Adventure Magazine Cover — page 114: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| 870 log by the kitchen fire to make him bed and pillow when he slept indoors. He was a Berkshire shepherd when Mary who burnt the heretics was Queen. He had no name but Dick, like his father, the swineherd, before him. The maids called him “silly shepherd,” because they found him a heavy lout and dull. Close upon Assynton village the downs stand bluff and gray. The murmur and light of a swift stream are about its church and there alone the rolling acres of bare land allow trees. From the old manor-house— what’s left of it now is a barn—Mistress Mary Rymingtowne was pleased to come and walk there. She was a child of fifteen, but girls were swiftly women in her day. From her bearing you might have guessed her father emperor of the world, not merely lord of a decent Berkshire manor. Her face was ivory pale and thin. She was tall and of a long-limbed grace. She had about her a rare delicacy, as of a creature aloof from all things ugly or unclean. So you see her coming, a daintily haughty child, straight and slight in her silver blue dress. She heard heavy steps and turned to look. The silly shepherd, loose-limbed and bent, was shambling after her. gave no sign of sense. His head rolled to and fro. Onasudden she checked and stood still and drew aside, waiting for him to pass. But Dick, the shepherd, stopped, too, and lounged against a tree and plucked grass and began to chew it. After a moment, she turned to look for him and saw him so at his ease, staring. With her broad brow puck- ered, she swept down upon him: “ What are you doing, sirrah?” He spat out his grass carefully. He puta big finger to his forehead. ‘“ Nought, nought,” he drawled and began to scratch his shoulder against the tree, but he did not remove the steady, curious stare of his dull gray eyes. “T do not desire to have you gape at me!” she cried. Whereat he did gape. With the fall of the big jaw, he was all stupid surprise. She exclaimed at him. She swept past him and back the way she had come. Then the shepherd gathered himself together and slouched after her. The child heard his heavy steps again and hated the instinct that bade her be afraid and hurried on. So they came at speed His heavy face - Adventure toward the church, the dainty child with a heavy lout shambling fast on her track. The sight startled the pious features of a black-gowned priest coming from his pray- ers, and he stood still to watch. You are introduced to the child’s cousin, the rector of the parish, called after the respectful fashion of the time, Sir Ralph Ryming- towne. He was large and plump, and viva- cious eyes made his smug, full face look like amask. As the child came up, she slackened speed, crying, breathless, “Good morrow, Sir Ralph!” He turned to walk with her: “You are in a heat, Mary.” ‘“‘T hate that shepherd!” she panted. “I will have him whipped—only my father will never whip any one!” “Your father’s gentleness should be an ensample to us all,’ said the priest demurely.. ‘““What has the shepherd done?”’ ‘“‘He—he— prowls!”’ she exploded. ‘‘He is always about me. And I hate his wooden face!” ‘Pho, child, the poor lad means no ill. ’Tis the purest simpleton. But I will school him.” Sir Ralph turned and hailed. ‘“ Dic- con, lad! Away with you! Get back to the farm.” The shepherd stared and stood still and put up a forefinger. “TI will give you company home, Mary. But I do not like to see you thus timid. Diccon is meek as a lamb.” She tossed her head. A red spot burnt on her cheek. Sir Ralph paced placidly beside her, talking smooth morality. She broke into the midst of it with a cry: “I knew! Oh, he is a masterless rogue!”’ She turned and pointed. The shepherd was shambling close behind them still. Sir Ralph frowned. ‘‘The poor lad hath but half his wits,” he explained and called out: “Come hither, sirrah!”’ The silly shepherd slouched up and stood limp and bent, staring. “Sirrah, I bade thee away!”’ “TI thought as you was a-wanting to speak to me,” the shepherd drawled. Sir Ralph burst out laughing at so fatuous an answer. ‘‘Faith, the fellow is all but idiot,” he confided to Mary. Then, “‘Look thee, Diccon, if I wanted speech with thee, I should not drive thee off. So—— The heavy face was twisted into a cunning smile. ‘‘Eh, but there’s reasons!” ‘The shepherd nodded and winked. ‘‘We knows each other for sure.”” — CoOMmicbhook ©