun-

ger. “Tf the world be as difficult as this to live in,”
b+ THE LITTLE EARL.

he thought, “ how ever do some people manage to live
, almost to a hundred years in it?” and to his eight-year-
old little soul the prospect of a long life seemed so hor-
rible that he sobbed again at the very thought of it. It-
was quite dark in the fowl-house; the rustling and
fluttering of the poultry all around sounded mysteri-
ous and unearthly ; the strong, unpleasant smell made
him faint, and the pain in his feet grew greater every
moment. He did not scream or go into convulsions ;
he was a brave little man, and proud; but he felt as
if the long, lonely night there would kill him.

Half an hour, perhaps, had gone by when a woman’s
voice at the little square window said, softly, “Here
is bread and water for you, poor boy; and I’ve put
some milk and cheese, too, only my man mustn’t know
ite

Bertie with great effort raised himself, and took what
was pushed through the tiny window; a mug of milk
being lowered to him last by a large red fat hand,
on which the light of a candle held without was glow-
ing.

“Thanks very much,” said the little Earl, feebly.
“But, madam, I did not kill that bird, and indeed I
am Lord Avillion.”

The good woman went within to her lord, and said
timidly to him, “ George, are you sartin sure that there’s
a Radley boy? He do look and speak like a little
gemman, and he do say as how he is one.”

Big George called her bad names.

“A barefoot gemman !” he said, with a sneer. “You
thunderin’ fool! it’s weazened-faced Vie Radley, as

have been in our woods a hundred times if wince,
25%
THE LITTLE. EARL. 55

though never could I slap eyes on him quick enougb
to pin him.”

The good housewife took up her stocking-mending
and said no more. Big George’s arguments were
sometimes enforced with the fist, and eveu with the
pewter pot or the poker.

Meanwhile, the little Earl in the hen-house was so
hungry that he drank the milk and ate the bread and
cheese. Both were harder and rougher things than
any he had ever tasted; but he had now that hunger
which had made the boy on the stile relish the turnip,
and, besides, another incident had occurred to give him

relish for the food.

At the moment when he had sat down to drink the
milk, there had tumbled out from behind the straw a
round black-and-white object, unsteady on its legs, and
having a very broad nose and a very woolly coat. The
moon had risen by this time, and was shining in through
the little square window, and by its beams Bertie could
see this thing was a puppy,—a Newfoundland puppy
some four months old. He welcomed it with as much
rapture as ever Robert Bruce did the spider. It had
evidently been awakened from its sleep by the smell of
the food. It was a pleasant, companionable, warm and
kindly creature ; it knocked the bread out of his hand,
and thrust its square mouth into his milk, but he shared
it willingly, and had a hearty ery over it that did him
good. :

He did not feel all alone, now that this blundering,
toppling, shapeless, amiable baby-dog had found its

' way to him. He caressed it in his arms and kissed it
a great many times, and it responded much more grate-
56 THE LITTLE EARL.

fully than the human baby had done in Jim Bracken’s
cottage, and finally, despite his bleeding feet and his
tired limbs, he fell asleep with his face against the pup’s
woolly body.

When he awoke, he could not remember what had
happened. He called for Deborah, but no Deborah
was there. The moon, now full, was shining still
through the queer little dusky place; the figures of the
fowls, rolled up in balls of feathers and stuck upon
one leg, were all that met his straining eyes. He pulled
the puppy closer and closer to him: for the first time
in his life he felt really frightened.

“T never touched the pheasant,” he cried, as loud as
he could. “Tam Lord Avillion! You have no right
to keep me here. Let me out! let me out! let me
out!”

The fowls woke up, and then cried and cackled and
crowed, and the poor pup whined and yelped dolefully,
but he got no other answer. Everybody in Big George’s
cottage was asleep, except Big George himself, who,
with his revolver, his fowling-piece, and a couple of
bull-dogs, was gone out again into the woods.

At home, Bertie in his pretty bed, that had belonged
to the little Roi de Rome, had always had a soft light
burning in a porcelain shade, and his nurse within easy
call, and Ralph on the mat by the door. He had
never been in the dark before, and he could hear
unseen things moving and rustling in the straw, and
he felt afraid of the white moonbeams shifting hither
and thither and shining on the shape of the big Brahma
cock till the great bird looked like a vulture. Once a
rat ran swiftly across, and then the fowls shrieked, and
THE LITTLE EARL. 57

Bertie could not help screaming with them; but in a

minute or two he felt ashamed of himself, for he thought,

“A rat is God’s creature as much as I am; and, as I

have not done anything wrong, I do not think they
will be allowed to hurt me.”

Nevertheless, the night was very terrible. Without
the presence of the puppy, no doubt, the little Earl
would have frightened himself into convulsions and
delirium ; but the pup was so comforting to him, so
natural, so positively a thing real and in no wise of
the outer world, that Bertie kept down, though with
many a sob, the panics of unreasoning terror which
assailed him as the moon sailed away past the square
loop-hole, and a great darkness seemed to wrap him up
in it as though some giant were stifling him in a magic
cloak.

The pup had not long been taken from its mother,
and had been teased all day by the keeper’s children,
and was frightened, and whimpered a good deal, and
cuddled itself close to the little Earl, who hugged it
and kissed it in paroxysms of loneliness and longing
for comfort.

With these long, horrible black hours, all sorts of
notions and terrors assailed him; all he had ever read
of dungeons, of enchanted castles, of entrapped princes,
of Prince Arthur and the Duke of Rothsay, of the
prisoner of Chillon and the Iron Mask, of every kind
of hero, martyr, and wizard-bewitched captive, crowded
into his mind with horrifying clearness, thronging on
him with a host of fearful images and memories.

' But this was only in his weaker moments. When
he clasped the puppy and felt its warm wet tongue
58 THE LITTLE EARL.

lick his hair, he gathered up his courage: after all, he
thought, Big George was certainly only a keeper,—not
an ogre, or an astrologer, or a tyrant of Athens or of
Rome.

So he fell off again, after a long and dreadful waking-
time, into a fitful slumber, in which his feet ached and
his nerves jumped, and the frightful visions assailed
him just as much as when he was awake; and how
that ghastly night passed by him, he never knew very
well.

When he again opened his eyes there was a dim gray
light in the fowl-house, and sharp in his ear was ring-
ing the good-morrow of the Brahma chanticleer.

It was daybreak.

A round red face looked in at the square hole, and
the voice of the keeper’s wife said, “ Little gemman,
Big George will be arter ye come eight o’clock, and
*t ll go hard wi’ yer. Say now, yer didn’t snare the
bird ?”

“No,” said Bertie, languidly, lying full length on
the straw; he felt shivery and chilly, and very stiff
and very miserable in all ways.

“But yer know who did!” persisted the woman.
“Now, jist you tell me, and J’ll make it all square
with George, and he’ll let you out, and we'll gie ye
porridge, and we'll take ye home on the donkey.”

The little Earl was silent.

“Now, drat ye for a obstinate! I can’t abide a
obstinate,” said the woman, angrily. ‘“ Who did snare
the bird ? jist say that; ’t is all, and mighty little.”

“T will not say that,” said Bertie; and the woman
slammed a wooden door that there was to the loop-
THE LITTLE BARL. 59

hole, and told him he was a mule and a pig, and that
she was not going to waste any more words about him;
she should let the birds out by the bars. What she
called the bars, which were two movable lengths of
wood at the bottom of one of the walls, did in point
of fact soon slip aside, and the fowls all cackled and
strutted and fluttered after their different manners, and
bustled through the opening towards the daylight and
the scattered corn, the Brahma cock having much ado
to squeeze his plumage where his wives had passed.

“The puppy’s hungry,” said Bertie, timidly.

“ Drat the puppy!” said the woman outside; and
no more compassion was wrung out of her. The little
Earl felt very languid, light-headed, and strange; he
was faint, and a little feverish.

“Oh, dear, pup! what a night!” he murmured, with
a burst or sobbing.

Yet it never occurred to him to purchase his liberty
by giving up little guilty Dan.

Some more hours rolled on,—slow, empty, desolate,
—filled with the whine of the pup for its mother, and
the chirping of unseen martins going in and out of the
roof above-head.

“T suppose they mean to starve me to death,”
thought Bertie, his thoughts clinging to the Duke of
Rothsay’s story.

He heard the tread of Big George on the ground
outside, and his deep voice cursing and swearing, and
the children running to and fro, and the hens cackling,
Then the little Earl remembered that he was born of
brave men, and must not be unworthy of them; and
he rose, though unsteadily, and tried to pull his dis-
60 THE LITTLE HARL.

ordered dress together, and tried, too, not to look
afraid.

He recalled Casabianca on the burning ship: Casa-

bianca had not been so very much older than he.
_ The door was thrust open violently, and that big
grim black man looked in. “Come, varmint!” he
cried out; “ come out and get your merits: birch and
bread-and-water and Scripture-readin’ for a good month,
Tl go bail; and ’t’ud be a year if I wur the beak.”

Then Bertie, on his little shaky shivering limbs,
walked quite haughtily towards him and the open air,
the puppy waddling after him. “You should not be
so very rough and rude,” he said: “TI will go with you.
But the puppy wants some milk.”

Big George’s only answer was to clutch wildly at
Bertie’s clothes and hurl him anyhow, head first, into
a little pony-cart that stood ready. “Such tarnation
cheek I never seed,” he swore; “ but all them Radley
imps are as like one to t’ other as so many ribston-
pippins,—all the gift o’ the gab and tallow-faces !”

Bertie, lying very sick and dizzy in the bottom of
the cart, managed to find breath to call out to the
woman on the door-step, “ Please do give the puppy
something ; it has been so hungry all night.”

“That’s no Radley boy,” said the keeper’s wife to
her eldest girl as the cart drove away. “Only a little
gemman ’ud ha’ thought of the pup. Strikes me, lass,
your daddy’s put a rod in pickle for hisself along o’
his tantrums and tivies.”

It was but a mile and a half from the keeper’s cot-
tage to the mansion of the Sir Henry who was owner
of these lands; and the pony spun along at a swing
THE LITTLE EARL. 61

trot, and Big George, smoking and rattling along,
never deigned to look at his prisoner.

“ Another poachin’ boy, Mr. Mason?” said the woman
who opened the lodge gates; and Big George answered,
heartily, —

“Ay, ay, a Radley imp caught at last. Got the bird
on him, and the gin too. What d’ye call that?”

“T call it like your vigilance, Mr. Mason,” said the
lodge-keeper. “ But, lawks! he do look a mite!”

Big George spun on up the avenue with the air of a
man who knew his own important place in the world,
and the little cart was soon pulled up at the steps of a
stately Italian-like building.

“See Sir Henry to wunce: poachin’ case,” said Big
George to the footman lounging about the doorway.

“Of course, Mr. Mason. Sir Henry said as you waw
to go to him directly.”

“Step this way,” said one of the men; and Big
George proceeded to haul Bertie out of the cart as un-
ceremoniously as he had thrown him in; but the little
Earl, although his head spun and his shoeless feet
ached, managed to get down himself, and staggered
across the hall.

“A Radley boy!” said Big George, displaying him
with much pride. “ All the spring and all the winter
Ive been after that weazen-faced varmint, and now
Pye got him.”

“Sir Henry waits,” said a functionary; and Big
George marched into a handsome library, dragging
his captive behind him, towards the central writing-
table, at which a good-looking elderly gentleman was
sitting.
62 THE LITTLE EARL.

Arrived before his master, the demeanor of Big
George underwent a remarkable change; he cringed,
and he pulled his lock of hair, and he scraped about
with his leg in the humblest manner possible, and
proceeded to lay the dead pheasant and the trap and
gear upon the table.

“Took him in the ac’, Sir Henry,” he said, with
triumph piercing through deference. “I been after
him ages; he’s a Radley boy, the little gallows-bird ;
he’s been snarin’ and dodgin’ and stealin’ all the winter
long, and here we’ve got him.”

“ He is very small,—quite a child,” said Sir Henry,
doubtingly, trying to see the culprit.

“He’s stunted in his growth along 0’ wickedness,
sir,” said Big George, very positively ; “but he’s old
in wice; that’s what he is, sir,—old in wice.”

At that moment Bertie managed to get in front of
him, and lifted his little faint voice.

“He has made a mistake,” he said, feebly: “TI never
killed your birds at all, and I am Lord Avillion.”

“Good heavens! you thundering idiot!” shouted
Sir Henry, springing to his feet. “This is the little
Earl they are looking for all over the island, and all
over the country! My dear little fellow, how can I
ever: ie

His apologies were cut short by Bertie dropping
down in a dead faint at his feet, so weak was he from
cold, and hunger, and exhaustion, and unwonted ex-
posure,

It was not very long, however, before all the alarmed
household, pouring in at the furious ringing of their

master’s bell, had revived the little Earl, and brought
26


THE LITTLE EARL. 63

him to his senses none the worse for the momentary
eclipse of them.

“Please do not be angry with your man,” murmured
Bertie, as he lay on one of the wide leathern couches.
“He meant to do his duty; and please —will you let
me buy the puppy ?”

Of course Sir Henry would not allow the little Earl
to wander any farther afield, and of course a horseman
was sent over in hot haste to apprise his people, misled
by the boat-lad, who, frightened at his own share in
the little gentleman’s escape, had sworn till he was
hoarse that he had seen Lord Avillion take a boat for
Rye.

So Bertie’s liberty was nipped in the bud, and very
sorrowfully and wistfully he strayed out on to the rose-
terrace of Sir Henry’s house, awaiting the coming of
his friends. The puppy had been fetched, and was
tumbling and waddling solemnly beside him; yet he
was very sad at heart.

“What are you thinking of, my child?” said Sir
Henry, who was a gentle and learned man.

Bertie’s mouth quivered.

“T see,” he said, hesitatingly —“I see I am nothing.
It is the title they give me, and the money I have got,
that make the people so good tome. When I am only
me, you see how it is.”

And the tears rolled down his face, which he had
heard called “wizen” and “puny” and likened to
tallow.

“My dear little fellow,” said his grown-up cum-
panion, tenderly, “ there comes a day when even kings
are stripped of all their pomp, and lie naked and stark;
64 THE LITTLE EARL.

it is then that which they have done, not that which
they have been, that will find them grace and let them
rise again.”

“But I am nothing!” said Bertie, piteously. “You
see, when the people do not know who I am, they
think me nothing at all.”

“T don’t fancy Peggy and Dan will think so when
we tell them everything,” said the host. “We are all
of us nothing in ourselves, my child; only, here and
there we pluck a bit of lavender,—that is, we do some
good thing or say some kind word,—and then we get
a sweet savor from it. You will gather a great deal
of lavender in your life, or I am mistaken.”

“T will try,” said Bertie, who understood.

So, off the downs that day, and in the pleasant haw-
thorn woods of the friendly little Isle, he plucked two
heads of lavender,—humility and sympathy. Believe
me, they are worth as much as was the moly of Ulysses,

THE END


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