Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Their contents did not stir any thoughts
or imaginings in little John, whose mind was filled entirely with the
pictures of nature.

When John Clare had reached his seventh year, he was taken away from the
dame-school, and sent out to tend sheep and geese on Helpston Heath. The
change was a welcome one to him, for, save the mysterious white-thorn
tree, there was nothing at school to attract him. Helpston Heath, on the
other hand, furnished what seemed to him a real teacher. While tending
his geese, John came into daily contact with Mary Bains, an ancient lady,
filling the dignified post of cowherd of the village, and driving her
cattle into the pastures annually from May-day unto Michaelmas. She was
an extraordinary old creature, this Mary Bains, commonly known as Granny
Bains. Having spent almost her whole life out of doors, in heat and cold,
storm and rain, she had come to be intimately acquainted with all the
signs foreboding change of weather, and was looked upon by her
acquaintances as a perfect oracle. She had also a most retentive memory,
and being of a joyous nature, with a bodily frame that never knew
illness, had learnt every verse or melody that was sung within her
hearing, until her mind became a very storehouse of songs. To John, old
Granny Bains soon took a great liking, he being a devout listener, ready
to sit at her feet for hours and hours while she was warbling her little
ditties, alternately merry and plaintive. Sometimes the singing had such
an effect that both the ancient songstress and her young admirer forgot
their duties over it. Then, when the cattle went straying into the pond,
and the geese were getting through the corn, Granny Bains would suddenly
cease singing, and snatching up her snuff-box, hobble across the fields
in wild haste, with her two dogs at her side as respectful aides-de-camp,
and little John bringing up the rear. But though often disturbed in the
enjoyment of those delightful recitations, they nevertheless sunk deep