rocks and brushwood veiled the approach to an open glade where stood
a rude stone hovel, rough enough, but possessing two rooms, a hearth
and a chimney, and thus superior to the hut that had been left on the
moor. There were sheds for the cattle around, and the grass was
fresh and green so that the sheep, the goat and the cow began eagerly
feeding, as did the pony which Hal and Piers were unloading.

On one side stretched the open moor rising into the purple hills,
just touched with snow. On the other was the wooded valley of the
Derwent, growing wider ever before it debouched amid rocks into the
sea. The goodwife at once discovered that there had been recent
habitation, and asked what had become of the former dwellers there.

'The woman fretted for company,' said Simon, 'and vowed she was in
fear of the Scots, so I even let her have her way and go down to the
town.'

The town in north country parlance only meant a small village, and
Hob asked where it lay.

It was near the junction of the two streams, where Simon lived
himself in a slightly fortified farmhouse, just high up enough to be
fairly safe from flood tides. He did not advise his newly arrived
tenants to be much seen at this place, where there were people who
might talk. They were almost able to provide for their daily needs
themselves, excepting for meal and for ale, and he would himself see
to this being supplied from a more distant farm on the coast, which
Hob and Piers might visit from time to time with the pony.

Goodwife Dolly inquired whether they might safely go to church, from