which, one descendant at a time might be maintained in the Abbey.
Intelligence of his brother's death had been sent to Richard
Birkenholt, but answer had been returned that he was too evil-
disposed with the gout to attend the burial.

The other uncle, Harry Randall, had disappeared from the country
under a cloud connected with the king's deer, leaving behind him the
reputation of a careless, thriftless, jovial fellow, the best
company in all the Forest, and capable of doing every one's work
save his own.

The two brothers, who were about seven and six years old at the time
of his flight, had a lively recollection of his charms as a
playmate, and of their mother's grief for him, and refusal to
believe any ill of her Hal. Rumours had come of his attainment to
vague and unknown greatness at court, under the patronage of the
Lord Archbishop of York, which the Verdurer laughed to scorn, though
his wife gave credit to them. Gifts had come from time to time,
passed through a succession of servants and officials of the king,
such as a coral and silver rosary, a jewelled bodkin, an agate
carved with St. Catherine, an ivory pouncet box with a pierced gold
coin as the lid; but no letter with them, as indeed Hal Randall had
never been induced to learn to read or write. Master Birkenholt
looked doubtfully at the tokens and hoped Hal had come honestly by
them; but his wife had thoroughly imbued her sons with the belief
that Uncle Hal was shining in his proper sphere, where he was better
appreciated than at home. Thus their one plan was to go to London
to find Uncle Hal, who was sure to put Stephen on the road to
fortune, and enable Ambrose to become a great scholar, his favourite
ambition.