80 BY THE CHANTRY 



the moor to the partly-upturned field. Here 

 a plough in the furrow caught his eye and caused 

 him to swerve from his path. Yet suspicious 

 as he was of the plough he passed close to a 

 bucket of mushrooms in the Five Acres, where 

 he stood on a mound to gaze at the silent 

 homestead and at Carn Brea before he set off 

 for the hill. Then, as though the fading stars 

 warned him of the need to hurry, he went at 

 so brisk a pace that the noise of his pads on 

 the bridle-track sounded quite distinct in the 

 stillness of the dawn. At the foot of the long 

 slope he quickly laid his maze ; he threaded his 

 way up and up past the Pilgrim's Spring almost 

 to the chantry, and chose a seat amongst the 

 bracken within a few yards of the spot where 

 he was born. 



Five months had passed since he sat there, 

 but he felt quite at home. As the light grew, 

 the outlook commanded a well-remembered pros- 

 pect, albeit the vegetation had greatly changed. 

 His young eyes had beheld it fresh and green ; 

 now all was sere and tinted with the colours 

 of decay. Yet the herbage thus blended so 

 wondrously with the russet of his coat that 

 he was not to be distinguished from his sur- 

 roundings. He seemed a part of the rich 

 mantle which draped the giant shoulders of 



