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Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts), 1856-1913

"A Thane of Wessex"

But every one of the townsfolk knew me, and by
this time also knew what had befallen me, so that as I stood there it
seemed not quite so easy to win a way to the levy as before. The
highways were yet full of men coming in, for from where I stood on the
edge of the cover I could see the bend of one road, and straight down
another. If I went on them I must walk like a leper, alone and shunned
by all, with maybe hard words to hear as well.
While I thought of all this, there crept out from among the woods an old
crone, doubled up under the weight of a faggot of dry sticks, who stayed
to stare at me. I did not mind her, but of a sudden she dropped her
bundle of wood, and I saw that it was like to be a heavy task for her to
raise it again. So I turned and laid hold of it, for she was but six
paces from me, saying:
"Let me help you, Mother, to get it hoisted again. Truly would I carry
it for you for a while, but I must bide here."
"That must you, Heregar the outlaw," said the old woman coolly, without
a word of thanks, and I thought my story and face were better known than
I deemed. Therefore I must make the best of it.
"Well, Mother," said I, "you know me, and if you know me, so also must
many others. But I want to join the levy, and fight if need be.


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