There on the
desk in the window lay the pen he had flung down last night, but no
more; the letter was gone; and, as he turned away, he saw lying among
the wood-ashes of the cold stove a little crumpled ball. He stooped and
drew it out. It was his letter, tossed there after the reading; his
father had not taken the pains to keep it safe, nor even to destroy it.
CHAPTER IV
I
The company was already assembled both within and without Padley, when
Robin rode up from the riverside, on a fine, windy morning, for the
sport of the day. Perhaps a dozen horses stood tethered at the entrance
to the little court, with a man or two to look after them, for the
greater part of their riders were already within; and a continual coming
and going of lads with dogs; falconers each with his cadge, or
three-sided frame on which sat the hawks; a barking of hounds, a
screaming of birds, a clatter of voices and footsteps in the court--all
this showed that the boy was none too early. A man stepped forward to
take his mare and his hawks; and Robin slipped from his saddle and went
in.
* * * * *
Padley Hall was just such a house as would serve a wealthy gentleman who
desired a small country estate with sufficient dignity and not too many
responsibilities. It stood upon the side of the hill, well set-up above
the damps of the valley, yet protected from the north-easterly winds by
the higher slopes, on the tops of which lay Burbage Moor, where the
hawking was to be held.
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