The good old days, or, Christmas under Queen Elizabeth

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The Baldwin Library

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Florida



























WAREUS WARD & CO;

HS MARKS AR As







THe

QUEEN

IS COMING!”











THE

GOooD OLD Days

OR

Ghrigtmag under Queen Glisateth

BY

ESGWEE. STUART

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORS FROM DRAWINGS
Ey HoH STACY MARKS, Ata



London:
MARCUS WARD & CO., CHANDOS STREET, STRAND
AND ROYAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST
1876

















CONTENTS.

ice oeig eee
CHAP. PAGE
I.—TuHE PENNYFEATHERS : : : f : Be)
II.—MIpsuMMER EVE : 3 3 : : : 18
Il].—How Mauricrk WENT TO OXFORD . : : : SA
IV.—Jacos’s WooING : : ; : s : 54
V.—MAsTER PENNYFEATHER’S Pics : : : we7e
VI.—THE Pastor DISAPPEARS : : : ; 3 g2
VII.—Too Goop a BonrFirE ; : : ‘ : - 99
VIII.—FaitHruL Love i : : : ; ; IIo
IX.—CurisTMAS-DAY IN THE EVENING . ; 5 d . 116
X.—A PENNYFEATHER IN PRISON . : : : : 125
XI.—“ THE QUEEN 1s ComiNc!” : 5 i ; Poi
XII.—‘“ ALL’s WELL THAT ENDS WELL” : : : : 140



Allustyations.

Bees
“THE QUEEN Is ComING!” (p. 136) : : . Lrontispiece.

Ye SILENT JOE GETTETH INTO Hor WaTER . ; ; : 74
Ye ButcHer RocHe—Goop TuRKEys AND BaD News . : = 00
Ye Brrps or Evit OMEN : : : ; : : 118

“ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL” . : : : ; . 140



















THE GOOD, OLD DAYS.



CHAP, I.—THE PENNYFEATHERS.

OU should have seen the great farmhouse on a
dewy morning the day before Midsummer Eve in
the year of our Lord 1570. It was Master
Pennyfeather’s farm, and he was but a strange
boor indeed who had not heard that worthy
yeoman’s name for ten, aye twenty miles round
Sandhill. The farm itself was called Sandy’s
Hollow, though who “Sandy” had been even
Master Pennyfeather himself could not have told,
or whether Sandy had ever been a living man at all, unless indeed
he had been a Pennyfeather. Had not that family been in pos-
session of Sandy’s farm for generations past, and as no one had
ever handed down Sandy’s name, did not this show that he had
lived before records were kept, and when tradition alone treasured
up a man’s name in its archives? What gables Sandy’s Hollow
could boast of! and the black wood-work crossed and recrossed
itself on the old walls about as often as the bars of a tartan plaid













10 The Good Old Days.



The windows were made so as to allow the light and air to come
in in moderate quantities, but not one drop of rain could pene-
trate into the interior. Master Pennyfeather could hear the patter
of the rain-drops as they fell from the eaves or poured down
through a curious funnel-shaped mouth of wood which served him
for a water pipe, but as to rain coming in through the windows,
such a thought had never entered the yeoman’s head! But why
talk of rain so near to Midsummer Eve? In the good old days
when Queen Bess ruled the land the weather knew what was
expected of it, and held up its head on Midsummer Eve and
May Day, for all the folks danced on the green and did not come
home till morning. I have not mentioned the roses which had
climbed up the gables, or the sunflowers and lupins, nor all the
old-fashioned plants which Master Pennyfeather cultivated in the
neat flower-garden behind the house—nor have I spoken of the
green lawn with its great yew hedge at the bottom, because I
hope that by-and-by you will hear all these particulars ;—and if
not, let your imagination conjure up all these things before you,
as Sir Philip Sidney said of the early English stage scenery :
“Now you shall see three ladies walking to gather flowers; and
then we must believe the stage to be a garden!”

Master Pennyfeather was blessed with a wife, who had
endowed him with six goodly children, four of them fine,
well-made sons and daughters, worthy of being of the race
of Pennyfeathers. His farm prospered, his wife was the soul
of neatness and order, and could rule her maid-servants wisely
and well; then, lastly, his six children were the joy of his heart.
“Pride must have a fall,” is an old proverb, and one which
the yeoman had ofttimes heard though never taken to heart.
His fall had not come, and I am sorry to say that, in what he



ne pease |







The Pennyfeathers. 11

considered a harmless manner, Master Pennyfeather was exceed-
ingly proud.

Maurice was his eldest son, but blue-eyed Annys was his first-
born. Ben, when my story opens, was a sturdy lad of fourteen,
and Eve, with her hazel eyes and white teeth, caused Dame
Pennyfeather many an anxious hour. “She was so full of con-
ceits,” the good mother would say. The two youngest were
twins, by name Prudence and Rachel, fair, delicate creatures, of
whom their father would say that they were no true Penny-
feathers, and only sorry damsels. Nevertheless he loved them right
well, and would not have them thwarted.

Dame Pennyfeather came of a gentleman’s family, but no one
had thought it beneath her when she married the rich yeoman,
John Pennyfeather. Could not he boast of a pedigree as long as
any knight in the shire; and, what is more, ke did boast of it, and
was never too short-winded when this subject was brought forward.

The family were all assembled now for their dinner in the
great room, sometimes called the hall, sometimes the kitchen, and
which served both purposes excellently well. Could you have
entered Sandy’s Hollow on the 22d of June, 1570, you would
have seen as joyous a sight as well could be. The table groaning
beneath the weight of good things—not only fine joints, but
delicacies in the shape of fish, fowls, and pastry. Master Penny-
feather prided himself on the good cheer always to be found in
his house; “Whether he be prince or beggar who knocks at my
door, there will be always a seat ready, and such viands as
beseemeth both:” the father would say, and truly never had
either rich or poor been turned from the door. The farm
labourers and maids sat at the lower end of the table, below the



salt, two of them taking it in turn to serve the whole assembly.
[pee













12 The Good Old Days.

Dame Pennyfeather always enjoined silence and decorous ways
at meals, but Eve could no more hold her tongue than a chattering
magpie, and knew well besides that her father would smilingly
beg for her pardon if she transgressed the rules—indeed he was
in no ways loath to hear her merry, though often inopportune
prattle. Annys and Maurice, who were considered old enough
to speak without being spoken to, seldom made use of their
rights, and ate their meals in silence, or listened and assented to
what their father said, for the good man seldom held his tongue.
This might perhaps be the reason of his sympathy with his
daughter Eve.

“Mother! and what kirtle shall Annys and I wear to-morrow
at the dance? my Sunday one is neither fine nor convenient enough
to dance in,” said Eve suddenly.

“T must crave thee to hold thy peace, Eve,” said Dame
Pennyfeather sternly to her second daughter: but this reproof in
no ways disconcerted the young maiden, who looked archly at
her father.

“I wot thou wilt look comely enough if thou only go in thy
biggen,” said the father, laughing heartily at his own wit, and a
general titter went round. Eve did not like ridicule: she had no
intention of going in her nightcap, and knew that this was a hit
at the late hour she had risen from her bed. She therefore turned
the conversation by asking in a meek voice:—

“Prythee, Annys, whence got you that pot with the orpine in
it? It will wither in the hot sun in the bed-room.” Annys
turned crimson, and murmured something as to its not being of
any consequence, but Eve was glad enough to have made some
one else the object of general gaze, and continued unmercifully,

“I should not wonder if it were Jacob Buckston that brought











The Pennyfeathers. 13



it. I met him near the barn, and, said he, ‘Is Mistress Annys
in-doors, pretty Eve?’ Hear you that, father? he called me pretty.
But I laughed and said, ‘Doubtless Annys is with our mother in
the dairy.’ ‘Then, said he, ‘I will leave this plant for her if of
your kindness you will tell her that what she inquired after I
have procured for her.’”

“Nay, I never asked him for ought,” said Annys, looking up
quickly with tears in her blue eyes; “and I beseech thee, Eve,
have done with thy back-yard gossip.”

“And why didst thou ask Annys if thou knew so well?” said
Maurice from his seat on the right hand of his mother.

“Peace, children!” said Dame Pennyfeather sternly, though
in truth she had not passed over a single word, and stored them
up in her mind for future Sunday sermons to her children. Live
should on the next holiday learn the chapter in the Acts of the
_ Apostles which told of Ananias and Sapphira, whilst to Annys
she would point out that all concealment was odious and brought
undignified blushes on the cheeks of maidens. Master Penny-
feather, however, interrupted her meditations by saying jovially,

“Methinks it was but some young man’s frolic; but come,
mother, hast thou prepared ought fine for the girls, for the mid-
summer's dance? It shall not be said that one of my wenches
hath appeared dowdy in public.”

“They shall have corsets of blue taffeta and skirts to match,”
answered his wife, somewhat reluctantly, for she had been keeping
this a great secret, for fear of turning Eve's head before the
eventful hour of robing ; “but I would rather Eve went in a meek
spirit than in gorgeous attire.”

“Marry beshrew me! that would scarce suffice!” and the
yeoman shook with laughter, enjoying his wife’s increasing gravity.











14 The Good Old Days.

“Come, sweetheart, thou too must appear finely decked ; promise
me that I shall drive thee arrayed in cramosy.”

But the worthy dame was not to be laughed into good
temper, when her sense of decorum was ruffled. Eve was becoming
a sore trial to the good mother, who saw in her daughter’s levity of
disposition much that would cause her anxiety. This day Eve
was quite irrepressible.

“Tf the pastor had his way I fancy Ben would remain at home
to learn his Greek and indite his Latin theme. Conceive, father,
what the pastor said.”

“Aye, what said he?” Ignoring her mother’s frown, Eve
answered promptly,

“Why, that Ben should pluck those most godlisome herbs
ot learning whilst he was yet young; that he might then chew
them by musing, so as to have them laid up in the granaries of
his mind! Ben, why art thou kicking me under the table;
mother is ever saying our feet should not stray during meals.”

“Thou shouldest ask the pastor to teach thee thy catechism,”
said Ben surlily, for he and Eve were for ever sharpening their
wits against each other, much to the gentle Annys’ sorrow, for
she indeed was a true peacemaker by nature, but found it a
difficult task with these two.

“Nay, but I know it right well by heart, and besides thou
knowest the pastor is a Puritan and will not teach ‘those most
mischievous words’—” and Eve mimicked the pastor’s voice so
cleverly that the maid-servants hid their faces in the ample
strings of their mufflers, to prevent their mistress seeing their
laughter. Happily for them Dame Pennyfeather rose and asked
Maurice to say the grace, which he did in Latin, this fashion
having not yet died away. Maurice was now at home for a











The Pennyfeathers. 15



short space before going to Oxford, after which he was to take
holy orders. He was a quiet, studious youth, and had never
given his father or his mother an hour’s trouble. He and Annys
were very fond of each other, but both were of a shy, reserved
character, so did not mutually confide their troubles. Maurice
indeed had very few to talk about, for he always did what first
came to hand (if it was in the way of his duty), and as he gav
his whole mind to his occupation, no matter what, he found little
leisure to pick up troubles. Whilst at home indeed he felt that
Ben and Eve did not contribute to his mental advancement, but
he bore with them patiently, and looked forward to his Oxford
career, when he might study as much as he liked.

With Annys it was far otherwise. She was always worrying
herself about her duties. Her conscience was so tender that it
left her very little peace of mind, yet she was so timid that she
dared not take counsel with her mother, or open her heart to her.
This we shall presently see was the cause of much trouble to the
gentle maiden, who was the pride of her father and the right
hand of her mother in all household matters.

The forenoon was spent by Eve and Ben in preparing their
lessons for the next day, and by Annys in teaching the twins,
but the lovely summer evening was given to each to spend as
they thought fit. Maurice would wander out in his father’s fields
with a book, Eve and Ben would take long rambles within the
domain, and Annys would sit in the garden spinning or knitting.

This same evening Eve came back in time for supper with
her dress torn, and looking like a wood maiden. She had a large
bunch of “forget-me-nots” in her hands. Ben had not yet re-
turned, and Annys shook her head, smiling as Eve approached
the house.











16 The Good Old Days.

“Ah! sister, what a sorry plight thou art in! I will come
and help thee change thy dress, for supper will eftsoons be served

up.”

“Annys! Annys! you should have seen the peril I went through
to procure these—will they not look lovely in our hair to-morrow
evening? See this bunch is for thy sweet head; and ah! Annys,
I will tell you as a great secret that after dinner I went on tip-
toe to our mother’s room, and there on the bed, as I guessed, lay
our corsets and kirtles—such a blue of heaven, and so I determined
to get these posies. I know, Annys, what will be said of Master
Pennyfeather’s eldest daughter !”

“What, then?” asked Annys blushing; but happily Eve did
not see her, for her sister was leading the way up to their bed-
chamber.

“Surely this!”—and Eve sang out in a merry voice—

“ Annys is a darling
Of such a lively hue,

That whoso feeds his eyes on her
May soon her beauty rue.”

Annys was glad to be able to laugh and thus hide her con-
fusion, as she answered with unwonted raillery—“And of thee
they will sing,

“Five is comely, and thereto
In books sets all her care,
In learning with the Roman dames
Of right she may compare.”

Eve pouted a little, but as the great horn sounded in the
yard in order to collect the farm folk for supper, she had not time
to find a witty repartee.

Before retiring to rest, and as they were assembling for family









The Pennyfeathers. 15



prayers, Eve came up to her mother with a meek face and sober
demeanour.

“Prythee, mother, I have a petition; grant it, sweet mother.’

But Dame Pennyfeather was not to be coaxed into saying
“yes” without hearing the request.

“T would fain not learn any lessons to-morrow. . Surely the
pastor need not come. Ben, what sayest thou ?”

Ben cordially assented this time to his sister’s petition.

“T marvel at thee, Eve, after thy levity this day asking such a
thing. At thy age I would have disburdened my heart by double
study. Certainly the pastor shall not be hindered from his labour
of love,” was the mother’s answer.

“Father pays him right well,” said Eve, who would always
have the last word. “I heard him say so to farmer Buckston,
when he was bemoaning the poverty of the Puritans.”

Dame Pennyfeather, who could not so readily find an answer
as her daughter, stopped the argument by telling Annys to fetch
the maids and men to prayers.







































CHAPTER II.—MIDSUMMER EVE.

‘6 IDSUMMER EVE! The flowers seemed to say it, as they
tsb waved their heads in the early summer breeze. The
gilly-flowers in a favoured spot of the garden had been eagerly
watched by the Dame, for these and the bright carnations were
new importations, and she wished all the household to have one
of these choice flowers on their person at the dance. Ben had
got up with the lark to see about the piling up of the bonfire,
an indispensable part of St. John’s Eve, though, as the weather
was fine and warm, this was scarcely needed. The maid-servants
had decorated the whole house with branches of birch, and had
placed large nosegays of lilies in coloured jars in the rooms, and
were at the early hour of five bustling about to get their work
done, so as to be allowed to betake themselves in the forenoon to
the village, from whence the “Marching Watch” was to set out;
indeed, Amelia Sopp, Dame Pennyfeathor’s own maid, had been
privately asked to represent “Maid Marian,” and having as
privately accepted, was now in an agony of mind for fear of any
accident detaining her. She secretly knew that her mistress would
much object to her taking a share in a public show.

“Annys, Annys, bestir thyself!” called out Eve at six o'clock
in the morning. “I would not have thought thee such a lie-a-bed.











Midsummer Eve. 19

Thy needfullest fingers are sorely needed now. If it were not for
the pastor—beshrew him !—and for his vile Latin, I would weave
the most comely wreath for my ‘nut-brown pate, as father calls it.”

“Fie, dear Eve! what would mother say to hear thee abuse
the good pastor, and scoff at his marvellous book-craft? Besides,
he will have nought of to-day’s pleasuring. He thinks it but a
vain and sinful custom, somewhat savouring of Popery.”

Eve tossed her head, and quoted the then common saying,
“The bear wants a tail, and cannot be a lion! He liveth ever
in his texts, and careth not for our sinful sports.”

Annys had by this time got up and had approached the
window, where stood the pot of orpine. The two plants were
slightly withered, but were bending towards each other. A smile
lit up her face, which was seen by the lynx-eyed Eve, who was
glad to be able to ask about the orpine at her ease.”

“What fantasies have taken hold of the sober Annys’ head ?
- I never before saw thee disposed so lovingly towards flower-pots.
Come, confess it was Jacob who sent it?”

“ Av’ it were, what then ?”

“Ah! I can tell thee what then! Father would break his

47

puritanical bones for him, and as to thee— Eve made a wry
face, and went skipping downstairs singing—
“And yet I daresay
She thinks herself gay
Upon a holiday.”

At nine o’clock appeared the Rev. Mathias Hapgood, who, out
of courtesy, was called “the pastor” by the family of Pennyfeathers.
Before he has time to make his way in, I must say a few words
about this pastor who had neither cure nor sheep! He was a
young man with a living worth £5 in the reign of Henry VIII.











20 The Good Old Days.

At that time he had been ejected on account of his Catholic prin-
ciples. He then retired to Switzerland, learned French, changed
his opinions, and returned home in the last year of Henry’s reign.
Some kind patron had presented the now thoroughly Protestant
minister with a living worth £20, but hardly had Queen Mary
ascended the throne, when the Protestant clergy found themselves
in no very enviable position. Mr. Hapgood again resigned, and
wandered about the country till Queen Bess proclaimed herself of
the Protestant religion. Mr. Hapgood was happy enough to get
back his living, but alas! he had now protested so long, that he
had far exceeded the queen’s ideas of a good Protestant, indeed—
he himself did not deny it—he was a Puritan. In 1558 the Act
of Uniformity was passed, which enforced all the services of the
Church to be conducted in the manner prescribed by the Prayer-
book. Now the Rev. Mathias Hapgood had quite given up
following the Rubric, and his conscience would not permit him
to take to it again, so once more he found himself cast adrift
on the world. Happily, Master Pennyfeather came across him,
and as no one could say a word against his orthodox principles,
the good yeoman took compassion on the poor wanderer, and
engaged him to come daily and teach his children, on the one
condition, that the pastor should not fill their heads with
Puritanical ideas. The conscientious man had answered, “ that
what he was inspired, that he must teach,” upon which the
jovial yeoman had said—

“Go your ways, Mr. Hapgood, and work your will; you
will never convert a true Pennyfeather, and I won’t deny that
it will be inspiration if you put anything into the thick pate
of my son Ben!”

A small room on the ground floor was set apart for the













Midsummer Eve. 21



pastor’s scholastic duties, and here the worthy (though narrow-
minded) man went through a daily martyrdom with the wild
Eve and the dull Ben. He was in truth far too good to them,
for he never got impatient, but when sorely tried he became
very argumentative, and quoted Scripture. He seldom found
that the Latin verbs were the better for it, but he put it down
to his own want of eloquence. He came in on this Midsummer's
Eve as calm as if it were a day in Lent, and took no notice of
the children’s excitement. Annys would generally come in for
half an hour to improve her French, and when this hour came
round, the pastor asked why Mistress Annys was not forth-
coming. Indeed, he always hailed her appearance, as she was
a check on Eve, who feared her mother would hear of her
careless inattentive ways and pert answers.

. “She would be right well pleased to come, but she is busy
making pasties for the feast to-night. Know you not that this
is St. John’s Eve?” asked Eve, preparing to defend her most
favourite saint.

“Aye, I know right weil that there are misguided souls who
are this day going to celebrate the Pagan fires offered to idols
It passeth my understanding how such wickedness remains
unpunished,”

“There will be three fires,” said Ben, volunteering the informa-
tion, “a bone-fire, a wood-fire, and St. John’s fire. The first is to
drive away dragons and diseases, and the bones are those of St.
John himself.”

“Nay, Ben, it doth but represent his martyrdom, mother
says!”

“ Horrible Popery !” murmured the pastor.

“You should see the procession which starts from the village.



B









oo The Good Old Days.





No beholder can keep from clapping his hands when Robin Hood
and Friar Tuck pass by. And know you, Ben, there will be morris-
dancers come expressly from London ?”

“T shall have infinite pleasure in keeping within doors,” said
the pastor, “and turning my countenance toward better sights.”

“T wish you would take Annys to task,” said Eve, who had
forgotten she was about to read French, “I know she has in
secret collected herbs to throw into the bonfire. If they burn
up brightly, then her lover—but she has none as yet—will keep
faithful ; if not, he will turn sour. Call you not that super-
stition, good pastor? J would not do so, but would leave it
for the silly maids.”

“As if any would love thee!” quoth Ben, contemptuously ;
which remark had the effect of making Eve resume her reading.
Not, however, before the pastor had lifted his hand and eyes
and murmured in a very audible whisper,

“Gog and Magog!” But the children did not know to whom
he referred, or whether it was his manner of denouncing the
wickedness of the world. The pastor's personal appearance,
about which I have said nothing, can best be explained by
asking the reader to have a telescope in his mind’s eye. Hach
part which made up the perfect whole of the pastor’s body,
seemed to be drawn out or pulled in at pleasure, and he was so
thin that his clothes could not be said to fit, but simply to hang
on. He dwelt in a single small room, over a butcher’s shop, in
the village of Sandhill. Had it not been for Master Penny-
feather’s frequent invitations to dinner and supper, the poor
pastor would seldom have tasted any of the beautiful joints
which he daily set eyes on, as he passed out of his room. The
good dame, too, was very kind to the needy Puritan; in her















Midsummer Fve. 23

heart she rather sympathized with his opinions, though she
would not for the world have owned such a thing, for her lord
and master would never have forgiven her.

It was a happy release for both master and pupils this day
when the clock struck eleven, and they were summoned by
Annys to come to dinner before they prepared themselves for
the important drive to Sandhill Ben and Eve needed no
second call; off they flew like birds released from their cage, and
began dancing about the hall to practise, as they said, the com-
plicated steps of the new dance that Annys had taught them.
The twins, who always went about hand in hand, and were in
great awe of Ben and Eve, retired into a corner whilst this war
dance was being performed, but it was soon put a stop to by the
blowing of the horn and the entrance of the household, headed
by Master Pennyfeather leading in the pastor.

“Come, come, good sir, you shall eat a mouthful with us,
and then join us in our sports. The young folk are tingling
all over with impatience. We will find a corner for you in our
wagegon.”

“We cannot ease ourselves of our griefs by beholding such
vanities,” answered the worthy man. He was then begged to
say grace, which he did by composing a somewhat lengthy
prayer, during which Ben looked out of the window, and Eve
prepared herself in imagination for the coming festivity. Maurice,
who went through everything he undertook with his whole mind,
was now talking eagerly about the dance on the green, saying that
if Annys had no partners he would take pity on her and trip it
once or twice with her.

“And with me too, Maurice,” asked Eve. “Ben always finds
out some other partners and will have none of me.”











a The Good Old Days.



“Tis because I dance with the prettiest,’ returned the lord
of creation, who knew that Eve was proud of her pretty features,
and wished:to lower her ideas!

“Tt beseemeth not one so young to talk of beauty,” said the
pastor, who knew Eve too well to be at all softened by her arch
looks; “it is a thing of the present, a vapoury cloud which a
mere breath of wind will cause to disappear, a snare of the devil,
and a stumbling-block in the path of even the most virtuous.”

“Then I would rather not be too good,’ answered Eve
demurely, but received such a look from her mother that she
thought it more prudent to hold her tongue during the rest of
the meal.

Master Pennyfeather discussed many things with the pastor,
such as where his next discourse was to be preached. This was
a subject of constant amusement with the yeoman, and of
secrecy with the pastor, for the out-of-door meetings of the
ejected Puritans were much discountenanced by the Queen.
The pastor always parried the joke for some time, but before
the end of the meal he was sure to let the cat out of the bag,
whereupon Master Pennyfeather laughed heartily.

At last the meal was done, the pastor excused himself from
the forthcoming festivities, and Eve darted to her bedchamber,
where Amelia Sopp, fully as impatient .as herself, was waiting
to help her. Annys followed her sister more slowly; her head
was full of other things besides her attire and her good looks,
though I would not be so bold as to say that neither of these
ideas formed part of her meditations.

“Ah! Amelia,” cried Eve, in a great state of excitement,
“JT am wild to arrive at the green. Jirst there will be the
archery trial; Maurice and Ben will both try their skill at it.













Midsummer Eve. 25



My private opinion is that Maurice will not show from what
ancient lineage he comes, he is so awkward with his hands.
Knowest thou, Amelia, I would willingly be one of those happy
persons who form the procession. If I were my own mistress
I would dress up as Maid Marian, and my lover should be the
friar. Would not that suit thy fancy also?” Poor Amelia
blushed painfully ; she thought Mistress Eve had found her out,
when in truth it was but an unconscious shaft. Eve was quick
enough to see the maid’s discomfiture, and would have pursued
her inquiries if Annys had not at that minute entered the room.

“Prythee, Annys, what is the matter? Thy face is full of
dolour, one would say thou wert going to a funeral. The pastor
told me yesterday that I had bedizened myself even as Jezebel,
but I would rather look like her than like a hired mourner !”

“Our mother says we must not linger, for father will never
like us to be late.”

“Well, I am ready, Annys, sweetheart. Arrange my flowers
for me, and I will do the same by thee.”

Very soon the whole family were packed into a rude sort
of conveyance, and were jolting along to the village green of
. Sandhill.

It was a beautiful day; white clouds were floating in the
blue expanse; the hedges were thick with green foliage, and at
their feet wild flowers were poking out their heads as much as
to say that they too wanted a share of the general admiration.
Eve, Ben, even the twins and Maurice, were in high spirits, and
allowed the dame and Annys to represent the sober part of the
family, for the good yeoman was the merriest of the party. On
all sides the peasants could be seen hastening to the village.
They were arrayed in their best clothes, and the pretty skirts,









ry
26 The Good Old Days.

bodices, and head-dresses made a lovely picture. The village of
Sandhill was situated on a small river, which not far from there
emptied itself into the sea. Half the houses of the village were
on one bank of the river, and half on the other; a rude bridge
spanned the water and joined the two portions of the hamlet.
This bridge added greatly to the picturesque appearance of the
place, but I am sorry to say it was the cause of a good deal of
bad feeling among the inhabitants, for there was a decided
rivalry between the two sections. If the right bank expressed
a decided opinion on any subject, the left immediately loudly
proclaimed a contrary one, and vice versa. Even on this public
holiday the village had not been able to agree as to the spot
where the bonfire of bones should be placed. ‘This emblematic
heap was much coveted by each party; indeed, this year, they
had strongly advocated having two separate bone-fires, but as
such a thing had never been done before, there was a loud
outery raised by those who were of a superstitious turn of mind.
The village green was situated at a little distance from the
right bank, and as they could not divide this piece of land, the
villagers agreed to keep the peace with regard to this “bone.”
The left bank could not but acknowledge that it would be very
inconvenient if at any time their pride caused them to refuse
to dance on their famous village green.

When the Pennyfeathers arrived, the games and sports had
already begun. Young men were running races, and in another
spot archery was going on. Peals of laughter could be heard if
a runner fell down or retired from the course for want of breath,
and still greater merriment was caused if some unpractised
archer sent his arrow behind him or over his head, instead of
at the required mark. The green, on one side, was shaded by a









Midsummer Eve. 27

row of fine elms, and under the shadow of these the well-dressed
dames and maidens were sauntering about, having not yet
forgotten that they had on their best clothes. It was to this
spot that Dame Pennyfeather conducted her two daughters,
whilst the boys went off to seek the amusements which best
pleased them. Eve was not quite satisfied at this arrangement,
but comforted herself by thinking how much better dressed she
and Annys were than the rest of the maidens. Indeed the two
sisters were a pretty sight. Their short blue skirts, neat ankles,
and trim figures, attracted a good deal of attention, but as yet
not much admiration, for no young men were of the party.

“Mother, I would fain go nearer to the archery,’ sighed
Eve, when the subject of dress had been fully discussed ; “it is
very dull here, one might as well be at home.”

“Thou must curb thy desires, Eve,” returned her mother,
“the dancing will soon begin, and then thou wilt stay by my
side till thou art bidden ; remember thou art now a big girl.”

Eve liked to be considered on the high road to being
“orown up,’ but did not like the restraint this implied. Last
year her mother had let her go about with Ben, and she would
have liked well enough to seek him out now; however, she
dared not ask this. Annys came to her help like the kind sister
that she was.

“Dear mother,” said she, “if thou wilt walk round this way,
we can station ourselves very near to the shooters and see the
sport, whilst there will still be shade for thee.” Dame Penny-
feather assented, especially as she saw the minister’s wife and
daughter wending towards that spot.

“See you Mary Peckham, mother? Is she not dressed like
a paynim with that white head gear?”









28 The Good Old Days.



“Tt behoves thee not to remark on thy neighbours, Eve; when
wilt thou learn to control thy tongue ?”

“Tt is such an unruly member, the pastor says, that I doubt
me whether it will ever be controlled. Ah, look, look, Annys,
there is Maurice going to shoot!” Maurice had indeed taken
a bow in his hand, and had made a great fuss about placing
himself according to rule. He bent his bow, adjusted his arrow,
and pulled the string up to his ear. The arrow was loosed, and
Maurice stared with all his might at the aim, which was a wooden
bird set up on a pole. He was still looking, expecting to see the
bird fall, when a burst of laughter made him turn round. By
some wonderful twist of his bow he had caused his arrow to fly
straight upwards, and had he not turned himself it would have
descended on his head. He burst into a hearty laugh, which
caused the whole company to think him a “right goodly and well
favoured young man,” worthy of being a Pennyfeather. The
twins, who were holding each other, and also clinging to their
mother, remarked how clever Maurice had been, and then Rachel,
pulling her mother’s gown, said plaintively, that the sun had made
her head ache. Dame Pennyfeather was somewhat embarrassed,
but as the little girl began to ery, she said she must take them
to a booth, which was the other side of the green.

“ Annys, thou must stay here with Eve till I return, or shall
I ask Mrs. Peckham to have an eye on you?”

“Nay, mother,’ answered Annys, “1 will not stir, and thou,
Eve, say thou wilt stay with me?” Eve was so busy watching
the shooters that she did not, or would not hear this remark,
and the dame did not tarry a minute longer.

“Annys, look who is now going to take the bow: thinkest
thou he will strike down the bird?” Annys had already seen













Midsummer Eve. 29

Jacob Buckston step forward: she almost thought she saw him
cast a glance towards their side, but could not be sure. There
was an expectant silence, the crowd seemed all at once hushed,
as each eye was bent upon the tall young man who stood alone
preparing to shoot. He was dressed in green, except some high
leathern boots or gaiters, which were buckled in at the knees.
His green surcoat was also strapped in at the waist, and his
attire was completed by a tall broad-brimmed hat, beneath which
his dark handsome face could be seen. At this moment his lips
were compressed, his whole mind seemed bent on one object, and
this was to bring down the bird, which as yet no one had dis-
lodged. Annys held her breath, and as Jacob drew the bow she
shut her eyes. In an instant her arm was seized by Eve, who

exclaimed,
“What a lack of courage thou hast. Ah, thou didst not
see!” Then a loud cheer arose, and Annys, looking where the

bird had been, saw that it was there no longer.

“Eve, I do not believe there is such another marksman in
the country,” she said eagerly; but looking to see why Eve did
not assent, she found to her horror that her sister was no longer
at her side. The crowd had increased, and she was alone. What
would her mother say? but Annys had promised to stay in the
same spot, and she would not break her word. Still she felt vexed
with Eve, who was so thoughtless that she had not minded leaving
the timid Annys alone on the green.

“What shall I do?” she said aloud, and unexpectedly she
received an answer. There was no need to look up and see who
it was, for Annys knew the voice quite well. She knew Jacob
Buckston stood near her, and was keeping off the crowd from
her by just holding out one of his arms as a bar of protection.













30 The Good Old Days.



“Why is Mistress Annys alone?” asked Jacob, with just a
little surprise expressed in his voice.

“My mother was forced to take Rachel to some place of
shelter from the burning sun, and Eve has left me; she is so
young that she did not wait to consider.”

Annys answered in the same tone as she would have done
had her mother or the pastor asked her this question: unlike
Eve she could never alter her look and tone. Nothing but a
little nervousness of manner showed that she was agitated.

“Shall I be the bearer of a message to your sister?” asked
Jacob.

“T would indeed feel beholden to you if you would tell her
to return, and that I think her little careful of my safety.”

“Nay, naught can harm you whilst I am here, though I
would not that you should be seen alone and unprotected.”
Jacob said the words very seriously, and Annys feared he was
displeased. This made her still more miserable, and almost
inclined to cry. The crowd was dispersing, and moving towards
the centre of the green, where a ring was already forming in
preparation for the dancing. Annys felt even more frightened,
for she thought she saw her mother in the distance. She made
a great effort, and said imploringly, “If you would kindly leave
me, there can nothing befall me now. Everyone is gathering
for the dancing, and you will be required to foot it with . . .”

“Shall I conduct you to your father?” asked the young man, —
who evidently did not wish to leave Annys there alone; “I
think I can discern him out yonder.”

“Nay, nay, though I thank you from my heart. I promised
to stay here, and I needs must. Only, if you see Eve, bid her
hasten to me—but I pray you go.” Annys really did see her













Midsummer Eve. 31



mother, and dared not be found talking to Jacob. This latter took
the hint and turned his steps towards the central ring. Annys
shed a few tears when he was gone. She had looked forward to
meeting him, but not in this way; she fancied he would have
asked whether she had received the pot of orpine. Perhaps after
all he had not sent it, and then Annys blushed at her own fool-
ishness, It was not often that Annys saw Jacob Buckston,
though his father’s farm joined the domain of the Pennyfeathers.
Less often, too, had Annys spoken alone with Jacob, yet she
believed from various little trifles that he loved her. Annys was
too true to hide even from herself that she was not indifferent to
him, and, as we have seen, Eve had nearly divined the secret.
That pot of orpine, which yesterday she had believed he had sent
her, had filled her with happiness, but now all was changed.
He had not seemed pleased, nor had he said one gentle word.
It was all because he had found her alone, and because she had
kept her promise and remained standing where her mother had
told her. The dame now came hurrying up, looking worried and
a little out of temper.

“Annys! how comes it thou art alone? It is most unseemly.
I wonder thou didst not keep with Eve! Where is then the
madcap ?”

Annys did not dare tell her mother how Eve had left her, so
happening at that moment to see the runaway standing next to
her father, she pointed her out to the dame, adding,

“T stayed here thinking thou wouldst not have found us
otherwise.”

“Thou hast very little common sense! At thy age thou
shouldest better judge what is seemly; but come, the dancing
has begun, and by thy foolishness thou wilt have missed one











32 The Good Old Days.



dance. The folks say that young Jacob Buckston brought down
the bird at the first attempt; for my part I think Maurice’s the
cleverer hit.” Annys could not agree, so was silent.

When they reached the circle they found it somewhat diffi-
cult to pierce the crowd, and had it not been that Master Penny-
feather caught sight of them they would never have reached the
inner ring, the only one fit for a Pennyfeather! Lve, with one
glance, at her mother’s face, saw that Annys had not betrayed
her, and a weight was taken off her wicked little mind. She
forgot, however, to thank her kind elder sister. A country-dance
was en train, and Annys saw with a little heartache that Jacob
was dancing with Mary Peckham, the minister’s daughter. She
had always imagined to herself that Jacob would come and ask
her to lead off with him—and then how well he danced! Annys
was sure none could compare with him !

“Tt isa pity that maidens must wait to be asked!” murmured
Eve, who could hardly keep still. She was overheard by her
father, who, sympathizing with his daughter, said that if she were
not ashamed of such an old partner he would himself foot it with
her—and Eve, who cared more for the dance than for the partner,
accepted eagerly. They made a comely pair, the strong stout
English yeoman, and the slight nut-brown maid with her pretty
blue dress and her bunch of forget-me-nots.

Annys was very glad to stand still by her mother and watch
the dancers, especially as she soon saw Maurice and Ben looking
extremely happy. The former indeed could hardly be recognized,
so merry and lively he seemed to have become. When that
dance was over he came up to his mother, whilst Master Penny-
feather was walking about with Eve. Not a little proud was he
of his pretty daughter.









Midsummer Eve. 33



“Look, mother!” cried Maurice. “See what a prize I have
received for running!” He held up a fool’s-cap made of paper.
“This was for coming in last at the race,” and the youth laughed
at his own failure.

“Those who gave it thee could not compete with thee at thy
book,” said the dame, rather hurt at Maurice for laughing at
himself.

“They would not thank thee if thou didst require them to
sit down to class, I wot. Ah! what have we here? LEve dragging
a young gallant after her. By my troth! what a comely fellow.”

“Mother!” cried Eve, edging her way with true Pennyfeather
determination across the crowd. “Father said I should present
our kinsman to thee, young Rowland Whyte. Is it not a second
cousin that my father would have it you were ?”

“ Eve, this is no courteous introduction,” said the dame, making,
or trying to make, a low curtsey, but finding it impossible for want
of room.

“We will imagine that my fair young coz has said all that
was necessary,” returned the young man with the grace and ease
which marked those brought up near the courtly circle, “as
indeed she has, when she has called me Rowland Whyte and
your kinsman.”

I will not say that the dame was unwilling to own the
relationship—on the contrary, she felt herself two inches higher
than at the beginning of the dance.

“May I make so bold as to pray my eldest cousin to dance
with me?” Rowland continued, casting a glance of admiration
on Annys, which was quite lost on her as she was watching Jacob
approaching. Evidently he too had come to beg her to dance.

“Annys, didst thou not hear?” said the dame sharply. “Thy











34 The Good Old Days.

kinsman is praying thee to dance.” Poor Annys was obliged
to accept just as Jacob had come up and was about to speak; but
seeing her led off by such a fine youth, he turned away in spite
of Eve’s glances, which were hints that she wanted to continue
the sport.

“Come, then, Eve, thou and I will pair off,’ said the good-
natured Maurice, who could perceive his sister's wishes; and Eve
was only too glad to leave her mother’s side and to join the
merriment.

It would take too long to recount the various sports which
took place; there was a small fair on one side of the green, and
thither each dancer would take his love or his partner and buy
a fairing. What jokes were made, what laughter was heard,
what light-heartedness was to be seen on every side! Alas! for
the good old days when mirth was mirth indeed, and not a hot-
house plant well cultivated till it had lost its original form.
England has no time for so many holidays now, and a village
green is only the home and pleasure-ground of a few geese or
some young cricketers.

Towards evening I must, however, own that the fun began
to get a little noisy, and the crowd was to be seen pouring into
the village on both sides of the bridge—for the procession was to
start from the inn, and this was a sight which none wished to
lose. Eve was so anxious to secure a good place, that she per-
suaded her father to take her and Ben on betore the others.
After the procession had passed, the Pennyfeathers were to return
home and have a sumptuous supper and their private bonfires—
for the villagers became too noisy and boisterous in the evening
for it to be either pleasant or becoming to mix with them. This
procession which appeared very grand to the outward eye, was,









Midsummer FE-ve. 35

however, composed of doubtful characters, and their finery was
of course very tawdry. As the village clock struck seven the
expected assembly filed out from beneath the old archway of
the inn. First came twelve young men dressed as archers, arrayed
in bright green coats, and carrying bent bows and sheaves of
arrows; next came twelve fishermen in bright corselets; then
a few billmen who wore aprons of mail (made of paper); and
then appeared, preceded by some morris-dancers, Robin Hood,
Friar Tuck, and Maid Marian, with their retainers. The rear
consisted of sword-bearers, henchmen, footmen, and giants. These
last, composed as they were each of three men, elicited roars of
laughter! As this goodly company passed, the bonfires were
lighted and the bright flames darted up into the air, whilst
a heavy cloud of smoke curled itself away on the light summer
breeze. Among the more tenderly nurtured there were some
whose noses did not appreciate the smell which rose from the
pile of burning bones, but these dared not express their disap-
proval of the most favoured of all the ancient and loyal customs
of the land, so they muffled up their faces or turned away. Eve
was not one of these—she was straining her eyes to see Friar
Tuck and Maid Marian. As they passed near the bridge where
she and her father were stationed, she was able to get quite close
to the maid, and she quickly recognized, in spite of walnut-juice
and finery, their waiting woman Amelia Sopp. This latter was
so proud of forming part of the show that she did not notice
Eve, and passed on all unconscious of having been found out.
“Now methinks we have had enough of this sport,” said
Master Pennyfeather, who was beginning to think of his supper.
“Tt is high time that we took home such worthless baggages
as this Eve of mine. Come, Ben. thou wilt be wanted; so I will









36 The Good Old Days.



have no tarrying behind.” Ben would far rather have stayed in
the village to see the procession return, which it did after going
the round of the great houses of the neighbourhood; but he dared
not disobey his father, and moreover he was to preside at the
home fires) This bait was sufficient to make him follow his
father and sister. He sought in vain to find Maurice; but as
no trace of him could be seen he kept up his dignity by walking
some way behind Eve. Master Pennyfeather had grown so lively
that he now nodded to every one he met, and asked any he might
know whether they would come to Sandy’s Hollow that evening,
where more dancing was going to take place. ve, too, joined
her invitations to her father’s, so that it seemed doubtful whether
the large hall would hold the assembly.

When these three at last reached the house they found the
rest of the family had been there some time, having been able
to get their waggon harnessed, Maurice giving a helping hand
and counsel to the not quite sober hostler. Eve ran up to her
bed-chamber to change her blue dress, which was now hardly to
be recognized, so dusty and torn was it. Sitting by the narrow
casement she found Annys alone and without a light in the
gathering twilight.

“What, sister! did the bevy of dames crush thy spirits?
Alone, too—and supper will be ready anon; then for some more
dancing. Ah! Annys, is it not sad that one must learn and
pore over books every day, and listen to that canting pastor, when
one could be so happy if every day were a St. John’s Eve ?”

“T am aweary,” sighed Annys, “and would not for the world
that every day should be like this one; but Eve, I would fain
chide thee for having left me alone on the green! I had promised
to stay and could not move ; it was most thoughtless!”













Midsummer Eve. 37

“What! wert thou dull, sweet sister? that is not thy wont;
come, I will give thee a kiss and thou shalt forgive me! I will
whisper something pleasant in thy ear. Know then that father
has bidden Rowland Whyte to come to-night, and he—that is,
the gallant—asked me in private whether he should lead off the
dance with thee! So I said yes; then he asked whether thou
couldst dance a galliard, and I was pleased to be able to say yes
again. Oh it will be fine indeed !”

“Leave me, dear Eve,” sighed Annys, “I would rest before
supper.”

“Art thou cross-grained, Annys, on St. John’s Eve? I fear
the saint will not favour thee if that is the case;” and the girl
hurried away after having put on another kirtle, seemingly ready
to begin again at the very beginning of the games. Annys, left
alone, leaned her elbows on the window-seat and buried her head
in her small hands. The whole day had been a disappointment
to her, she felt more inclined to cry than to join once more in
the festivities. To her the day seemed all too long, and the
evening she fancied would be still more wearisome.

“Ah!” thought she, “if even Jacob does come in I shall seem
to care only for this new gallant; but I should not be surprised
if he were to keep away. His father will not be here, 1 know;
he thinks it but riotous amusement. Ah! welladay! I do almost
agree with him. I find not myself much happier for all these
frolics—they do not feed my humour. I once heard Jacob's
father call them ‘fooleries, and I think he is right—but father
does not think so, he loves all these sports, and says when we lose
old customs then we shall lose old virtues.” She shook her head
in despair, as she heard the servants hurrying about below stairs
preparing for the supper, and in so doing her head came in con-



Cc







38 The Good Old Days.





tact with the pot of orpine. She looked up and saw the plants
were quite withered.

“Ah! wicked prophet,” she murmured, “this morning thou
didst prophesy to me a day of happiness, but it has been far
otherwise. I have still my herbs to throw into the fire to-night.
Perhaps they will tell me something more true. Yesternight
I dreamt of Jacob, and I did not tell my dream for fear of
breaking the spell . . . But what a foolish maiden I am!
If Jacob loved me, as I had fondly hoped, what would father
say? Even Eve was horrified at the idea.” At this moment the
ereat horn sounded, and Annys knew that she must hurry down.
She had no time to change her dress; but then she was as neat
as when she had started, only the pale faded forget-me-nots still
clung to her tresses, and in her hurry she forgot to take them out.

I will not describe the great supper which followed. Let
the reader imagine for himself a large wainscotted room, in the
centre of which stood a long oak table, now covered with a
home-spun cloth, and groaning beneath the weight of good
things. Forks had lately come into fashion, and there was
nothing to shock our modern ideas, except, perhaps, that the
appetites of our forefathers avould seem to us rather prodigious.
Towards the end of supper songs were sung, and Rowland ‘Whyte
delighted the company by singing, in a good clear voice, a song
beginning with,

“ Hail and welcome, fairest queen !
Joy had never perfect been

To the fays that haunt this green,
Had they not this evening seen.”

As he finished he turned towards Annys, who was so unconscious
of the compliment that Eve had to nudge her and whisper, “ Annys,









Midsummer Eve. 39



seest thou not that he means thee? “Tis only because thou art
the eldest, for I heard to-day some one remark that I was the fairest
of the two.”

Whilst the table was being cleared, all the company went
out into a field adjoining the house. There, three immense
piles had been built, and Ben presided over the lighting, helped
by Master Pennyfeather. It was now quite dusk, and this
much added to the enjoyment of the younger members, till the
darkness was illuminated by the bright flames. The wood-fire
was the soonest burned out, and the young men amused them-
selves by running across the still burning ashes, and the maidens
secretly threw in their herbs, to which they attributed, magic
powers. Annys had sought for Jacob’s face in vain among the
guests at the supper table, and therefore was less unwilling than
she might otherwise have been, to hear the new kinsman talk
about his experiences of London, She had even allowed him to
escort her to the field, and was grateful to him for shielding her
from the sticks and burning brands which were now and then
thrown about by the young men. She, however, seized a
moment when he was not looking to take her bunch of dried
herbs and to throw them into the red ashes. They had just caught
fire, when Ben, with a long pole, scattered the ashes all about,
and with them the bunch of herbs disappeared and were trodden
under foot. She was on the point of exclaiming, when, looking
round, she saw that Jacob stood not a yard’s distance from her.

“Ts it not time to return to the house?” said he, as he
caught her eye; “now that the fires are dying the night air feels
chilly, and I hear the music beginning.”

“Aye, and, fair cousin, I am promised the first dance,” put
in Rowland.











40 The Good Old Days.



“Nay,” remonstrated Annys, for the second time disappointed,
“but I said nothing.”

“But a pretty bird whispered it to me” Annys did not
answer, but walked on in silence, and having reached the hall
her mother at once whispered to her that Rowland Whyte was
to head the country-dance with her. She was therefore obliged
to submit, and when that was finished, and she looked round
the room whilst Rowland was complimenting her dancing, she
could nowhere perceive Jacob. The young girl no longer cared
for the dance, and would have been truly surprised had she
known that she was envied by all the maidens for having such a
handsome kinsman, who had so conveniently turned up on St.
John’s Eve, and who, moreover,-seemed quite prepared to dance
wm the saint’s day itself.

“What a conquest thou hast made!” babbled Eve, as she was
hastily preparing for bed. “ Would that I were thy age, and I too
should have young gallants dancing with me of their own accord.
Knowest thou, Annys, that I was forced to entreat Ben to dance
with me!”

“T would willingly have spared thee all my partners,” said
Annys, who had that day learned that expectations are but vain
things. “If thou wert my age thou wouldest wish to be young
again: well I am right glad the day is over.”

“Ah! Annys, thou art not in earnest? I would get up now
if we might begin again!” But in two more minutes the “nut-
brown pate” of the maiden was wrapped in slumbers.



























CHAP. IIL—-HOW MAURICE WENT TO OXFORD.

Mor

AN HEN Annys woke the next morning she remembered that
NG she had not found her bunch of forget-me-nots in her hair.
She was sorry, for she had meant to put them in paper and preserve
them as sad tokens of a sad day. She did not, however, dare to
ask if anyone had picked them up, for Dame Pennyfeather could
not have understood such a foolish fancy. Her mind was fully
occupied in seeing that all the household goods were put away,
and she had no mercy on the sleepy maids. Amelia was sharply
reproved for yawning when her mistress was setting her to
work. The good matron was further scandalized by seeing that
she had suspended a pair of large brass ear-rings to her ears, and
when asked where she could have got such vile trumpery,
replied, that they were fairings.

“Fairings, indeed!” quoth the dame, “let me see no such
fairings here, they are only fit to be given to one of the folks
who join the procession.” After which remark Amelia was not
again seen with her ears adorned.

In a few hours the household was once more going on in its
old routine, and, alas! all too soon for Ben and Eve, the pastor
made his appearance, Latin book in hand. He was greeted by
his pupils with a volley of questions, such as—







ee eS ee
42 The Good Old Days.



“Well, pastor, did you see Friar Tuck? they must have passed
right under your window. If you were looking out at the stars,
as is your wont, you must have seen the lovely mask that
Friar Tuck had on. Come, you must own that you were
peeping at the procession from behind your casement.”

“If I had,” answered the pastor, pulling out a “Ceesar” from
his pocket, “it would surely have been to upbraid them.”

“They would scarce have listened to you,” responded Eve ;
“the maid was, however, gloriously dressed. She had on mock
chekelaton, all glittering with gold, and an embroidered cameline
kirtle. But the greatest jest was when one of the giants fell
down. The mask came off, and the poor man, who was hoisted
on the shoulders of his fellows, was overturned into the midst
of the crowd, and for some minutes my father said the hapless
swain was in jeopardy of being trampled under foot! Surely,
pastor, you heard the cries; they were not far from Butcher
Roche’s shop. The jolly butcher himself was in the midst of
the disturbance, I saw his rubicund face glistening like a holly
berry.”

“T was soaring in mind to higher things,’ answered the
pastor; “I would not be seen among such gadding people. I
seek but the haunts of sobriety. It is time, Ben, to cull the
herbs of—”

“Yea, yea,’ was Ben’s answer impatiently, for he knew that
speech about culling “herbs of learning” by heart; to-day he
would willingly have been gathermg true herbs in the fields,
instead of the dry mental and figurative ones which his tutor





would fain have made him chew. Eve, however, was not
sorry to begin her studies, knowing that the sooner begun, the
sooner done, and to her they were no trouble. She secretly







How Maurice went to Oxford. 43



pitied Ben, whose head had not been formed with a view to
Latin or Greek, and who was hopelessly stupid over his books.
It did not improve the boy’s temper to see that his sister could
beat him at their lessons; he, however, revenged himself by
lording it over her in their play-hours; he knew full well that
if she tried to follow his example she would tear her girl’s attire
to shreds, and would get a severe reprimand from her mother.
If Eve feared anyone, that person was Dame Pennyfeather, who
tried to bring up her children according to Bible rule, and had
always before her mind’s eye the text, “Spare the rod, and
spoil the child.” So she neither spared the rod, nor spoiled her
children !

Rowland Whyte had come to Sandy’s Hollow a few days
after St. John’s Eve, and had informed Master Pennyfeather
that he was paying a visit to his uncle, who was a squire in
the neighbourhood, but that he had lately been made secretary
to the Earl of Sussex. He had only a few days more to spare,
but, when the autumn should have come, the earl had promised
him a long release from work, then he hoped that he might
once more be able to pay his respects to his brave kinsfolk.
Master Pennyfeather was most cordial, said that he was proud
to own such a goodly young man, though for that matter he,
Rowland Whyte, might be proud to belong to the race of
Pennyfeathers. Was there not a Pennyfeather now in high
power at some foreign court; was there not another in the navy,
and one in the army; in fact, was not the world nearly peopled
by Pennyfeathers and their relations? Rowland Whyte smiled
unperceived, and added gravely that he knew well that Penny-
feathers abounded, for at this moment there was one under

sentence of death for having been concerned in the late rising









44 The Good Old Days.



under my Lords of Northumberland and Westmoreland, which
the great Earl of Sussex had himself put down. The good
yeoman did not like his words to be so interpreted, but finding
nothing to say, contented himself by warmly repeating his
invitation. Rowland also impressed the dame most favourably
by sitting with her for half an hour, whilst he made his adieux,
and telling her about the court fashions. Annys was in the
room, and listened wonderingly at the stories of court wit, and
of entertaining gossip. It opened such a new world to her,
that the quiet country maiden listened to the recital with the
same eagerness as when a child she had heard her old nurse
repeat fairy tales and legends of the neighbourhood. She
wondered whether those grand court ladies were ever unhappy
about their lovers, as she was about Jacob, or whether they ever
cried when they looked out of their casements on moonlight
nights. Annys, however, dismissed these ideas. No, the witty,
gay people Rowland talked about could never be sad. At that
part of her meditations Rowland got up and took his leave,
making such a grand bow that Annys blushed, for he also
murmured a compliment in such low tones that Dame Penny-
feather could not catch the words. Poor Annys could not help
wishing for the rest of the afternoon that Jacob had been to
court and had learned to make such knightly bows!

With Rowland Whyte’s departure the excitement of midsummer
time seemed to be over, but there were quiet country pleasures and
pastimes which could always please the simple-hearted Penny-
feathers, and which made their lives flow on happily, as well as
peacefully. And very soon they began to prepare for Maurice’s
going to college. The mother’s heart was a little sore, as well
as her fingers, when she stitched away at the new set of shirts,











How Maurice went to Oxford. 45



but she would not let her sorrow appear, for she had a little of
the Roman matron in her character, and, moreover, felt a certain
pride in sending out her first-born into the world, in order to
show that censorious circle what a genius had been growing up
beneath the eaves of Sandy’s Hollow. Annys, too, felt the
approaching separation deeply. In early youth she and Maurice
had studied together, and played together, and Maurice had
always been her knight and her champion. He had ever been
ready to do battle for her, and no gentle knight could have been
more attentive to his lady love than he had been to his quiet
timid sister. Now it would all be changed. Maurice would be
called on to fight harder battles, and he would have to make
truth his lady love, and for her sake conquer many enemies.
Eve and Ben in a lesser degree felt sorry that their elder brother
was going out of their daily circle, for he had never been ill-
natured, and had often helped them out of their misfortunes.
But Master Pennyfeather was the one who most felt his son’s
departure, though he said the least. From henceforth he could
not appeal to Maurice, as was his wont, for after his college life
Maurice had elected to become a clergyman. Ben was to walk
in the footsteps of his father, that is, if Ben could ever learn to
walk in any footsteps, but those marked out by himself.

At length the day came which was to be the last one
Maurice was to spend at home for some few months. The
pastor had been invited to stay for supper, and pass the evening
at Sandy’s Hollow; he had assented with more willingness than
usual, for his purse having been of late very empty, his table
had followed suit; in plain words the pastor had not had a good
dinner for a week, and this was the reason why his grace that
day was so unusually long, that even Master Pennyfeather grew







46 The Good Old Days.



a little impatient and said a more hearty Amen than was his
custom. Annys allowed a few tears to trickle down her cheeks,
but the others behaved as usual. Eve, indeed, refrained from
making any pert speeches, and this for her was a great sign of
erief. After supper the family went out and sat on the green
lawn: a few benches had been brought for the elders, and
Maurice, Eve, and Ben lay on the smooth grass. Presently
Master Pennyfeather rose, and having retired to the house soon
came out again bearing in his arms a large volume.

“Think you, Ben, that father is going to preach us a homily
out of that big volume?” whispered Eve; “or is it for the pastor
that he may the better digest his supper ?”

“TI care not, if it be a sermon I will go to sleep, and if thou
tellest of me, Eve, I will not let thee into a secret that I have
found out.” Eve being very curious, nodded her acceptance of
the bargain, just before Master Pennyfeather reseated himself
and turned towards Maurice, saying,

“And now, my boy, tell us where thou art going to-morrow.”

“Nay, father, we all know that,” answered Eve, but was
silenced by her mother, upon which Master Pennyfeather repeated
his question.

“Tf all’s well, father, I shall to-morrow start for Oxford.”

“And what wilt thou do when thou hast reached the learned
city ?”

“With God’s help I hope to study and become a learned

”

man.

“Aye, aye,” said the pastor, “but thou wilt find there a
crowd of varlets who pretend to be scholars, and who are but
pupils of the devil. I tell thee, Maurice, beware of such fools in
caps and gowns.”











Flow Maurice went to Oxford. 47



“T vouch for Maurice that he will not mix with such as
those,” said Dame Pennyfeather, who had full confidence in her
son.

“But even among the learned,” persisted the pastor, “ Maurice
will find ravening wolves. Hebrew is taught by a Jew, and a
Greek monk instructeth in his own language.”

“Then thou wilt learn puzzling things,” said his father, “ they
will teach thee Algrim and many uncanny things. Is it not so,
pastor ?”

“Yea, yea, they will teach him also the property of the
circle, and the parts of the triangle, but this knowledge will not
keep out the devil from the heart.”

“Nay, I know that well, but Roger Bacon was not misguided
by his learning, and I hope I may not be,” said Maurice.

“Let us suppose thee well out of college, lad, and what then ?”

“Then I will take holy orders and be a good Protestant,
loyal to my church and my queen.”

At this speech the pastor was going to burst forth in defence
of the Puritans, when he was stopped by Master Pennyfeather.

“No offence to you, good Mr. Hapgood, I like right well to
hear the boy speak out so boldly. Now, Maurice, I am pleased
with thy answers, but prythee, lad, what sort of a parson wilt
thou make? Nay, answer not in thine own words, but read
this out, and if it should be a little rude in language, thou wilt
interpret it to us who have no learning.”

So saying, Master Pennyfeather held out the great volume
to Maurice, who took it and read in a clear voice Chaucer's
description of the poor parson :—

“A good manne there was of religioun,
And was a poore parsone of a toun,









48 The Good Old Days.



But rich he was of holy thought and werke.
He was eke a learned man and a clerke,
That Christes gospels truly would preach ;
His parishens devoutly would he teach.”

When he had finished to the end there was a moment’s
silence, then Master Pennyfeather repeated again the last two
lines in a slow, impressive manner—

“But Christes love and His apostles twelve
He taught, but first he followed it himselve.”

“That is what I would fain thou shouldest remember, my
lad; a Pennyfeather must needs set the example wherever he
goes, and thou wilt not bely thy race.”

“TI will do my best, father, albeit I am not strong on my
legs yet.”

“Modesty becomes the young,” quoth the pastor, “and I
am right glad Maurice is not altogether bereft of it, nor yet
entrapped by the deceitfulness of the world.”

By this time Ben and Eve had got tired of the serious
conversation and wandered away. This effectually stopped the
pastor’s moral remarks, for to say the truth they had chiefly
been hurled at the heads of his heedless pupils. Annys having
finished her work drew Maurice aside, so that they might once
more visit all the old haunts of childhood lying near the house,
and thus passed the time till it was the hour for family prayer
and retiring to bed. Master Pennyfeather lay down with a
clear conscience, for he had warned his son of the perils he was
about to encounter, and had, moreover, told him what was expected
of a Pennyfeather. The dame, I am sorry to say, kept awake half
an hour, worrying that Maurice’s twelfth shirt was not quite
finished, but she remedied this evil by getting up an hour earlier











Flow Maurice went to Oxford. 49



than was her wont. So in their several ways Maurice’s family
bade him God-speed.

‘The day after the departure of one of the family circle is always
a day of dulness and general sadness. Though Maurice had been
the silent one of the family, yet now he was gone it seemed the old
mirth had departed with him. Eve was especially dull, and only
consoled herself by being more troublesome than usual at her
lessons. After these wearisome tasks were over, Eve drew Ben
away into a wood at some distance from the house, and then said
with much energy—

“Ben, thou must tell me what thy secret is. Dost thou
know that thou went fast asleep whilst Maurice was reading
about the poor parson, and I did not tell of thee, so thou art
bound to tell me.”

“Nay, because it would not be a secret if thou knewest it ;
I wot that Annys and mother would know it afore night.”

“Nay, indeed, Ben, look then, what shall I do to convince
thee that I can hold my tongue when occasion serves ?”

Ben could not at that minute devise a trial to prove the
chattering maid, and as he really wished her to know his secret,
he only let her beg for a quarter of an hour longer before he
said “Well, Eve, promise once more and I will tell thee, only I
half fear—”

“T believe it is nothing, or thou wouldest have told me long
ago,” replied Eve, who, like a true woman, now went a round-
about way to get at her object. “I care not to hear it.”

“Tt truly will please thee, though. Know then that yester-
night when I was walking out alone in the evening before
supper, I wandered further than usual. I was about returning
home, when I thought I heard sounds not far off. They seemed













50 The Good Old Days.

to come from the old barn that has been left to rot, and where
no one ever goes. So I crept up quietly behind it, and sure
enough some one was talking within. Now, Eve, guess who
was the speaker ?”

“The pastor, I should say.”

“Yes, there he was standing on an old tub in the middle of
the barn, and around him were some thirty persons. Nearly all
of them were women and children, but the pastor was not
looking at them, he was looking straight up in the roof at an
old rotten beam, and I half thought it would fall on his nose.
He was talking very gravely, but I know not one word of what
he said, that is, 1 know not one word of the homily, but when
he had done speaking he said that if his hearers would come
Thursday, that is to-morrow, night, at the hour of eleven, he
would bring a famous preacher to talk to them. You see the
pastor is afraid of being seen. He little guessed that I was
peering at him through the beams. Anyhow, 1 mean to get up
and go too, to hear this great preacher. Only think, Eve, what
a frolic it would be to be out at that time.”

“Then, Ben, I must come with thee. It would be an adventure
so much to my taste. I promise no one shall know it.”

It is some way; thou art a girl, and couldst never walk
so far, besides Annys would hear thee quit thy bed.”

“Nay, trust me, none shall know.”

And Ben, after much persuasion, consented, though in his
heart he was very glad to have Eve’s company.

“There is yet another thing,” continued the cautious Ben ;
“there will be a moon on our way there, but none when we
come back, and there are ditches and such like to be climbed
over. In the dark it will be no easy task.”



7









How Maurice went to Oxford. 51

“There, Ben, have no fear of leaving me forlorn in a ditch
or on the top of a hurdle. Now let us see how best our plan
will succeed. Annys sleeps so soundly that a house on. fire and
a troop of soldiers would not wake her; of her there is no fear,
but it is about the back-door. We must pray Silent Joe to
leave it open for us. It is his business to see it is shut.”

“Pish! If thou want doors open for thee, thou hadst best
stay in bed. I had thought of getting out through my casement
on to the gable, and so down into the garden.”

“Aye, but how climb up again?” Eve was not prepared to
do this; indeed, the climbing up again in the dark would not
have been easy for Ben, so he condescended to listen to a plan
of bribing Silent Joe, who was a new servant man, lately come,
and who had acquired the nickname of “Silent” by his unusual
wisdom in keeping his tongue nearly always at rest except when
he was eating.

“ He never asks any questions,” continued Eve, “and if Amelia
finds out, and she always does find out everything, I know
something that will stop her tongue.”

“Well, I will leave all this underhand business to thee,” said
Ben, grandly. “Now we had best come home, or mother will
inquire what we have been doing.”

‘The rooms on the first floor at Sandy’s Hollow were large
and commodious, but the upstairs sleeping rooms were small
and dark. A long, badly lighted passage ran the whole length .
of the house, and the bedroom doors all opened into it. Annys
and Eve shared a room at the end of this passage; Ben had a
small closet at the head of the stairs at the other end; Eve
would, therefore, have the whole length of the passage to traverse
to join her brother. But the reckless girl only thought that the











52 The Good Old Days.

pleasure was heightened by the chance of discovery. She well
knew that if she were found out the punishment would be severe ;
but Eve had a clever head, and determined to lay her plans on
a safe foundation.

Silent Joe was busy building up a stack of straw the next
morning, when he was surprised to see young Mistress Hve
climbing up the ladder which was placed against the stack.
When she had reached the top she sat down, and looking round
to see that no one had observed her, said-—

“Joe, I want you to leave the back-door open to-night.
Ben and I wish just to have a little walk.”

“ Awaw,” responded Joe, not pausing in his occupation.

“And say naught about it, Joe.”

“Awaw,” drawled out Joe again.

“No harm can happen; we shall not tarry so very long.”

Joe made no answer this time, but scratched his pate and
paused in his work. Evidently he did not quite take in what
was wanted of him, and could not make out what Mistress Eve
was aiming at.

At last a bright thought struck Eve. It was commonly
reported that Silent Joe much admired Amelia. This latter had,
however, taken no notice of her dumb suitor, for it was a subject
of joke among her fellow-servants. Eve remembered this, and said
in a very coaxing voice, which was meant to move Joe’s heart,—

“If you will leave the door open to-night, Joe, I will tell
Amelia what a good-hearted swain you are. You would like
that, Joe?”

“Awaw,” said Joe, grinning from ear to ear: he evidently
took in this last piece of news, and he found it very pleasant
and comforting.













How Maurice went to Oxford. 53

Then thought Eve—surely he will do it; but she was not
quite certain even now, and determined to make sure. How
angry Ben would be if they found the door fastened! For the
undoing of the bolts would certainly awake, if not Master
Pennyfeather, at least the dame, who would not scruple to send
her husband down, halbert or club in hand, to fall upon the
robbers.

“Now, Joe, I will sing thy praises to Amelia this very
evening if the door need not be shut.”

“And the master,” said Joe, now taking in the idea that his
honour was being tampered with. “He will think ill of me.”

“T will see to that; no blame shall fall on any but myself.”

“ Awaw,” finally answered Joe, and Eve could get nothing
more out of him, and so contented herself with this.

The afternoon seemed truly long and tedious, she could
hardly sit still to her work. And this brought down a severe
reprimand from the dame upon her. Annys was so dull that
Eve did not seek out her company, or perhaps her sister’s sober
ways might have brought her back to her senses. In the after-
noon the weather clouded over, and rain began to fall. Eve
thought with regret that the land would be wet, and the heavy
ground she would have to pass would leave traces on her petti-
coats. However, she hoped to secure Amelia's silence by telling
her how she had discovered her under the character of Maid
Marian. Poor Eve, she could so well plot and plan for her own
thoughtless amusement, but she could not foresee the conse-

~ quences of her conduct.



















CHAP. IV.—JACOBS WOOING.

(}) URING the family prayers Eve could think of nothing but
WS how best to steal down the passage unheard by her mother.
Now, what if her stern parent should take it into her head to sit
up that night? Maurice’s shirts were disposed of, so Eve hoped
for the best, and these hopes were realized. She herself was always
in bed before Annys came up, and very often she had fallen fast
asleep, but there was no fear of that this evening. Eve, however,
dreaded sleeping so much that she sat up pinching herself. As
usual, Annys and Dame Pennyfeather came upstairs, and each
turned in to their own chambers. Annys, however, being sad at
heart (for Jacob had not come near Sandy’s Hollow since Mid-
summer's Eve), sat down on her window-sill, and opening the
casement, leaned out of the window. The moonbeams lighted up
her fair head, and strayed lovingly over her neck and hands; but
Eve cared nought for moonlight or for sentiment.

“Annys, thou wilt catch cold if thou stayest all night at the
window. Prythee, come and undress, and shut the casement.”
Annys started—she had thought her sister asleep—and immediately
drew in her head and shut the window. In truth, she was a little
afraid of Eve’s ridicule.

“Thou shouldest be asleep, little sister,” she said gently.









Facobl’s Wooing. 55

“Nay; how could I sleep when thou art all the while moving
about and making a noise?” Annys made haste without saying
another word, and in an hour more the whole household but Eve
was asleep. Eve guessed it must be near half-past ten, and knew
she had very little time to spare. There was enough light to dress
by, and this she did as quickly as she could. Yet she was obliged
to use unwonted care for fear she should upset a chair, and throw
down her brushes, or other such noises as she was accustomed to
make. How silently she crept down the passage, holding her
boots in her hands! how softly she tapped at Ben’s door, and how
eagerly she listened for his answer! It came at last, for Ben had
by no means exercised his sister’s self-denial in stinting himself of
sleep; but on the contrary, he had slumbered soundly until her
knock woke him up, and he jumped out of bed, put on his things,
and let her in. i

“Oh! Ben, I thought thou wert never coming; I thought too
thou hadst gone without me! There, do not tread so heavily;
mother will hear the stairs creak.” Eve was leading the way, and
once arrived at the bottom she breathed more freely. How glad
too was she to find the back-door not bolted! After all, Joe was
not so stupid as he looked. But their difficulties were not yet over.
They found that they were shut in in the farm-yard, and unless they
made a long round by the lawn and bowling-green they could not
get out.

“We shall be late,” sighed Eve in despair.

“T shall not make the round,” said Ben: “I. have often got
over the roof of the pig-sties, and so out into the fields; and that is
what I shall do now, whether thou wilt follow or not.” Eve had, of
course, no intention of being left behind, and prepared to follow.
What would Dame Pennyfeather have said could she have seen her





56 The Good Old Days.



younger daughter entering the pig-sty, splashing through the mire,
and lastly, running boldly through the midst of the collection of
animals, and rousing a dozen little two-weeks-old infant pigs, and
with a helping hand from Ben, hoisting herself up on to the roof,
and from thence leaping down into the field ?

“Ben, this is the most exquisite adventure.”

“Can’st thou walk no faster? there is some way yet,” was all the
answer she got. After this Eve spoke no more till they were
approaching the spot. When within a few yards of the barn door
the two children stopped and listened. They could see some lights
burning through the holes and cracks of the old beams, and could
distinctly hear a man’s voice speaking with much energy.

“That is not the pastor’s voice,” whispered Eve, edging up to
her brother.

“Could we not make our way in where it would be less chilly?”
It had rained during the evening, and every blade of grass was drip-
ping wet, and the earth damp and cold. The air too was saturated
with moisture, and a slight fog was rising, making the landscape
appear distorted and uncanny in the moonlight. Ben and Eve
approached on tip-toe, though they need not have taken this trouble:
no one was thinking of them, and no one heeded them. When they
came close up to the barn-door they found that it was only closed.
Eve, muffling up her head so as not to be recognized, gently pushed
it open and entered, followed by Ben. They squeezed themselves
into a corner,and then Eve found herself at liberty to take a survey
of the place and of its occupants. The old tub mentioned by Ben
had given place to a common wooden chair, raised on a kind of
platform : the tub was placed on the ground so as to form another
seat. Most of the people were seated on the ground, whilst a few
of them stood leaning against the wooden beams. Standing on













Facob's Wooing. 57
the platform was a man who at once attracted Eve's attention.
He was thin and spare; his face had an earnest expression, and his
eyes kindled as he spoke. On the chair by his side was a broad-
brimmed hat of black felt, “ quite of a novel shape,” thought Live.
He himself was dressed in black, and Eve at once recognized him
to be a Puritan clergyman. Seated on the tub was the pastor,
gazing earnestly at the preacher, and evidently drinking in every
word that fell from his lips. At first, Eve was so much occupied in
taking note of all those present that she did not hear what the
Puritan was saying, but presently she was attracted by the
eloquence and power of his speech. She now listened and caught
these words :—

“Have we not suffered, my brothers, for our faith, have we not
been exiled, have we not hidden ourselves in caves and dens, and
asked for shelter at every poor cottage? Aye, we have done all
this! I myself have crossed the sea and wandered through Ger-
many, seeking shelter and finding none. I have been hungry and
penniless, and why? Because I would not return to tread once
more in the mire, because even a sovereign could not force me back
to those iniquitous Popish practices. Aye, I fled, but there were
some who stayed, and shall I tell you what was done to them? Nay!
but that would make your blood curdle in your veins. Ask others
and they will tell you; but this much you all know—how that
those steadfast ones who would not give up their faith were thrown
into dungeons, noisome holes, dark, loathsome corners. Some were
kept there loaded with irons; some were tied to the stocks, and left
there for hours, fastened with manacles and fetters ; some whipped,
some beaten with rods, some buffetted with fists. But enough of
this: they suffered for the faith, and would not return to the
religion which could order. such cruelties. They are the blessed,









—
58 The Good Old Days.

and we have to follow their example. When our gracious sovereign,
whom God preserve, ascended the throne, the exiled heard from
afar of her goodness, and came flocking back to the old land.
Did they find Popish faith and Popish customs extinguished by
the blood that had been shed? Alas! the name only had been
effaced. The church has still her foes to fight against. Every-
where there can be found signs that Popery is not rooted out.
The so-called rulers of the church have once more lifted up their
voices, and are telling the clergy what they shall do within their
church, and how they shall do it, instead of allowing each one to
follow the path pointed out to him by his conscience. Very soon
greater tyranny will follow, and the blood of those martyrs will
have been shed in vain. Nay, but it shall not be in vain: if each
true believer will stand firm, what cannot we accomplish ?—
anything and everything. Take your Bible and let that guide you,
aided by your conscience.”

There was quite a murmur of applause when the preacher got
down from his platform. This he had to do very carefully, for
none of it seemed very secure ; indeed, as it was, he nearly fell into
the arms of Mr. Hapgood. Then came a great shaking of hands,
in the which the pastor joined, forgetting that he was not the man
of consequence himself, so much had he identified himself with his
friend. In the general bustle Ben and Eve were nearly suffocated
by being flattened against the wall: this proceeding very much
hurt Ben’s inner feelings and Eve’s outward sensations. On the
whole, they had not found this secret meeting much fun, and the
heat of the barn had made them very sleepy, and not at all inclined
to turn out into the dark night and walk home. There was also some
difficulty as to how they should get out of the barn at all without
being discovered, for Mr. Hapgood, after having shaken hands all













Facob's Wooing. 59

round within the building, had now stationed himself at the door-
way in order to repeat the process. Eve was fairly puzzled. How
could she and Ben pass unnoticed? for if the pastor shook hands,
he certainly would recognize them. (They had escaped the first
round.)

“We must run quickly past him,” she whispered at last to
her brother: “only one at a time: now you must go first and wait
for me round the corner of the barn.” Ben was only too glad, and
with a great deal of unnecessary noise he dashed past his tutor.
Eve saw at once that this had been a bad plan, for Mr. Hapgood
having stretched out his hand, expecting the next comer to seize it
and give it a hearty shake, found that the hand remained stretched
out, but not taken, and moreover, that some one had rushed by
him, treading with much violence on his foot in so doing. He
rubbed his eyes and began to say something about “a strange
apparition,” when Eve, thinking it best not to tarry longer, darted
past the bewildered pastor. “It is a spy! a spy!” said he.
Immediately the ery was taken up, and about half a dozen people
who still remained in the barn ran out in order to give chase. Poor
Eve! she heard the cry, and fear gave her strength. She never
paused to find Ben, but flew on straight before her into the night.
She heard the shouts of her pursuers, but the darkness which
hindered her also impeded their progress. She was, however,
crossing a field, and the wet mould clung to her shoes, and she
could not run. She was not aware, moreover, that she was flying
away in the wrong direction: her mind was solely occupied with
the thought of her mother. What would Dame Pennyfeather say
if Eve were taken by one of the common people as a spy? (In
those days it was no joke to be even thought a spy.) Then her
father—what would he say to her having attended this meeting ?









60 The Good Old Days.



Eve repented heartily as she struggled through that heavy field.
She heard steps: some runner was coming quite close to her. Oh!
she must elude him; she must run on till she came to a hedge,
where she could crouch down. Alas! at that moment Eve fell
over a big stone, and was so much shaken that for a few seconds
she could not raise herself up. Before she had collected her ideas
a hand had seized her, and some one was helping her to rise.

“By my troth! whom have we here? A maiden!” A thrill of
pleasure ran through poor Eve’s chilled veins. She said hurriedly,
“Oh, Jacob Buckston! it is you: Prythee, good Jacob, I beseech
you to take me out of the path of those vile people: I will do
anything for thee if thou wilt.” Jacob laughed heartily, which
wounded poor Eve’s vanity. He, however, had helped her on her
feet again, and was now trying to reassure the frightened girl.

“This is no fit night for you to be walking about, and alone
too! but it was indeed a fine sight to see how you frightened the
pastor!” and Jacob laughed again at the recollection. Eve was
silent and pouted.



“To speak seriously, Mistress Eve, may I ask your intentions,
for this is not the way home? Does Dame Pennyfeather know of
this midnight walk? I should scarce think she would approve
of her daughter turning Puritan.”

“Neither would Annys care to hear you were there,” said Eve,
not subdued.

“That is another matter. I went with my father, who is too
old to guide himself in the dark.” Jacob forgot that he was talking
to a young girl; he remembered only that she was Annys’ sister,
and therefore wished to justify himself. He had given her his arm,
and they were now retracing their steps) After a little silence
Jacob remarked,



















Facob’s Wooing. 61



“It passeth my understanding how such a frolic entered your
head. But it was fortunate I was there. Yet I did not see you
during the meeting.”

“Tf you come with your father I may come with my brother,”
and Eve tossed her head. The truth was that she was beginning
to be very much ashamed of herself; she had tasted her apple, and
found it sour.

“What! Ben is here too! Why did he leave you in this
plight ?”

“Ply me not with so many questions, only let us walk faster,
and, good Jacob, will you promise me not to breathe a word about
having seen me to my mother? As to those poor cravens who will
not say their say in the broad daylight, make up some cock-and-bull
story for them.” There was a silence; then Jacob said gravely,

“A man must ever speak the truth, Mistress Eve ; if not, he is
debased in his own eyes—when that happens things are come to
a sorry pass.”

“But you need say nothing, and no one will ask.”

“But in after years, should it ooze out, Dame Pennyfeather
would think of me as a dishonourable fellow, and I could not look
her in the face. Nay, nay, Mistress Eve, had not you best make
a clean breast of it and confess your fault ?”

“T could not, I could not,” said poor Eve, now quite humble.
“You do not know my mother, she is so stern, and has such strict
ideas of a girl’s conduct. Annys would never have done such
a thing; and indeed I meant no harm.”

“ Aye, truly ;” and by this Jacob meant that he knew well that
Annys would never have dreamt of escaping at night for a frolic.
Presently Eve, who was almost crying, said humbly,

“Then, Jacob, I know what must be done to ease your con-













62 The Good Old Days.

science. If you will come to-morrow into the bowling-green I will
tell Annys to go there, and you shall tell her yourself. Annys
may do as seems to her good about telling our mother.” Eve knew
well that she could easily work on Annys’ feelings, and thus hoped
to get out of the scrape altogether. Her spirits rose with this idea,
and it was in her usual tone she said,

“ Jacob, was it all true what that man was saying? If so, I do
not wonder much at there being discontent in these days. Though
what he finds of Popish practices in our village church I am at
a loss to guess.”

“There are many things not to his mind. Some of them would
even do away with the sign of the cross in baptism, and of the ring
in marriage. All form and ceremony is odious to them.”

“Why, Jacob, I thought that you yourself were a Puritan.”
Jacob laughed.

“There is no pledge which binds the Puritans, Mistress Eve.
They say that conscience should guide us; if so be that that forms
a Puritan, then I am one; but if you mean that I would wish to
abolish both state and church, then God forefend that I should be
called a Puritan ; but come now, here we are approaching Sandy’s
Hollow, and in this chill autumn air it is not good to tarry about.”

“Ben and I cut our way short by climbing over the pig-sties and
so out from the farmyard. Maybe you would give me a helping
hand up again, then I should not trouble you further.” But Jacob
quite declined this feat, and conducted the maiden round by the
lawn, and from thence led her to the back door! How dark and
silent was everything; a sudden fear took hold of the usually
courageous Eve. Jacob gave her his hand at parting, and she shook
it warmly. “Thank you, Jacob, you have been very kind. But
what of your father? and what shall you say to him ?”













Facol’s Wooing. 63

“He will have gone home with some neighbour, and I promise
he shall know naught about the runaway lady.”

“Tf you should meet Ben, you will tell him of my safety.”

“Ben shall find out what he likes,’ returned Jacob; “he will
not die if he is a little frightened, and it will teach him to mend
his ways.” So saying, he went off with quick steps, and Hve,
feeling very much like a thief, stole upstairs, and so into her own
chamber. All she had on was so bespotted with mud that she was
obliged to conceal everything beneath a large shawl, and soon after
the weary girl fell asleep, little thinking that Ben had been in half
an hour before. Not having seen his sister, and, moreover, hearing
the outcry, he had made the best of his way home, and was already
wrapped in the arms of Morpheus.

Eve’s punishment (for concealment is a real trial to the natu-
rally open nature) was not over. The next morning, when Amelia
came into the chamber, she was full of amazement at the most
extraordinary circumstances which had taken place during the
night.

“Ah! Mistress Annys, I will never believe but that the house
is haunted. I woke up in the dead of the night, and such a tramping
on the stairs that my blood became frozen in my veins. I sat up
and listened, and then I heard the tread of a multitude of feet in
the garden, and then I buried my head in the coverlet and nearly
fainted !”

“Tt is well thou art alive to tell the tale,” said Annys, smiling.

“Nay, but this is not all; this morning, Anne has found foot-
marks on the stairs, and enough real earth that would serve for
a man’s grave.”

“Or a ghost’s, thou timorous Amelia.”

“You may laugh, Mistress Annys, but I say it is no laughing







64 The Good Old Days.

matter ; I would rather lie in my grave than pass such another
night.”

“Or perhaps thou wouldest rather go out merry-making, and
figure as Maid Marian,” put in Eve crossly ; “come, enough of thy
tales.”

Amelia blushed scarlet, but said not another word about the
mud. She at once divined that Eve had found her out, and more-
over, that for some reason nothing was to be said about the night’s
disturbances, if she wanted not herself to get into disgrace. Hve
congratulated herself on having escaped the only mode of dis-
covery that had entered her head; but neither she nor Ben were
prepared for Master Pennyfeather’s sour looks at breakfast. The
cause of these looks had occurred before that meal, when the
yeoman was making his morning’s survey of the farm. The
autumn was already far advanced—many of the trees were bare,
and there was nothing which could tempt Master Pennyfeather
to linger long over his inspection of his live-stock. But as he
passed the pig-sty which contained his best sow, behold the sty
door was open and the little pigs were nowhere to be seen! Silent
Joe had not yet come round with their morning meal, so the
yeoman concluded that he had carelessly left it unfastened the
previous evening. I am sorry to say he became very wroth within
himself, and seeing a lad lingering about sent him at once to find
the delinquent. Silent Joe was again at work at his stack, and
being summoned, appeared, pitchfork in hand, before his master, who
was standing in the sty. His face did not, however, express any
surprise at seeing his master’s state of mind.

“Sirrah! what mean you by your carelessness? Look what
damage has been done. The pigs gone, and who knows where or
when they will be found.”











Facol’s Wooing. 65

“ Awaw!” replied the silent one unmoved.

“A plague on you, man. Have you no explanation to give
me?”

Silent Joe put his thumb under his chin, and took hold of it,
seemingly trying to remember what he had or had not done the
evening before; but evidently his memory could not recall such
a long past period, so he only shook his head slowly. Master
Pennyfeather, seeing he could get nothing further out of him,
calmed down, thinking him more fool than knave; so saying he
had best hasten himself and seek for the wanderers, he took himself
back to the house with the sour looks before mentioned.

Whilst Ben and Eve were lingering about before the arrival
of the pastor, they heard their father lament Joe’s carelessness to
the dame, and assure this latter that he had taken the man to be
a trusty fool, but now he found that he had no head as well as no
wits, and that he hada great mind to part with him. Poor Eve
bitterly reproached herself, for she had no unkind feelings towards
Joe, and would willingly have spoken out and told her father
everything ; but the dame’s presence restrained her then, and every
minute made free confession more difficult and impossible. Ben
took the whole affair most easily, and had found time to whisper
to his sister that she had acted very foolishly on the previous night.
Eve did not deny the statement; still it never improves the temper
to be told something which one knows to be true, about personal
shortcomings. Eve found out that it is very unpleasant to be cross
with one’s self; she began to understand what Jacob meant by
being debased in one’s own eyes. Before going to join Ben and
the pastor, Eve went in search of Annys. She was helping
her mother to mend some precious household linen, and hardly
looked up when Eve said—





66 The Good Old Days.



“ Prythee, Annys, wilt thou go to the bowling-green at eleven
o'clock? I was told to tell thee.”

Annys answered “ Yes,” thinking the message came from her
father, who often wanted her to come to him to take back direc-
tions to Dame Pennyfeather. Eve waited not to be questioned,
but hastily joined the pastor, who could not imagine why his pupil
was so wonderfully subdued. Once or twice a mischievous feeling
came over her. She would dearly have loved to have inquired
about the meeting and the supposed spy, but she restrained her
tongue, knowing that the pastor would at once inform against her.

“ Annys, it is eleven of the clock,” quoth Dame Pennyfeather
at last. “Go, seek thy father, and after that thou mayest read thy
French; I shall want thee no more;” and thus the mother
dismissed her daughter from her thoughts, little dreaming who it
was she had sent her to meet. Annys put away her work, and
slipping on her pattens, for the ground would be wet on the
bowling-green, thought she, the maiden tripped out. She walked
down the path of the old garden at the end of which stood the
sun-dial, crossed the lawn, and turned in past the yew hedge on to
the bowling-green. This was a long smooth bit of lawn, on both
sides of which rose the tall yew hedge. A small path ran beneath
the hedge, and at one end was a tiny arbour. Annys looked up
and down, but could see no one. The sun was shining and making
the many rain and dew drops to flash back blue, yellow, and red.
The birds were having a morning concert, the invitations to which
performance were given out gratis. Some smaller ones were
darting, or rather springing along the grass and the path, in their
own peculiar fashion, looking for worms. Annys had an eye for
beauty, and sauntering towards the arbour began plucking some
late monthly roses, thinking she would wait a few minutes to see









Facol’s Wooing. 67



if her father made his appearance. After a few moments she
heard a step, but as she was struggling with a rosebud she did not
look up till the footsteps paused ; then she exclaimed—

“There, father, I have hurt my fingers picking this, but I would
have it.”

“You should have waited till I came, Mistress Annys ;” and
the girl started, and turning round beheld Jacob Buckston.

“JT had been told it was my father I should meet; that is,”
added Annys, always most truthful, “I understood I was to see
him here.”

Jacob saw her troubled face, and said at once—

“Then the scapegrace did not tell you; indeed I might have
guessed as much, as she bid me come here for the purpose of
telling you.”

“Who then? Not Eve? What has she been doing?”

“Be not astounded, fair Mistress Annys, it has ended happily,
though I must own I was much alarmed at first; for had any but
myself found her I know not what they might have thought.” He
then related what had happened, finishing with his promise to tell
only Annys, and to let her follow her own counsels for the rest.

“Only be lenient,” pleaded Jacob, who loved Eve for Annys
sake, and would not that through him the maiden should be well
chid, as she indeed deserved to be.

“Do you then think me so hard-hearted ?” replied Annys, with
a little tremble of the red lips.

“Not a whit; I think that ofttimes you lean on the other
side.”

Annys answered nothing; she felt herself in a dream, and
~ yet it was almost like a night-mare. There was something which
prevented her from speaking. She would fain have answered from













68 The Good Old tS

the depth of fie? heart, bit no reply would come. When she did
speak, the words were not what she intended.

“Then you too were attending the secret meeting. My father
laughs about them in public, but in private he laments over them,
and says they will lead to harm. He says, moreover, that we owe
obedience to the sovereign, and that these meetings are dis-
honourable, and unworthy of true men.” Jacob looked hurt, but
said calmly—

“There may be two sides to every question. Will you not
grant that, Mistress Annys? Last night it was the great and good
man Mr. Fox who himself addressed the meeting. You were too
young to understand the miseries endured by the poor Protestants
in the last reign; but the sore is still fresh in the minds of many
men. They do not forget what they suffered, and now they would
fain prevent the possibility of a recurrence of those persecutions.”

“Yes, you may be right; but I mind having heard father say
that many of those ‘martyrs’ provoked the authorities. Nay, that
a even courted death.”

“Men’s minds are seldom evenly balanced, Mistress Annys ;
besides, in this reign there has been much provocation ; Sampson
and the worthy Humphrey were dismissed from the colleges at
Oxford, and that violence has done much harm to the cause of the
church. But I came not here to dissert upon the affairs of the
Puritans. I am only a half-hearted champion. I wish you had
heard Mr. Fox. Even your sister was struck with his earnestness.”



“What would my father say?” answered Annys, laughing ;
“know you not that he can be very bitter against the disobedience
of that party, as he calls it?”

“T know it too well, and that is why—” he paused, and the

| colour mounted to the soft cheeks of the maiden. She knew by















Facol's Wooing. 69



instinct what Jacob wished to say, but she did not mind biding his
time to hear it. She did not help him by word or look. “That is
why,” repeated Jacob, “I have not spoken what has so often been
on my lips, what methinks you must have seen ere this in my
eyes; but the thought of your father—Ah! Mistress Annys, you
may have thought me to blame; you may even have doubted of
my love, if such a doubt could enter your mind; even now I dare
not tell you what is in my heart. I hear you say beforehand that
it is impossible, that I may not love you.”

“T could not say that,” said Annys, in a very low voice.

Jacob seemed hardly to hear her remark as he continued : “1 have
no right to tell you this, but for this meeting which neither of us
sought. I would not have done so, but by my troth I could not
keep it in. Yet you shall not say that Jacob could do an ungentle
thing ; if so, I should not be worthy of you. I will straightways
to your father and tell him—implore him to think twice before he
reject my suit. I have so long dreaded what would be his answer
that I put off till this moment. Then came the thought that
perhaps I was not loved. I cannot court you like the gallants
who have fair speeches at their fingers’ ends, but I know that I
could love you far better. Annys! will you not believe this?”

Annys did not wish to doubt, and felt far too happy to
think about what her father would say. Unlike Jacob she was
content with the present happiness, as she held out her hand and
they walked on together down the little path, where there was only
just room enough for the two side by side. Moments of perfect
happiness are so rare, they so seldom can be repeated, that on
looking back we often wonder why we did not make a better use,
or what we think a better use of them when they were ours. We
would have said so much more had we guessed what circumstances



E









70 The Good Old Days.



would follow, and then we upbraid ourselves bitterly for having
wasted those golden, but, alas! winged moments which can never
be recalled.

“Mistress Annys has of late lost her zeal for the French
language,” murmured the pastor, as Ben’s stupidity put him in
mind of his more docile pupil. “It is a bad sign when the spirit
wearies of useful study, and refuses to imbibe the wholesome
draught of learning.”

“My mind would rather occupy itself with other things besides
those vile books,” said Ben. “If I were as old as Annys I would
never open another ; that will be my desire when I am a man.”

“Except the Bible, Benjamin,” replied the pastor, sternly.

“Nay, I would go to church and hear what is appointed for me
to hear.”

“There is Annys walking up the lawn,” cried Eve, who had
been looking out for her sister for the last half hour; “may I not
run and warn her that you are at leisure? There too is Jacob
Buckston with her. Look, Ben!”

“A godly young man,” quoth the pastor, “and one from whom
she may learn much good.”

“He is not a Puritan at heart, though,” responded the heedless
Eve ; he told me so himself, and I rejoice to hear it.”

“What say you?” cried the pastor with unusual warmth;
“my ears deceive me, or it is an. invention of your tongue.”

“Yes, yes, I dare say ;” and Eve, surprised at her quiet tutor,
was glad to escape in order to carry her message to Annys.

“ Annys, dear Annys, have you heard?” whispered Eve, with-
out taking notice of Jacob; “and you will not tell of me. It was
but a piece of sport, truly it shall not happen again.”

Annys was too happy to be able to chide much: she, however,









Facol’s Wooing. 71



said laughingly, “Jacob will think but ill of me for having let thee
escape from so near to me, and ill of thee for getting into such
mischief.”

“But you will not think very ill of me,” pleaded Eve. Since
last night Jacob had grown in her estimation: she really respected
him, and this was indeed wonderful on her part.

“T could not think ill of one who had been the cause of my
happiness. What sayest thou, Annys?”

Eve now took in the state of affairs, and a curious expression
overspread her countenance. “But my father! Oh Annys! he will °
ask what took thee to the bowling-green, and then it will all out.”

The prospect was gloomy, indeed, to Eve, who had thought
herself out of the wood. She now remembered her message, and
said that Annys had better come, or their mother might find out
she had been out.

“Does Mistress Eve remember what I said about truth?”
asked Jacob sternly. “Nothing can be obtained by crooked means;
I would say, nothing that is worth having. I have naught to hide!”

Eve hung her head: she took Jacob’s few words to heart more
than all the pastor's sermons, and so she returned silently to her
studies. Presently Annys followed, and sat down to read a book of
French history, written by a certain Froissart, of whom Annys
knew nothing but that she liked his lively style, and was generally
much interested in her book. To-day, however, she had to use
great self-command to force herself from calling her historical
personages Jacob, or saying in the middle of a paragraph, “I am so
happy!” It was well that she could be happy for a few hours at
least, for she was young, and her hopes were tinged with golden
love; such a thing as disappointment her mind could not at
present take in.























CHAP. V.—MASTER PENNYFEATHER’S PIGS.

jp oRmc this time Jacob had been seeking for Master Penny-
Dy”, 7 oe ee
BA eather, and at last lighted on him in a wood at some
distance from the house, whither the good yeoman had gone to see
about some tree-cutting. Jacob, however, had come at a bad
moment. A tree was being felled, and in a few minutes it would
come crashing down.

“Stand off, Jacob Buckston! Holla, there! keep a look-
out! ease it, ease it! Plague take thee, fellow! thy rope is in the
wrong groove. Now, out of the way; holla!” The last mighty
strokes were struck, and with a crash, a cracking of branches, a
sudden flight of birds, a rustle, and lastly a shout from the men
standing by, the tree fell. Master Pennyfeather shook himself
well over, drew out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, and
then with the air of a man who has done a good morning’s work,
though in truth he had not struck one stroke, he turned round
towards Jacob, saying, as he held out his hand—

“TI must crave pardon for my rude behaviour, but in truth
it was a ticklish moment: if I had not been here they would have
spoilt that timber for me; I lay a wager on that. Has thy father
marked his trees yet? My children are already thinking about
Christmas-tide, and the Yule log must be well seasoned before













Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 73

Christmas. Ah, Jacob! thou'lt find it out soon enough, I| trow.
We must have an eye ourselves to everything, and not leave it to
silly hare-brained fellows, who scarce know their right hand from
their left. I might as well dig my grave as let them have their own
way. Just fancy to thyself my vexation this morning at finding
half my pigs wandering about the country. It was that blockhead
of a Joe. If it were not that I am short of hands, he should go
to-morrow. But I was forgetting: thou couldst not have come to
see my tree fall: what was then thy purpose—a message from thy
father? If it be about that mill-stream, I tell thee plainly, Jacob,
I will hear none of it.”

Poor Jacob, usually so bold and fearless, knew not what to
answer, and began to walk off from the neighbourhood of the men,
who indeed would have overheard had he begun to speak.

“My communication was of a somewhat private nature,” he
said at last, whilst the yeoman was still wiping and panting for
breath: “it related to a meeting I had this morning with your
daughter, Mistress Annys.”

“A meeting! how came that about? by appointment ?”

“Yes; but it was not for any purpose of our own. Still, when
I saw her again I could not hold my tongue, and I told her that I
loved her. I have now come to tell you, Master Pennyfeather, and
pray you to consider my suit. It is no hasty love, no young man’s
fancy, for I have loved her as long as I have had a heart to love; I
loved her the first day I saw her, when we were both young, she,
indeed, but a child, with quiet ways, and naught of subtlety about
her. Methinks such love should not be altogether considered
hastily, though I know you care not much for our family, and there
is no good feeling betwixt you.”

The yeoman had now found his breath, but was nearly losing it











74 Lhe Gooa Old Days.



again from surprise and anger. Jacob had expected as much, and
stood by calm and silent, though not for a minute losing his
temper.

“Sirrah! how dare you come and make love to my daughter ?
I wonder she is not ashamed to let you speak smooth words to her ;
a meeting forsooth! and who let you meet my daughter? Do you
think I should let a Pennyfeather marry a Buckston ?—a Puritan,
a man with no pedigree! It’s a marvel to me how you could be
so presumptuous.”

Jacob waited till he paused, then said, “You care not for your
daughter's heart, Master Pennyfeather? I cannot expect you to
think of me ; but she—I fancy she is not wholly indifferent. Nay,
I know she loves me.”

“Then she may learn to unlove thee: not with my consent
shall Annys be your wife.”

“She shall not be my wife without your consent,’ answered
Jacob, who knew too well what misery an unblessed marriage
would bring, and would not for the world that Annys should
repent of being his wife. So saying, he turned aside and was soon
lost in the wood. Master Pennyfeather took a long time to recover
his temper ; indeed, he was so much afraid of meeting Annys that
he sent a message to his wife that he would not appear at the mid-
day meal, but would like some mess to be sent out to him. This
was accordingly done by the hands of Silent Joe.

“Aye! aye! Joe, and have you found those pigs? Scoundrel
that you are, you should not stay an hour longer if I were not in
extra press of work.”

Joe looked foolishly sulky, and murmured one. of his: usual
exclamations, but got away as soon as he had deposited his
master’s food on the trunk of a tree.











\ WA \

WN ADD Teg 06 oto ne pee



(S MARKS, ARA SS

I,
scree

MARCUS WARD & CO:









“ye. SILENT JOE GETTETH INTO HOT WATER?







Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. : 75



Master Pennyfeather would rather he had stayed, so that he
might have had some one to vent his wrath upon. When one
is in a bad temper the day wears but slowly away, and when one
is unhappy the day seems to lengthen out into two, so for both these
reasons I cannot say which of the two aggrieved persons—Annys
or her father—were the most glad when the darkness obliged
Master Pennyfeather to come in and set himself down by the hall-
fire. Happily for him there was no one there when he first entered,
so he was able to give sundry kicks to the great oak table, and to
upset a chair or two before he finally settled himself down and
began to meditate.

“Was there ever such an unhappy man as myself?” thought
he; “I must e’en have a neighbour who behaves like a Turk about
a paltry stream which runs twixt my land and his, and then,
forsooth, his son must needs fall in love with my daughter. A
low-born Puritan to cast his eyes on the eldest daughter of a
Pennyfeather. Tl see him dangle from the gallows before that
happens, as indeed may be the case. If the queen be as deter-
mined as folks say she is, why, shell soon have these Puritans
up and teach by sharp means if they will not learn by gentle ones.
Aye, aye!”

“Father!” said a soft voice close to him. “Father, wilt thou
wish me joy? Is he not the handsomest, the best, the bravest man
in the county? Have I not been longing for thee, and thought the
day would never end ?”

Master Pennyfeather was silent. It was now his turn to be
dumb. At last he said in an uncertain, half playful tone, “Come,
come, Annys, thou couldst not have taken it in earnest. Pshaw!
I thought thou wert more sensible. Consider, Annys, the fellow
is a Puritan, and has been in danger, or at all events will be









76 The Good Old Days.



in danger of being taken up as a disobedient, unruly mischief-
maker.”

“IT know not what his principles or his opinions may be,”
answered Annys, standing up straight and proud before her father,
like a true Pennyfeather that she was; “but I know, father, that
Jacob is a right honourable man, and as good a Christian as any in
the land. As to being a mischief-maker, I have never heard him
breathe an ill-natured word of any living soul.”

“Aye, aye! that may be; I say not but that he may have his
merits; but then his father is a cross-grained, beggarly churl. He
wishes to pick a quarrel with me about that stream, and by my
troth he shall find me a tough subject for his blows!”

“But it is not the father who loves me,” pleaded Annys.

“Enough of this, wench; I tell thee no Buckston shall ever
have aught that is mine, unless he give up his puritanical whims.”

“Jacob would scarce displease his father by openly breaking
with him. He would not be a bad son for my sake, and I am
right glad of it.” Annys’ blue eyes never sparkled like the hazel
orbs of pretty Eve, but they had an open truthful look which
inspired respect as well as love. Master Pennyfeather looked
upon Annys as perfect because she bore his name, but he could not
understand her being so far blinded by love as to wish to become
a Puritan’s wife. Far better not marry than to give up the church
and the good old ways.

“Here will supper soon be prepared, so let us hear no more
about it, Annys. Dost thou mind me?”

“T cannot bid my heart obey thee, father, and if I meet Jacob
I shall tell him so; but in all else I hope thou wilt find me an
obedient daughter.” Some of the household now entering, poor
Annys retired to her chamber.













Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. ue

It was quite dark, and the chill autumn wind whistled beneath
the eaves and round the corners of the house. The sad moaning
found an answer in the girl’s heart and mingled its sighs with hers.
The morning had been so bright, so full of sunlight, and now the
evening brought nothing but sad thoughts, and a great void which
nothing could fill, Of course Annys said to herself that evening
that nothing ever would or should fill that place in her affections
which she had given to Jacob. Those words “never again” belong
to youth, belong to that time when clouds and sunshine quickly
succeed each other; but whilst the clouds are lying low there seems
no hope of the sun reappearing, and when sunshine reigns, the far
off clouds are viewed as specks which cannot increase or burst
upon the life which revels in the sunlight.

Perhaps Jacob would give up his opinions, mused Annys; but
even as she mused she remembered his strict ideas about truth.
He would never stoop to a mean action, never profess with his lips
what his heart could not endorse, and on the whole Annys was not
sorry that her lover should be of such a firm, upright character.
Alas! lovers as well as unromantic folks must follow the daily
routine of life, and as the horn sounded, Annys dried her tears and
went down to take her accustomed place.

In the midst of the meal a horse’s hoofs were heard in the
yard. At so late an hour this was a most unusual thing. Master
Pennyfeather, who noticed the curious looks on the faces of his
household, said he should himself go and see what traveller had
stopped to ask for hospitality, which thing he accordingly did.
He was not long absent, and as he re-entered he held up a large
square paper, saying joyfully :

“There, Dame Pennyfeather, what say you to this? A letter
from your eldest born, come all the way from Oxford. We have













78 The Good Old Days.



indeed much to be thankful for, now that the quietness of the land
allows us to hear of the safety and welfare of those we love.
What say you, shall I open it at once ?”

“It would be more advisable to finish supper,” answered the
dame, who had little curiosity in her composition, and could
restrain that little admirably. Eve had many troubles on her
mind, Annys, as we know, was sad, and Ben cared not much for
any news which came out of book or paper, so no one remonstrated
against the delay. After supper, however, another log was thrown
on to the fire, and the whole family being seated the father read
Maurice’s letter.

MY MOST LOVED AND HONOURED PARENTS,—

I would willingly have sent you before this some token of my
poor penmanship to prove to you how well I was in mind and body. I
like right well the college life, were it not that now and then some
mischievous fellows oppress me and would fain that I should join in some
of their mad frolics). But when I resisted them they wished me ill, and
I had some persecution to bear. All is now however passed over, and we
are good friends when we meet, which is not often, for I keep within my
rooms or the lecture-rooms, knowing well the preciousness of time. The
finest thing I have seen was the entry into this loyal city of our
great Queen herself. It was a fair sight indeed, but it behoves me not to
describe what Rowland Whyte could best tell you of I met him in the
streets, for he was in the suite of my Lord of Essex. Rowland Whyte
said that he would be in our neighbourhood afore myself, upon which I
wished him joy. My heart longs after you all. I would fain know how
fare the twins and our wild Eve. Tell Annys I read daily some portion
from out the Bible she gave me. I wish I could show you the fair
colleges which adorn this city. The river, too, affords much enjoyment
to those who come to Oxford for amusement and not for improvement.
Tell Ben I depute him to choose the Yule log, and let it be of a famous











Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 79



size. If you dance in the hall we will not except one of the old customs.
Ask Annys to let me know when we are to dance at her wedding.

Your dutiful son,

MAvRICE PENNYFEATHER.

“A wonderful letter!” exclaimed Master Pennyfeather, looking
at the outside as well as the inside of the large sheet which
Maurice had not managed to fill “Maurice is a wonderfully
clever fellow. Ah! Ben, I fear we shall never receive such a large
epistle from thee ; does this not make thee wish to go to college ?”

“Nay, nay, one genius is enough for the family. I would far
rather shoot with the bow like Jacob Buckston, and ride like
Rowland Whyte, and become an honest man, than grow musty
over books. I would not be like the pastor for the world.”

This mention of Jacob brought a cloud on two of the faces of
the circle, and the letter was folded up and put away along with
the deeds belonging to the Pennyfeathers. Eve soon slipped out
unnoticed ; she wished to find Amelia, which she happily succeeded
in doing. Eve was certain that neither Jacob nor Annys had told
of her; there was only one person she now feared, and this was
Silent Joe, who, if he were to be much blamed, might find his tongue.
If he told his master that his children had taken a midnight walk,
Eve knew not what consequences might follow.

“Prythee, good Amelia, I would thou couldest stitch up my
kirtle, which Ben has even just now trodden on. I would thank
thee heartily. Come then to my chamber with thy needle and
thread.” Amelia complied, and presently Eve said—

“Dost thou not think Silent Joe a very comely fellow, Amelia?”

“T do not deny that he is well-grown, Mistress Eve, and that
his appetite is something astonishing.”









80 The Good Old Days.



“Nay, but he is also a well-favoured sort of a fellow.”

“Tt would not be my place to deny it,” was the guarded
answer, for at present the maid could not see what the young girl
was driving at. At something, she was sure.

“He certainly does not talk much, but perhaps, as the pastor
would say, he ruminates all the more.”

“There is no denying that, certainly.”

“T fear,” continued Eve, coming to the point, “that he may
think my father was somewhat vexed about those brainless pigs,
but thou hadst best tell him, good Amelia, that it is nothing, and
that my father will soon forget it. Above all, tell him not to
mention it! He thinks a mighty deal of thee, I iancy.”

“TI can hardly believe that, Mistress Eve ; but of course if one
good turn is done me, I must say that it deserves another.” Amelia
spoke the words pointedly, and Eve, who understood well enough,
was forced thus to make a mean bargain with her maid-servant.
She seemed to be led deeper and deeper into difficulties. How she
| wished she had not gone out, and then she wished still more that she
| had owned her fault. Every day made it more difficult to confess,
and Eve found she had not courage to face her parents’ anger.
She answered therefore, half crossly, though she had but herself to
blame—

“Of course, Amelia, that is but just; now my dress is mended,
and it will soon be time to assemble in the hall. Remember, |
trust thee to deliver the message to Joe.” So saying, Eve ran
downstairs, and Amelia shook her head up and down and smiled



in a contented manner, murmuring—

“That is well; I now can be sure that that silly girl will not
disclose her knowledge. She has entrapped herself.”

Amelia also descended well satisfied with her interview ; whether





Set Se Ree







Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 81



she told Joe, or how she managed to explain to him the matter
need not be told. One thing is certain, that Joe still kept to his
silence, and apparently his wits did not sharpen as winter came
on, and Christmas with all its gaiety was at hand.

Surely in those olden days old Father Christmas was more of
a smiling old man than he now appears to us! I fear we have
offended him by taking too little notice of him. He has now
folded his arms, and as he shakes his head reproachfully, he says,
“Yes, yes ; it’s all very well for you: you say you are too busy
now to attend to me. I am a jolly old fellow doubtless, but really,
I am rather too much of a good thing. They did not say so in
the year 1570—oh no! Do you know what they did when I was
walking slowly towards them? Oh no! of course you don’t,
because you have never taken the trouble to inquire. But I won't
tell you. Only one thing I will say: that they enjoyed my
company a great deal more in those days than you do now. I
made myself a great deal more amusing. Ah! ah! my old sides
shake to think of it And what snow-storms I brought along
with my white locks. Ah! ah! When I laughed and shook
my hoary head, the earth became white, and the ice spread itself
over the water, and the icicles got blue noses, and my fingers made
everything look like frosted silver when I touched them accident-
ally. Ah! ah! ah! I was a jolly boy then, but now—well, well,
it’s quite altered. I can’t expect you young people who have
smoky trains, and I don’t know how many posts in the day, to care
whether I stay long with you or not. I hear you say quite sadly,
‘Dear me! there’s Christmas coming again ; it seems but yesterday
since he was here last.’ The folks in 1570 said quite otherwise.
Ah me! it is hard when the old people have to be put away on the
shelf; but it’s the way of the world;” and the old gentleman















82 The Good Old Days.



melts into childish tears; and this is the cause why we so often
have quite a mild Christmas. But in the time of good Queen Bess
Father Christmas was a welcome guest, and his approach was hailed
with delight and joy. Nowhere did he receive more greetings than
at Sandy’s Hollow. Perhaps Dame Pennyfeather was the only
one who did not altogether expect him with unbounded pleasure,
for her mind was weighed down by the beef and the venison which
would have to be provided. Then the beer! What would her
husband say if every man on the premises had not enough—and
more than enough—to drink; so she must see that there was
plenty brewed; and there must be the best malt put in, for the
labourer knows what good beer is as well, nay, better than his
superiors. There was also some present to be provided for each
family, and her own household was not satisfied unless a gift was
ready for them on Christmas Eve. Dame Pennyfeather was, how-
ever, quite equal to the occasion. Her daughter Eve wished
many times in the morning that her duties were only made up of
looking after a household. She could not see that going to visit
the dairy, and ordering the maids, could even be considered as
duties. If such were their names, she would willingly exchange
them for hers, which were learning French and Latin, and hearing
the pastor declaim against the wickedness of all Roman Catholic
kings and countries. In this way he taught history. When he
lectured upon Martin Luther his eyes would brighten, his telescopic
figure lengthen out, his whole being seemed changed. Of late the
poor man had been growing very thin, and an anxious frown had
become habitual to him. The tender-hearted Annys soon noticed
it, for her own troubles made her more susceptible to those of others.
“What has taken away your spirits, good sir?” asked she,
about a week before Christmas, which that year fell on a Monday.









Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 83



“T cannot confide my sorrows to you, good Mistress Annys ;
“T would not burden a young heart with the troubles of one who
is not far off from his grave, but e’en you must know that we are
living in sad times, and that wickedness is rampant.”

“TI know not that our day is more evil than other days,”
returned Annys, “but I know that troubles come upon the young
as well as the old; still, I would fain relieve you if I could.”

The pastor gazed a minute at Annys: he seemed to perceive
for the first time that she too had a sad look about her which was
not habitual. A silent sympathy was that day established between
them, though they agreed in nothing except in thinking Jacob
“a godly young man.” I will not say that Annys at all considered
that the pastor's sufferings could equal hers, but still she was sorry
for him, and pity can never be wasted. On Christmas Eve, Ben
and. his sister were to have a fortnight’s holiday, and it was with
no little glee that they found the time drawing near. Instead of being
more attentive they were less so, and this circumstance did not
help to smooth the brow of the weary pastor. Eve, who had over-
heard the above conversation, bent over towards her sister and
whispered :

“T know what makes the pastor sad.”

“ What then ?” answered Annys ; to which Eve replied, laughing :

“It is the wickedness of the world—Gog and Magog in especial.”

“For shame, Eve! I would not joke about the sorrows of ©
others: who knows whether thou mayest not thyself have grief
some day.”

Annys little knew that Eve did carry about with her the daily
fear of her autumn escapade being discovered. Of late she had
been happier, thinking it had all blown over; but she was daily
tormented by Amelia, who would often insinuate that if Mistress

















84 The Good Old Days.



Eve did not do this, that, and the other to please her, she would
mention to Master Pennyfeather how Silent Joe had been blamed
unfairly. Annys knew naught about the pig-sty, or nothing
would have hindered her from clearing Joe’s reputation.

“You will come and share our Christmas dinner ?” asked Annys
of the pastor when lessons were over, and both were standing on
the threshold of the door. “You must promise me that; and know
you that Maurice returns to-morrow ; and he would never forgive
you if you came not to hear his many tales about Oxford.
Maurice was ever a favourite with you.” ‘

“Yea, yea; he was a youth of much promise, and I say not but
that he might have grown up to be a Puritan prop had he been
left to my teaching ; but I love him right well as it is.”

Annys smiled, but it was a sorrowful smile; for as she stood
there and saw the snow lying many inches thick on the hard
ground, she also noticed that the pastor’s black coat (of a most
spare cut of cloth) was sadly threadbare, and could not protect him
from the piercing wind. So she said playfully, “ You are not going
to one of your meetings, good pastor? It is not weather for you
to be out in these cold snowy days; surely no one would wish to
turn out from their fire-side and their cheerful homes.”

“Nay, but that is then the time when the wolves prowl around
and seize the flock ; if any must be sacrificed it must surely be the
shepherd, and not the lambs of the fold.”

Annys did not understand to what he referred, or what he
feared, but she did not laugh at him, only smiled once more as he
went his way. As Annys turned into the hall she beheld no other
than Rowland Whyte, who had come in whilst she had been
studying her French. He looked more of a gallant than ever, and
rose with so much haste and politeness that he let fall his feathered









Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 85

cap, and as it rolled away Annys’ first impulse was to pick it up.
This somewhat spoiled the meeting, but Dame Pennyfeather, with
true courtesy, made all smooth by saying that his cap had no
intention of being displaced from its lodging, and she hoped
Rowland Whyte would return as favourable an answer to her
husband’s invitation.

“T should indeed demur to thrust myself upon you. at this busy
time,” quoth Rowland, “but that my heart yearns for the quiet
pleasures of a country life, and my uncle, the squire, has betaken
himself to the town. I shall therefore be much beholden to you,
nay, much delighted.” But Annys thought to herself that this
fine gentleman would not have come to them had his uncle, the
squire, been in the country.

“What news bring you from court?” demanded the dame, who,
albeit she looked so prim and stern, was the one of the household
who enjoyed court gossip or what she called “news.” Rowland
enjoyed no less giving out his ideas and opinions. It sounded
mighty fine to tell his personal experience of court life to his
country relations. They little knew what a mere court drudge the
poor youth’s post really was, and by his words they could not
have guessed it.

“T have never seen Her Majesty so lively: in September we
had a right royal journey to my Lord Hunsdon’s mansion. It
was quite a progress. The queen went in her canopied-chair,
which was carried by six gentlemen. These were preceded by
some knights of the Garter. The whole suite accompanied her,
but by far the finest sight was the queen herself! You should
have seen her jewels: pearls the size of—”

“Pigeons’ eggs, doubtless,” said the dame; “I have heard tell
of them.”











86 The Good Old Days.



“And then her diamonds, how they sparkled! Ah! fair
Mistress Annys, you should have been there to see it. Yet I make
bold to say none could have vied with you as to freshness. Those
ladies of the court are too much bedizened to please me: they are
not to my taste.”

“Methought you just now praised their jewels,” said Annys,
who felt in no mood for compliments.

“Yea, but there are fairer jewels which nature gives, and
which art denies.”

“And what say they of the Queen of Scots?” asked the dame

“They say so much that one cannot tell which is the truth.
Some call her fairer than the fairest, and as innocent as a dove ;
but the greater part who are near the queen do but blacken the
Scot’s face and fame.”

“If I were at court I should speak my mind,” said Annys,
“and I would not blow both hot and cold.”

“Not to cool your porridge, and to warm your taper fingers ?”
asked Rowland laughing.

Annys saw that she could not bandy words with a courtier, se
contented herself with saying, “I would cool my porridge and go
with cold fingers in order to be consistent.”

“And feel the cold wind for your pains. Aye, Dame Penny-
feather, you must ne’er send your daughter to court unless under
safe guidance.”

“Truly, our Annys is too simple for court life.”

“Know you not that the simple are those most hard to deal
with? The queen would rather deal with a knave than with one
who was too simple. The first she could put into the Tower, but
the second there is no getting rid of.”

“Marry !” cried the yeoman, entering ; “do I hear you speaking















Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 87



treason, fair sir? But I came to find my little Annys. Look you,
my pale flower, there is Bernet the smith, who is in great trouble
about his child. It has the croup again, and his wife says that
none but Dame Pennyfeather can cure it. Thou canst not go,
dame; but couldest thou not tell Annys what thy remedies are,
and she must tuck up her kirtle. We must e’en do our best for
the poor, or we shall get no Christmas blessing. Well, Annys,
what is thy mind?”

“T will willingly go, and if I do but get a little snowy there
will no hurt be done. Prythee, good mother, tell me thy receipt.”

“Would that I could go myself; but as I must not, listen,
Annys. Thou must take a couple of onions—then hold them over
a steaming vessel. Next thou must cut them into slices, and then
apply them to the soles of the child’s feet. Take care thou cover
them up with flannel, or the virtue will be gone. I have never
known the cure fail if done rightly. When the child sneezes thou
must give it a drop of this stuff, but an it sneezes twice, put thou
on more onions.”

“Come, then, get thee gone forthwith,” added her father, “ and
tell him I send him this crown to buy what is requisite.”

“T question whether you could send him a kinder present than
the sight of Mistress Annys’ face,” said Rowland. “Her look of
amity would cure me were I never so sick;” but this time his
compliment was wasted, for Annys was already in her chamber
beginning to array herself for the walk.

The way to the smith lay through a lane leading by the side
of the Buckstons’ farm, so that one reason of Annys’ willingness to
go may be easily divined. But in truth she was always ready to
perform any little act of kindness which lay in her power. As she
passed out of the Pennyfeather estate she entered a lane called













88 The Good Old Days.

Hawthorne Lane, and here the snow had drifted so deep that she
found it hard work to get along. She was about half way when



she saw a kneeling figure which made her heart beat. It was
Jacob, she was sure, but what was he doing? He was kneeling low
on the white surface, and in his hand was a tool. Annys was so
glad that she walked all the more slowly. She liked watching
him unperceived, for in truth she had not set eyes on him since the
unhappy day when her father had withheld his consent. Jacob
was too honourable to seek out Annys, though he would often
linger on the outskirts of their domain to catch if he might but
a glimpse of her. Annys, on the other hand, felt no compunction
about speaking to Jacob, if she could only have the happiness of
meeting him—and here he was! Her heart almost jumped into
her mouth for joy, and as I have said she crept on gently.
Presently a lusty voice behind the hedge sang out in no very
musical tones—
“Come bring with a noise,
My merry merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing.

This was accompanied with loud blows from an axe, which told
plainly that the singer was thinking of Christmas and of the
famous Yule log.

“Come then thou here, fellow,” cried Jacob, without looking
up; “instead of singing thyself hoarse, I would thou mightest give
a helping hand this way. The poor thing is nearly dead, and I
must make speed.”

9

“ Aye, aye, master!” answered the voice, and a young wood-
cutter came springing down from the top of the hedge, and very
nearly alighted on Annys herself.

The youth’s exclamation of dismay caused Jacob to look up,













Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 89



and seeing Annys, the colour slightly mounted to his cheeks, but
he did not get up or relax from his employment. Annys and the
youth now approached at the same time, and the former saw at
once that Jacob was trying to dig a poor sheep out of a drift.

“Ah! Mistress Annys,” said Jacob, “I see you have a bottle in
your basket; is it some cordial that could do this poor beast any
good? I half doubt whether I shall save it now. Gently, Harry,
the sheep can well feel, albeit it is half dead. I think thou hadst
best run to our house and bring back some Hollands. Tell old
Mary it is for the sheep which was once her pet lamb, and I trow
she will give thee of the best.”

“Very good, master, though I know not how I can make the
speed you wish in this snow.”

“Then don’t stay there chattering like a woman. I beg pardon,
Mistress Annys. I meant not women such as you.” The boy went
off with as much speed as was possible, then Jacob's manner
changed, though he would not leave the sheep. Annys put down
her basket, and gave a helping hand.

“Ha! Annys, Annys, my heart has been right sore on thy
account since last we met. I would fain have sent thee some
message, but I would do naught that was underhand.”

“Dear Jacob, I knew that thou wouldest not change thy mind,
so I cared not so much, and my own heart was fixed.”

“Aye! say you so, Annys, sweetheart ?”

“Thou couldest not doubt that?”

“T know not; at times all looks dark and lowering. My father
is not overpleased at me; he still harps upon that mill-stream, albeit
the poor brook is under snow and ice, and cannot flow much
anywhere. ‘Then he reviles thy father, and when I remonstrate, he
calls me a church-ridden churl. He is old and has many infirmi-











90 The Good Old Days.





ties, so I will not vex him with overmuch contradiction. But at
times I am down-hearted.”

“Poor Jacob! thou too hast much to bear. But thinkest thou
not that at this blessed Christmas-tide all ill-feeling will be put
aside? Oh! if thou couldest come to church on Christmas-day—
and now I fear it will be Rowland Whyte who will be with us.”

“What! that young vain gallant who robbed me of my dance
on St. John’s Eve?” Jacob was somewhat excited, and with
a mighty effort he released the sheep and began rubbing its poor
half-frozen body. Annys was trying to pour a little of the cordial
down its throat, and did not see the angry flush on Jacob’s face.

“Alas! Jacob, I must not tarry though these moments are
precious. I am bound to a sick child—oh! my heart grieves about
the religious differences. If it were not for these——but prythee,
Jacob, is there aught amongst the Puritans which alarms them?
Lately the pastor has had a troubled look which saddens me.”

“ Aye, tender-hearted as ever, my Annys. I know not what to
tell thee. ‘Thou knowest that the pastor, though he looks so quiet,
is very zealous in the cause. I know not, but I gather that he is
a marked man, and that if he does not beware, he will be in danger.”

“In danger? What of?” Annys looked frightened.

“Who knows? The Queen likes not all these secret meetings,
and in truth they are mischievous. Indeed, Annys, I would not
go were it not for my father—but he clings to his creed.”

“Ts there danger for thee, Jacob? Alack! there comes thy lad.
I must not tarry longer or the child may fare ill.”

At the youth’s approach the lovers were obliged to return to
their stiff ways and cold speech, so that Annys having seen the
sheep in a fair way to recovery went forward, trying to make up for
lost time. Yet her heart was lightened. It would not be difficult









Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 91



to be patient and hope for better times, now she knew Jacob would
not change towards her. And Christmas was coming; Christmas,
which had such a good effect on the tempers of all the brave folks
of “merrie England.” Pleasant thoughts speed the way, so that
Annys found herself at the cottage before she knew that she had
got half way. It was pleasant too to act nurse and lady-bountiful,
when she was looked upon as an angel of goodness. The onions
did their part; whether nature herself might have restored her
patient without the aid of Dame Pennyfeather’s onions, it is not
meet to inquire. When Annys reached the lane she was only too
happy to see Jacob waiting for her; no one will doubt they had
a pleasant talk and a pleasant walk; and as they had not sought
the meeting, both of them were free from scruples of conscience.
Jacob would not, however, step within the limit of the Perinyfeather
land, though Annys begged him to come a little further. His strict
view of what was right and honourable was to him sacred. Nothing
could have made him go to the right hand or to the left, when he
knew his road lay straight before him. Annys found it a great
relief to meet with one who could so well direct her, and settle so
easily her many uncertainties; if only Jacob had not had those
Puritanical leanings, all would have been so happy. Nevertheless
it was with a bright face she tripped into Sandy’s Hollow, being
met at the door by Ben and Eve, both exclaiming eagerly—

“Annys, know you that Rowland Whyte is going to stay for
a fortnight at least? Shall we not have some happy days? for we
must have a great deal of company in honour of such a gallant.”

“Yes, yes, I know it; let me go; I must see that Maurice’s
chamber is prepared for him. He wants no grand company, but
I fancy he will want a bed.” Annys went to Maurice’s chamber,
but thinking more about Jacob than about her brother’s bed.

ss





















































CHAP. VI.—THE PASTOR DISAPPEARS.

after this, and was tinging part of the landscape with a
pretty rose-light, when Annys might have been seen standing on
the door-step and looking eagerly over the broad surface of frozen
snow. Her blue eyes, with their simple honest expression, nad an
anxious sad look in them, which was touching in one so young.
She had been standing there fully ten minutes when a step
approached from behind her, and Maurice’s voice said cheerfully,
as he took hold of her round the waist—

“My sweet Annys, I have not half feasted my eyes on thee,
why are you deserting me? Rowland Whyte has even stopped to
listen to my stories of our grand feast. Ah! you should all see
the chimney of Christ Church. That good cardinal had a right
loyal idea of what cooking should be.”

“What, Maurice! hast thou learned to eat an ox entire since
yonder city of Oxford received thee in her arms. If so be, thou
must not bide at home for Christmas. But, brother, my mind is
sore troubled this morning about the pastor ; I have been looking
along the road for him, but it is all in vain. My heart misgives

ae" winter sun had risen over the white land two days

me. I feel sure some mischief has befallen him.” .
“What! because he has shirked his morning’s teaching? I











The Pastor Disappears. 93



think he did right well. Eve is a very mad-cap at the idea of the
Christmas dances and good cheer, and can settle down to nothing.
As to Ben—”

“Nay, it is not that; but oh! of late his face has been so
sorrowful, and he has been wearying himself to death with his long
tramps about the country. There has been some mischief, I fear
me, ©

“Ah! say you so? Have the Puritans made Sandhill too hot
for them? Faith, I am not sorry; they should be put down with
a high hand.”

“Tf they had but one neck, as Nero would say ; but, Maurice,
they are acting up to what they deem right, and a man can do no
more.”

“Right, Annys; meseems thou art grown in wisdom. What
is it that has filled thy head with such wise sayings? but come,
I see my father in the yard. The snow is so crisp it will not
hurt thee, and we will go and ask him.”

The two accordingly laid the matter before Master Penny-
feather, who, as we have said, had a warm heart, and who had
always acted kindly towards the poor pastor. He, however, did
not think so seriously of the non-appearance of Mr. Hapgood.
Doubtless he had caught a cold in his head, or had some other
ailment.

“Then he will want some one to nurse him,” said Annys,
“though I never in my lifetime have known him have a cold; but
of late his coat must often have allowed much wind to penetrate.
Will you not go and see, father ?”

Master Pennyfeather demurred ; there was much to see after.
At last he said, “Thou hast foolish ideas, Annys, but a right
tender heart. Come, I will promise thee that I will go and order









—

94 The Good Old Days.



him a turkey. It shall be sent up to his room, and he can eat it
during the whole of Christmas-day. Will that satisfy thee ?”

“Thou shouldest add a new coat, Annys thinks,” said Maurice.

“ And make her go without one for herself, eh ?”

“Yes, indeed, father, that will I right gladly do; but I was
going to ask thee if I might accompany thee. A woman can
always say the most cheering words if illness is the matter.”

“Thou thinkest over much of thy sex, Annys, but a woman
will e’en have a way, so go and get thee ready, wench; and
Maurice, do thou see if that fool Joe is doing his duty out yonder,
whilst I take Annys to the village, that is if thou hast not become
too fine a scholar to look after out-of-door work.”

“A scholar has more sense than a gallant!” said Maurice, who
pitied Rowland for finding nothing better to do than to tease Eve
and laugh at Ben.

Very soon after Annys and her father set out, for the snow
was firm enough to render walking agreeable. The maiden had
slipped-on a long half-tight pelisse. It was well quilted and trimmed
with fur. She did not forget to hang her purse to her girdle,
thinking she would add a few gclicacies to her father’s turkey.
The young serious face was an attractive sight, as with a quiet
determination she struggled to keep up with her father’s pace.
Annys had always her mind set on what she undertook; it was
this honesty of purpose which made her such a useful right hand
to her mother. During the walk she mentioned her fears about
the poor pastor’s safety. He was so unselfish that if there was any
danger to be encountered he would be the first to undertake it.
Master Pennyfeather would not, however, believe in danger. In
half an hour they reached Sandhill, and walked quickly up the
street lying on this side of the river. The bridge had to be crossed,













Lhe Pastor Disappears. 95



and here the wind blew so hard that Annys clung to her father.
Very soon they were at the entrance of the further village, and
then they found themselves in front of the worthy Roche’s
shop, which was plentifully supplied with turkeys, all looking as if
even in death they were mourning over their untimely end.
Roche, who had fears of not selling all his stock, had stationed
himself on his door-step, and would dart out on the passers-by and
inquire whether they had yet bought their Christmas turkey.
On seeing Master Pennyfeather he was quite eloquent on the
merits of his beautiful birds, digging his fingers as he spoke with
much energy into the ribs of the departed ones.

“Ah! ah! Roche! and so you can see turkey written on my
face? Well, I tell thee there are a dozen depicted on thy features.
However, tell us thy price, and if it be not exorbitant I will surely
buy one.”

Roche named his price, and was further going to relate how no
other turkeys in the country were as cheap, when Annys interrupted
him by quickly exclaiming,

“Good Roche! we wanted to know how Mr. Hapgood fares,
as he came not to Sandy’s Hollow this day or yesterday. Is he
indisposed? Pray tell us!”

Roche’s manner changed at once, and he became very mysteri-
ous; next he beckoned them into his shop.

Poor Annys’ heart sank within her : her fears were certainly not
unfounded if this mystery was necessary.

“Look you, sir, it was a sad thing, a very sad thing.”

“But what was it? Speak out, man, and tell us what was
sad.”

“Ah, sir! that is it. I was told that my eyes must be turned
away, and my tongue must hold its own counsel.”











eo
96 The Good Old Days.



“Tut, tut! man, show some grains of sense, and out with the
business.”

“He was a good man, sir, and I have naught to find fault with
his way of living under my roof, unless it is that ke kept the fasts
| so rigidly, albeit no Popish priest ; but I must say, sir, that I have
oft-times been much annoyed at his lengthy sermons as he stepped
out and in of my house. Though my wife will bear me witness
that I never listened to them, and was as deaf as if my ears had
been sealed with wax. No, no, there will be no one found to say
that I was aught but a good Protestant and a right loyal butcher!”

“Qut upon thee, man! no one is asking after thy welfare.”



| “ Ha, sir! [ was coming to the history if you will have patience:
| one must first pluck a fowl before one can get at the good flesh.
| It was even in this way that the thing took place: I was sitting in
| my parlour, my wife being in bed, and the night cold and lonesome,
| when I heard a great knocking at the outer door. I wondered for
| some time who was the neighbouvf who was so late a visitor,
| when the knocks were repeated with greater strength. I knew
Mr. Hapgood was in bed, and I could in no way guess; so, deter-
mined to go and see, I rose from my seat—”
“Well, well, let us suppose you have opened the door,” said
Master Pennyfeather impatiently.
| “Let us then suppose this, sir, an it please you, if so you will
but hear half my tale. What was my surprise in beholding half-a-
dozen soldiers, who had evidently walked a good six miles in the
snow; I might venture to say seven. I prayed them of their
| courtesy to tell me their business; thereupon they said they had
| come to seize the person of Mr. Hapgood, known to be a disobedient
| and turbulent fellow. I told them that I verily knew Mr. Hapgood,

| but that he was as quiet a man as any in the realm. Indeed, that















“ye BUTCHER ROCHE_GOOD TURKEYS & BAD NEWS.


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Re ee em montane Tr Te nT anere Te Tee RMR wT Ta


The Baldwin Library

University
RmB vv
Florida















WAREUS WARD & CO;

HS MARKS AR As







THe

QUEEN

IS COMING!”








THE

GOooD OLD Days

OR

Ghrigtmag under Queen Glisateth

BY

ESGWEE. STUART

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORS FROM DRAWINGS
Ey HoH STACY MARKS, Ata



London:
MARCUS WARD & CO., CHANDOS STREET, STRAND
AND ROYAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST
1876











CONTENTS.

ice oeig eee
CHAP. PAGE
I.—TuHE PENNYFEATHERS : : : f : Be)
II.—MIpsuMMER EVE : 3 3 : : : 18
Il].—How Mauricrk WENT TO OXFORD . : : : SA
IV.—Jacos’s WooING : : ; : s : 54
V.—MAsTER PENNYFEATHER’S Pics : : : we7e
VI.—THE Pastor DISAPPEARS : : : ; 3 g2
VII.—Too Goop a BonrFirE ; : : ‘ : - 99
VIII.—FaitHruL Love i : : : ; ; IIo
IX.—CurisTMAS-DAY IN THE EVENING . ; 5 d . 116
X.—A PENNYFEATHER IN PRISON . : : : : 125
XI.—“ THE QUEEN 1s ComiNc!” : 5 i ; Poi
XII.—‘“ ALL’s WELL THAT ENDS WELL” : : : : 140



Allustyations.

Bees
“THE QUEEN Is ComING!” (p. 136) : : . Lrontispiece.

Ye SILENT JOE GETTETH INTO Hor WaTER . ; ; : 74
Ye ButcHer RocHe—Goop TuRKEys AND BaD News . : = 00
Ye Brrps or Evit OMEN : : : ; : : 118

“ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL” . : : : ; . 140













THE GOOD, OLD DAYS.



CHAP, I.—THE PENNYFEATHERS.

OU should have seen the great farmhouse on a
dewy morning the day before Midsummer Eve in
the year of our Lord 1570. It was Master
Pennyfeather’s farm, and he was but a strange
boor indeed who had not heard that worthy
yeoman’s name for ten, aye twenty miles round
Sandhill. The farm itself was called Sandy’s
Hollow, though who “Sandy” had been even
Master Pennyfeather himself could not have told,
or whether Sandy had ever been a living man at all, unless indeed
he had been a Pennyfeather. Had not that family been in pos-
session of Sandy’s farm for generations past, and as no one had
ever handed down Sandy’s name, did not this show that he had
lived before records were kept, and when tradition alone treasured
up a man’s name in its archives? What gables Sandy’s Hollow
could boast of! and the black wood-work crossed and recrossed
itself on the old walls about as often as the bars of a tartan plaid










10 The Good Old Days.



The windows were made so as to allow the light and air to come
in in moderate quantities, but not one drop of rain could pene-
trate into the interior. Master Pennyfeather could hear the patter
of the rain-drops as they fell from the eaves or poured down
through a curious funnel-shaped mouth of wood which served him
for a water pipe, but as to rain coming in through the windows,
such a thought had never entered the yeoman’s head! But why
talk of rain so near to Midsummer Eve? In the good old days
when Queen Bess ruled the land the weather knew what was
expected of it, and held up its head on Midsummer Eve and
May Day, for all the folks danced on the green and did not come
home till morning. I have not mentioned the roses which had
climbed up the gables, or the sunflowers and lupins, nor all the
old-fashioned plants which Master Pennyfeather cultivated in the
neat flower-garden behind the house—nor have I spoken of the
green lawn with its great yew hedge at the bottom, because I
hope that by-and-by you will hear all these particulars ;—and if
not, let your imagination conjure up all these things before you,
as Sir Philip Sidney said of the early English stage scenery :
“Now you shall see three ladies walking to gather flowers; and
then we must believe the stage to be a garden!”

Master Pennyfeather was blessed with a wife, who had
endowed him with six goodly children, four of them fine,
well-made sons and daughters, worthy of being of the race
of Pennyfeathers. His farm prospered, his wife was the soul
of neatness and order, and could rule her maid-servants wisely
and well; then, lastly, his six children were the joy of his heart.
“Pride must have a fall,” is an old proverb, and one which
the yeoman had ofttimes heard though never taken to heart.
His fall had not come, and I am sorry to say that, in what he



ne pease |




The Pennyfeathers. 11

considered a harmless manner, Master Pennyfeather was exceed-
ingly proud.

Maurice was his eldest son, but blue-eyed Annys was his first-
born. Ben, when my story opens, was a sturdy lad of fourteen,
and Eve, with her hazel eyes and white teeth, caused Dame
Pennyfeather many an anxious hour. “She was so full of con-
ceits,” the good mother would say. The two youngest were
twins, by name Prudence and Rachel, fair, delicate creatures, of
whom their father would say that they were no true Penny-
feathers, and only sorry damsels. Nevertheless he loved them right
well, and would not have them thwarted.

Dame Pennyfeather came of a gentleman’s family, but no one
had thought it beneath her when she married the rich yeoman,
John Pennyfeather. Could not he boast of a pedigree as long as
any knight in the shire; and, what is more, ke did boast of it, and
was never too short-winded when this subject was brought forward.

The family were all assembled now for their dinner in the
great room, sometimes called the hall, sometimes the kitchen, and
which served both purposes excellently well. Could you have
entered Sandy’s Hollow on the 22d of June, 1570, you would
have seen as joyous a sight as well could be. The table groaning
beneath the weight of good things—not only fine joints, but
delicacies in the shape of fish, fowls, and pastry. Master Penny-
feather prided himself on the good cheer always to be found in
his house; “Whether he be prince or beggar who knocks at my
door, there will be always a seat ready, and such viands as
beseemeth both:” the father would say, and truly never had
either rich or poor been turned from the door. The farm
labourers and maids sat at the lower end of the table, below the



salt, two of them taking it in turn to serve the whole assembly.
[pee










12 The Good Old Days.

Dame Pennyfeather always enjoined silence and decorous ways
at meals, but Eve could no more hold her tongue than a chattering
magpie, and knew well besides that her father would smilingly
beg for her pardon if she transgressed the rules—indeed he was
in no ways loath to hear her merry, though often inopportune
prattle. Annys and Maurice, who were considered old enough
to speak without being spoken to, seldom made use of their
rights, and ate their meals in silence, or listened and assented to
what their father said, for the good man seldom held his tongue.
This might perhaps be the reason of his sympathy with his
daughter Eve.

“Mother! and what kirtle shall Annys and I wear to-morrow
at the dance? my Sunday one is neither fine nor convenient enough
to dance in,” said Eve suddenly.

“T must crave thee to hold thy peace, Eve,” said Dame
Pennyfeather sternly to her second daughter: but this reproof in
no ways disconcerted the young maiden, who looked archly at
her father.

“I wot thou wilt look comely enough if thou only go in thy
biggen,” said the father, laughing heartily at his own wit, and a
general titter went round. Eve did not like ridicule: she had no
intention of going in her nightcap, and knew that this was a hit
at the late hour she had risen from her bed. She therefore turned
the conversation by asking in a meek voice:—

“Prythee, Annys, whence got you that pot with the orpine in
it? It will wither in the hot sun in the bed-room.” Annys
turned crimson, and murmured something as to its not being of
any consequence, but Eve was glad enough to have made some
one else the object of general gaze, and continued unmercifully,

“I should not wonder if it were Jacob Buckston that brought








The Pennyfeathers. 13



it. I met him near the barn, and, said he, ‘Is Mistress Annys
in-doors, pretty Eve?’ Hear you that, father? he called me pretty.
But I laughed and said, ‘Doubtless Annys is with our mother in
the dairy.’ ‘Then, said he, ‘I will leave this plant for her if of
your kindness you will tell her that what she inquired after I
have procured for her.’”

“Nay, I never asked him for ought,” said Annys, looking up
quickly with tears in her blue eyes; “and I beseech thee, Eve,
have done with thy back-yard gossip.”

“And why didst thou ask Annys if thou knew so well?” said
Maurice from his seat on the right hand of his mother.

“Peace, children!” said Dame Pennyfeather sternly, though
in truth she had not passed over a single word, and stored them
up in her mind for future Sunday sermons to her children. Live
should on the next holiday learn the chapter in the Acts of the
_ Apostles which told of Ananias and Sapphira, whilst to Annys
she would point out that all concealment was odious and brought
undignified blushes on the cheeks of maidens. Master Penny-
feather, however, interrupted her meditations by saying jovially,

“Methinks it was but some young man’s frolic; but come,
mother, hast thou prepared ought fine for the girls, for the mid-
summer's dance? It shall not be said that one of my wenches
hath appeared dowdy in public.”

“They shall have corsets of blue taffeta and skirts to match,”
answered his wife, somewhat reluctantly, for she had been keeping
this a great secret, for fear of turning Eve's head before the
eventful hour of robing ; “but I would rather Eve went in a meek
spirit than in gorgeous attire.”

“Marry beshrew me! that would scarce suffice!” and the
yeoman shook with laughter, enjoying his wife’s increasing gravity.








14 The Good Old Days.

“Come, sweetheart, thou too must appear finely decked ; promise
me that I shall drive thee arrayed in cramosy.”

But the worthy dame was not to be laughed into good
temper, when her sense of decorum was ruffled. Eve was becoming
a sore trial to the good mother, who saw in her daughter’s levity of
disposition much that would cause her anxiety. This day Eve
was quite irrepressible.

“Tf the pastor had his way I fancy Ben would remain at home
to learn his Greek and indite his Latin theme. Conceive, father,
what the pastor said.”

“Aye, what said he?” Ignoring her mother’s frown, Eve
answered promptly,

“Why, that Ben should pluck those most godlisome herbs
ot learning whilst he was yet young; that he might then chew
them by musing, so as to have them laid up in the granaries of
his mind! Ben, why art thou kicking me under the table;
mother is ever saying our feet should not stray during meals.”

“Thou shouldest ask the pastor to teach thee thy catechism,”
said Ben surlily, for he and Eve were for ever sharpening their
wits against each other, much to the gentle Annys’ sorrow, for
she indeed was a true peacemaker by nature, but found it a
difficult task with these two.

“Nay, but I know it right well by heart, and besides thou
knowest the pastor is a Puritan and will not teach ‘those most
mischievous words’—” and Eve mimicked the pastor’s voice so
cleverly that the maid-servants hid their faces in the ample
strings of their mufflers, to prevent their mistress seeing their
laughter. Happily for them Dame Pennyfeather rose and asked
Maurice to say the grace, which he did in Latin, this fashion
having not yet died away. Maurice was now at home for a








The Pennyfeathers. 15



short space before going to Oxford, after which he was to take
holy orders. He was a quiet, studious youth, and had never
given his father or his mother an hour’s trouble. He and Annys
were very fond of each other, but both were of a shy, reserved
character, so did not mutually confide their troubles. Maurice
indeed had very few to talk about, for he always did what first
came to hand (if it was in the way of his duty), and as he gav
his whole mind to his occupation, no matter what, he found little
leisure to pick up troubles. Whilst at home indeed he felt that
Ben and Eve did not contribute to his mental advancement, but
he bore with them patiently, and looked forward to his Oxford
career, when he might study as much as he liked.

With Annys it was far otherwise. She was always worrying
herself about her duties. Her conscience was so tender that it
left her very little peace of mind, yet she was so timid that she
dared not take counsel with her mother, or open her heart to her.
This we shall presently see was the cause of much trouble to the
gentle maiden, who was the pride of her father and the right
hand of her mother in all household matters.

The forenoon was spent by Eve and Ben in preparing their
lessons for the next day, and by Annys in teaching the twins,
but the lovely summer evening was given to each to spend as
they thought fit. Maurice would wander out in his father’s fields
with a book, Eve and Ben would take long rambles within the
domain, and Annys would sit in the garden spinning or knitting.

This same evening Eve came back in time for supper with
her dress torn, and looking like a wood maiden. She had a large
bunch of “forget-me-nots” in her hands. Ben had not yet re-
turned, and Annys shook her head, smiling as Eve approached
the house.








16 The Good Old Days.

“Ah! sister, what a sorry plight thou art in! I will come
and help thee change thy dress, for supper will eftsoons be served

up.”

“Annys! Annys! you should have seen the peril I went through
to procure these—will they not look lovely in our hair to-morrow
evening? See this bunch is for thy sweet head; and ah! Annys,
I will tell you as a great secret that after dinner I went on tip-
toe to our mother’s room, and there on the bed, as I guessed, lay
our corsets and kirtles—such a blue of heaven, and so I determined
to get these posies. I know, Annys, what will be said of Master
Pennyfeather’s eldest daughter !”

“What, then?” asked Annys blushing; but happily Eve did
not see her, for her sister was leading the way up to their bed-
chamber.

“Surely this!”—and Eve sang out in a merry voice—

“ Annys is a darling
Of such a lively hue,

That whoso feeds his eyes on her
May soon her beauty rue.”

Annys was glad to be able to laugh and thus hide her con-
fusion, as she answered with unwonted raillery—“And of thee
they will sing,

“Five is comely, and thereto
In books sets all her care,
In learning with the Roman dames
Of right she may compare.”

Eve pouted a little, but as the great horn sounded in the
yard in order to collect the farm folk for supper, she had not time
to find a witty repartee.

Before retiring to rest, and as they were assembling for family






The Pennyfeathers. 15



prayers, Eve came up to her mother with a meek face and sober
demeanour.

“Prythee, mother, I have a petition; grant it, sweet mother.’

But Dame Pennyfeather was not to be coaxed into saying
“yes” without hearing the request.

“T would fain not learn any lessons to-morrow. . Surely the
pastor need not come. Ben, what sayest thou ?”

Ben cordially assented this time to his sister’s petition.

“T marvel at thee, Eve, after thy levity this day asking such a
thing. At thy age I would have disburdened my heart by double
study. Certainly the pastor shall not be hindered from his labour
of love,” was the mother’s answer.

“Father pays him right well,” said Eve, who would always
have the last word. “I heard him say so to farmer Buckston,
when he was bemoaning the poverty of the Puritans.”

Dame Pennyfeather, who could not so readily find an answer
as her daughter, stopped the argument by telling Annys to fetch
the maids and men to prayers.




































CHAPTER II.—MIDSUMMER EVE.

‘6 IDSUMMER EVE! The flowers seemed to say it, as they
tsb waved their heads in the early summer breeze. The
gilly-flowers in a favoured spot of the garden had been eagerly
watched by the Dame, for these and the bright carnations were
new importations, and she wished all the household to have one
of these choice flowers on their person at the dance. Ben had
got up with the lark to see about the piling up of the bonfire,
an indispensable part of St. John’s Eve, though, as the weather
was fine and warm, this was scarcely needed. The maid-servants
had decorated the whole house with branches of birch, and had
placed large nosegays of lilies in coloured jars in the rooms, and
were at the early hour of five bustling about to get their work
done, so as to be allowed to betake themselves in the forenoon to
the village, from whence the “Marching Watch” was to set out;
indeed, Amelia Sopp, Dame Pennyfeathor’s own maid, had been
privately asked to represent “Maid Marian,” and having as
privately accepted, was now in an agony of mind for fear of any
accident detaining her. She secretly knew that her mistress would
much object to her taking a share in a public show.

“Annys, Annys, bestir thyself!” called out Eve at six o'clock
in the morning. “I would not have thought thee such a lie-a-bed.








Midsummer Eve. 19

Thy needfullest fingers are sorely needed now. If it were not for
the pastor—beshrew him !—and for his vile Latin, I would weave
the most comely wreath for my ‘nut-brown pate, as father calls it.”

“Fie, dear Eve! what would mother say to hear thee abuse
the good pastor, and scoff at his marvellous book-craft? Besides,
he will have nought of to-day’s pleasuring. He thinks it but a
vain and sinful custom, somewhat savouring of Popery.”

Eve tossed her head, and quoted the then common saying,
“The bear wants a tail, and cannot be a lion! He liveth ever
in his texts, and careth not for our sinful sports.”

Annys had by this time got up and had approached the
window, where stood the pot of orpine. The two plants were
slightly withered, but were bending towards each other. A smile
lit up her face, which was seen by the lynx-eyed Eve, who was
glad to be able to ask about the orpine at her ease.”

“What fantasies have taken hold of the sober Annys’ head ?
- I never before saw thee disposed so lovingly towards flower-pots.
Come, confess it was Jacob who sent it?”

“ Av’ it were, what then ?”

“Ah! I can tell thee what then! Father would break his

47

puritanical bones for him, and as to thee— Eve made a wry
face, and went skipping downstairs singing—
“And yet I daresay
She thinks herself gay
Upon a holiday.”

At nine o’clock appeared the Rev. Mathias Hapgood, who, out
of courtesy, was called “the pastor” by the family of Pennyfeathers.
Before he has time to make his way in, I must say a few words
about this pastor who had neither cure nor sheep! He was a
young man with a living worth £5 in the reign of Henry VIII.








20 The Good Old Days.

At that time he had been ejected on account of his Catholic prin-
ciples. He then retired to Switzerland, learned French, changed
his opinions, and returned home in the last year of Henry’s reign.
Some kind patron had presented the now thoroughly Protestant
minister with a living worth £20, but hardly had Queen Mary
ascended the throne, when the Protestant clergy found themselves
in no very enviable position. Mr. Hapgood again resigned, and
wandered about the country till Queen Bess proclaimed herself of
the Protestant religion. Mr. Hapgood was happy enough to get
back his living, but alas! he had now protested so long, that he
had far exceeded the queen’s ideas of a good Protestant, indeed—
he himself did not deny it—he was a Puritan. In 1558 the Act
of Uniformity was passed, which enforced all the services of the
Church to be conducted in the manner prescribed by the Prayer-
book. Now the Rev. Mathias Hapgood had quite given up
following the Rubric, and his conscience would not permit him
to take to it again, so once more he found himself cast adrift
on the world. Happily, Master Pennyfeather came across him,
and as no one could say a word against his orthodox principles,
the good yeoman took compassion on the poor wanderer, and
engaged him to come daily and teach his children, on the one
condition, that the pastor should not fill their heads with
Puritanical ideas. The conscientious man had answered, “ that
what he was inspired, that he must teach,” upon which the
jovial yeoman had said—

“Go your ways, Mr. Hapgood, and work your will; you
will never convert a true Pennyfeather, and I won’t deny that
it will be inspiration if you put anything into the thick pate
of my son Ben!”

A small room on the ground floor was set apart for the










Midsummer Eve. 21



pastor’s scholastic duties, and here the worthy (though narrow-
minded) man went through a daily martyrdom with the wild
Eve and the dull Ben. He was in truth far too good to them,
for he never got impatient, but when sorely tried he became
very argumentative, and quoted Scripture. He seldom found
that the Latin verbs were the better for it, but he put it down
to his own want of eloquence. He came in on this Midsummer's
Eve as calm as if it were a day in Lent, and took no notice of
the children’s excitement. Annys would generally come in for
half an hour to improve her French, and when this hour came
round, the pastor asked why Mistress Annys was not forth-
coming. Indeed, he always hailed her appearance, as she was
a check on Eve, who feared her mother would hear of her
careless inattentive ways and pert answers.

. “She would be right well pleased to come, but she is busy
making pasties for the feast to-night. Know you not that this
is St. John’s Eve?” asked Eve, preparing to defend her most
favourite saint.

“Aye, I know right weil that there are misguided souls who
are this day going to celebrate the Pagan fires offered to idols
It passeth my understanding how such wickedness remains
unpunished,”

“There will be three fires,” said Ben, volunteering the informa-
tion, “a bone-fire, a wood-fire, and St. John’s fire. The first is to
drive away dragons and diseases, and the bones are those of St.
John himself.”

“Nay, Ben, it doth but represent his martyrdom, mother
says!”

“ Horrible Popery !” murmured the pastor.

“You should see the procession which starts from the village.



B






oo The Good Old Days.





No beholder can keep from clapping his hands when Robin Hood
and Friar Tuck pass by. And know you, Ben, there will be morris-
dancers come expressly from London ?”

“T shall have infinite pleasure in keeping within doors,” said
the pastor, “and turning my countenance toward better sights.”

“T wish you would take Annys to task,” said Eve, who had
forgotten she was about to read French, “I know she has in
secret collected herbs to throw into the bonfire. If they burn
up brightly, then her lover—but she has none as yet—will keep
faithful ; if not, he will turn sour. Call you not that super-
stition, good pastor? J would not do so, but would leave it
for the silly maids.”

“As if any would love thee!” quoth Ben, contemptuously ;
which remark had the effect of making Eve resume her reading.
Not, however, before the pastor had lifted his hand and eyes
and murmured in a very audible whisper,

“Gog and Magog!” But the children did not know to whom
he referred, or whether it was his manner of denouncing the
wickedness of the world. The pastor's personal appearance,
about which I have said nothing, can best be explained by
asking the reader to have a telescope in his mind’s eye. Hach
part which made up the perfect whole of the pastor’s body,
seemed to be drawn out or pulled in at pleasure, and he was so
thin that his clothes could not be said to fit, but simply to hang
on. He dwelt in a single small room, over a butcher’s shop, in
the village of Sandhill. Had it not been for Master Penny-
feather’s frequent invitations to dinner and supper, the poor
pastor would seldom have tasted any of the beautiful joints
which he daily set eyes on, as he passed out of his room. The
good dame, too, was very kind to the needy Puritan; in her












Midsummer Fve. 23

heart she rather sympathized with his opinions, though she
would not for the world have owned such a thing, for her lord
and master would never have forgiven her.

It was a happy release for both master and pupils this day
when the clock struck eleven, and they were summoned by
Annys to come to dinner before they prepared themselves for
the important drive to Sandhill Ben and Eve needed no
second call; off they flew like birds released from their cage, and
began dancing about the hall to practise, as they said, the com-
plicated steps of the new dance that Annys had taught them.
The twins, who always went about hand in hand, and were in
great awe of Ben and Eve, retired into a corner whilst this war
dance was being performed, but it was soon put a stop to by the
blowing of the horn and the entrance of the household, headed
by Master Pennyfeather leading in the pastor.

“Come, come, good sir, you shall eat a mouthful with us,
and then join us in our sports. The young folk are tingling
all over with impatience. We will find a corner for you in our
wagegon.”

“We cannot ease ourselves of our griefs by beholding such
vanities,” answered the worthy man. He was then begged to
say grace, which he did by composing a somewhat lengthy
prayer, during which Ben looked out of the window, and Eve
prepared herself in imagination for the coming festivity. Maurice,
who went through everything he undertook with his whole mind,
was now talking eagerly about the dance on the green, saying that
if Annys had no partners he would take pity on her and trip it
once or twice with her.

“And with me too, Maurice,” asked Eve. “Ben always finds
out some other partners and will have none of me.”








a The Good Old Days.



“Tis because I dance with the prettiest,’ returned the lord
of creation, who knew that Eve was proud of her pretty features,
and wished:to lower her ideas!

“Tt beseemeth not one so young to talk of beauty,” said the
pastor, who knew Eve too well to be at all softened by her arch
looks; “it is a thing of the present, a vapoury cloud which a
mere breath of wind will cause to disappear, a snare of the devil,
and a stumbling-block in the path of even the most virtuous.”

“Then I would rather not be too good,’ answered Eve
demurely, but received such a look from her mother that she
thought it more prudent to hold her tongue during the rest of
the meal.

Master Pennyfeather discussed many things with the pastor,
such as where his next discourse was to be preached. This was
a subject of constant amusement with the yeoman, and of
secrecy with the pastor, for the out-of-door meetings of the
ejected Puritans were much discountenanced by the Queen.
The pastor always parried the joke for some time, but before
the end of the meal he was sure to let the cat out of the bag,
whereupon Master Pennyfeather laughed heartily.

At last the meal was done, the pastor excused himself from
the forthcoming festivities, and Eve darted to her bedchamber,
where Amelia Sopp, fully as impatient .as herself, was waiting
to help her. Annys followed her sister more slowly; her head
was full of other things besides her attire and her good looks,
though I would not be so bold as to say that neither of these
ideas formed part of her meditations.

“Ah! Amelia,” cried Eve, in a great state of excitement,
“JT am wild to arrive at the green. Jirst there will be the
archery trial; Maurice and Ben will both try their skill at it.










Midsummer Eve. 25



My private opinion is that Maurice will not show from what
ancient lineage he comes, he is so awkward with his hands.
Knowest thou, Amelia, I would willingly be one of those happy
persons who form the procession. If I were my own mistress
I would dress up as Maid Marian, and my lover should be the
friar. Would not that suit thy fancy also?” Poor Amelia
blushed painfully ; she thought Mistress Eve had found her out,
when in truth it was but an unconscious shaft. Eve was quick
enough to see the maid’s discomfiture, and would have pursued
her inquiries if Annys had not at that minute entered the room.

“Prythee, Annys, what is the matter? Thy face is full of
dolour, one would say thou wert going to a funeral. The pastor
told me yesterday that I had bedizened myself even as Jezebel,
but I would rather look like her than like a hired mourner !”

“Our mother says we must not linger, for father will never
like us to be late.”

“Well, I am ready, Annys, sweetheart. Arrange my flowers
for me, and I will do the same by thee.”

Very soon the whole family were packed into a rude sort
of conveyance, and were jolting along to the village green of
. Sandhill.

It was a beautiful day; white clouds were floating in the
blue expanse; the hedges were thick with green foliage, and at
their feet wild flowers were poking out their heads as much as
to say that they too wanted a share of the general admiration.
Eve, Ben, even the twins and Maurice, were in high spirits, and
allowed the dame and Annys to represent the sober part of the
family, for the good yeoman was the merriest of the party. On
all sides the peasants could be seen hastening to the village.
They were arrayed in their best clothes, and the pretty skirts,






ry
26 The Good Old Days.

bodices, and head-dresses made a lovely picture. The village of
Sandhill was situated on a small river, which not far from there
emptied itself into the sea. Half the houses of the village were
on one bank of the river, and half on the other; a rude bridge
spanned the water and joined the two portions of the hamlet.
This bridge added greatly to the picturesque appearance of the
place, but I am sorry to say it was the cause of a good deal of
bad feeling among the inhabitants, for there was a decided
rivalry between the two sections. If the right bank expressed
a decided opinion on any subject, the left immediately loudly
proclaimed a contrary one, and vice versa. Even on this public
holiday the village had not been able to agree as to the spot
where the bonfire of bones should be placed. ‘This emblematic
heap was much coveted by each party; indeed, this year, they
had strongly advocated having two separate bone-fires, but as
such a thing had never been done before, there was a loud
outery raised by those who were of a superstitious turn of mind.
The village green was situated at a little distance from the
right bank, and as they could not divide this piece of land, the
villagers agreed to keep the peace with regard to this “bone.”
The left bank could not but acknowledge that it would be very
inconvenient if at any time their pride caused them to refuse
to dance on their famous village green.

When the Pennyfeathers arrived, the games and sports had
already begun. Young men were running races, and in another
spot archery was going on. Peals of laughter could be heard if
a runner fell down or retired from the course for want of breath,
and still greater merriment was caused if some unpractised
archer sent his arrow behind him or over his head, instead of
at the required mark. The green, on one side, was shaded by a






Midsummer Eve. 27

row of fine elms, and under the shadow of these the well-dressed
dames and maidens were sauntering about, having not yet
forgotten that they had on their best clothes. It was to this
spot that Dame Pennyfeather conducted her two daughters,
whilst the boys went off to seek the amusements which best
pleased them. Eve was not quite satisfied at this arrangement,
but comforted herself by thinking how much better dressed she
and Annys were than the rest of the maidens. Indeed the two
sisters were a pretty sight. Their short blue skirts, neat ankles,
and trim figures, attracted a good deal of attention, but as yet
not much admiration, for no young men were of the party.

“Mother, I would fain go nearer to the archery,’ sighed
Eve, when the subject of dress had been fully discussed ; “it is
very dull here, one might as well be at home.”

“Thou must curb thy desires, Eve,” returned her mother,
“the dancing will soon begin, and then thou wilt stay by my
side till thou art bidden ; remember thou art now a big girl.”

Eve liked to be considered on the high road to being
“orown up,’ but did not like the restraint this implied. Last
year her mother had let her go about with Ben, and she would
have liked well enough to seek him out now; however, she
dared not ask this. Annys came to her help like the kind sister
that she was.

“Dear mother,” said she, “if thou wilt walk round this way,
we can station ourselves very near to the shooters and see the
sport, whilst there will still be shade for thee.” Dame Penny-
feather assented, especially as she saw the minister’s wife and
daughter wending towards that spot.

“See you Mary Peckham, mother? Is she not dressed like
a paynim with that white head gear?”






28 The Good Old Days.



“Tt behoves thee not to remark on thy neighbours, Eve; when
wilt thou learn to control thy tongue ?”

“Tt is such an unruly member, the pastor says, that I doubt
me whether it will ever be controlled. Ah, look, look, Annys,
there is Maurice going to shoot!” Maurice had indeed taken
a bow in his hand, and had made a great fuss about placing
himself according to rule. He bent his bow, adjusted his arrow,
and pulled the string up to his ear. The arrow was loosed, and
Maurice stared with all his might at the aim, which was a wooden
bird set up on a pole. He was still looking, expecting to see the
bird fall, when a burst of laughter made him turn round. By
some wonderful twist of his bow he had caused his arrow to fly
straight upwards, and had he not turned himself it would have
descended on his head. He burst into a hearty laugh, which
caused the whole company to think him a “right goodly and well
favoured young man,” worthy of being a Pennyfeather. The
twins, who were holding each other, and also clinging to their
mother, remarked how clever Maurice had been, and then Rachel,
pulling her mother’s gown, said plaintively, that the sun had made
her head ache. Dame Pennyfeather was somewhat embarrassed,
but as the little girl began to ery, she said she must take them
to a booth, which was the other side of the green.

“ Annys, thou must stay here with Eve till I return, or shall
I ask Mrs. Peckham to have an eye on you?”

“Nay, mother,’ answered Annys, “1 will not stir, and thou,
Eve, say thou wilt stay with me?” Eve was so busy watching
the shooters that she did not, or would not hear this remark,
and the dame did not tarry a minute longer.

“Annys, look who is now going to take the bow: thinkest
thou he will strike down the bird?” Annys had already seen










Midsummer Eve. 29

Jacob Buckston step forward: she almost thought she saw him
cast a glance towards their side, but could not be sure. There
was an expectant silence, the crowd seemed all at once hushed,
as each eye was bent upon the tall young man who stood alone
preparing to shoot. He was dressed in green, except some high
leathern boots or gaiters, which were buckled in at the knees.
His green surcoat was also strapped in at the waist, and his
attire was completed by a tall broad-brimmed hat, beneath which
his dark handsome face could be seen. At this moment his lips
were compressed, his whole mind seemed bent on one object, and
this was to bring down the bird, which as yet no one had dis-
lodged. Annys held her breath, and as Jacob drew the bow she
shut her eyes. In an instant her arm was seized by Eve, who

exclaimed,
“What a lack of courage thou hast. Ah, thou didst not
see!” Then a loud cheer arose, and Annys, looking where the

bird had been, saw that it was there no longer.

“Eve, I do not believe there is such another marksman in
the country,” she said eagerly; but looking to see why Eve did
not assent, she found to her horror that her sister was no longer
at her side. The crowd had increased, and she was alone. What
would her mother say? but Annys had promised to stay in the
same spot, and she would not break her word. Still she felt vexed
with Eve, who was so thoughtless that she had not minded leaving
the timid Annys alone on the green.

“What shall I do?” she said aloud, and unexpectedly she
received an answer. There was no need to look up and see who
it was, for Annys knew the voice quite well. She knew Jacob
Buckston stood near her, and was keeping off the crowd from
her by just holding out one of his arms as a bar of protection.










30 The Good Old Days.



“Why is Mistress Annys alone?” asked Jacob, with just a
little surprise expressed in his voice.

“My mother was forced to take Rachel to some place of
shelter from the burning sun, and Eve has left me; she is so
young that she did not wait to consider.”

Annys answered in the same tone as she would have done
had her mother or the pastor asked her this question: unlike
Eve she could never alter her look and tone. Nothing but a
little nervousness of manner showed that she was agitated.

“Shall I be the bearer of a message to your sister?” asked
Jacob.

“T would indeed feel beholden to you if you would tell her
to return, and that I think her little careful of my safety.”

“Nay, naught can harm you whilst I am here, though I
would not that you should be seen alone and unprotected.”
Jacob said the words very seriously, and Annys feared he was
displeased. This made her still more miserable, and almost
inclined to cry. The crowd was dispersing, and moving towards
the centre of the green, where a ring was already forming in
preparation for the dancing. Annys felt even more frightened,
for she thought she saw her mother in the distance. She made
a great effort, and said imploringly, “If you would kindly leave
me, there can nothing befall me now. Everyone is gathering
for the dancing, and you will be required to foot it with . . .”

“Shall I conduct you to your father?” asked the young man, —
who evidently did not wish to leave Annys there alone; “I
think I can discern him out yonder.”

“Nay, nay, though I thank you from my heart. I promised
to stay here, and I needs must. Only, if you see Eve, bid her
hasten to me—but I pray you go.” Annys really did see her










Midsummer Eve. 31



mother, and dared not be found talking to Jacob. This latter took
the hint and turned his steps towards the central ring. Annys
shed a few tears when he was gone. She had looked forward to
meeting him, but not in this way; she fancied he would have
asked whether she had received the pot of orpine. Perhaps after
all he had not sent it, and then Annys blushed at her own fool-
ishness, It was not often that Annys saw Jacob Buckston,
though his father’s farm joined the domain of the Pennyfeathers.
Less often, too, had Annys spoken alone with Jacob, yet she
believed from various little trifles that he loved her. Annys was
too true to hide even from herself that she was not indifferent to
him, and, as we have seen, Eve had nearly divined the secret.
That pot of orpine, which yesterday she had believed he had sent
her, had filled her with happiness, but now all was changed.
He had not seemed pleased, nor had he said one gentle word.
It was all because he had found her alone, and because she had
kept her promise and remained standing where her mother had
told her. The dame now came hurrying up, looking worried and
a little out of temper.

“Annys! how comes it thou art alone? It is most unseemly.
I wonder thou didst not keep with Eve! Where is then the
madcap ?”

Annys did not dare tell her mother how Eve had left her, so
happening at that moment to see the runaway standing next to
her father, she pointed her out to the dame, adding,

“T stayed here thinking thou wouldst not have found us
otherwise.”

“Thou hast very little common sense! At thy age thou
shouldest better judge what is seemly; but come, the dancing
has begun, and by thy foolishness thou wilt have missed one








32 The Good Old Days.



dance. The folks say that young Jacob Buckston brought down
the bird at the first attempt; for my part I think Maurice’s the
cleverer hit.” Annys could not agree, so was silent.

When they reached the circle they found it somewhat diffi-
cult to pierce the crowd, and had it not been that Master Penny-
feather caught sight of them they would never have reached the
inner ring, the only one fit for a Pennyfeather! Lve, with one
glance, at her mother’s face, saw that Annys had not betrayed
her, and a weight was taken off her wicked little mind. She
forgot, however, to thank her kind elder sister. A country-dance
was en train, and Annys saw with a little heartache that Jacob
was dancing with Mary Peckham, the minister’s daughter. She
had always imagined to herself that Jacob would come and ask
her to lead off with him—and then how well he danced! Annys
was sure none could compare with him !

“Tt isa pity that maidens must wait to be asked!” murmured
Eve, who could hardly keep still. She was overheard by her
father, who, sympathizing with his daughter, said that if she were
not ashamed of such an old partner he would himself foot it with
her—and Eve, who cared more for the dance than for the partner,
accepted eagerly. They made a comely pair, the strong stout
English yeoman, and the slight nut-brown maid with her pretty
blue dress and her bunch of forget-me-nots.

Annys was very glad to stand still by her mother and watch
the dancers, especially as she soon saw Maurice and Ben looking
extremely happy. The former indeed could hardly be recognized,
so merry and lively he seemed to have become. When that
dance was over he came up to his mother, whilst Master Penny-
feather was walking about with Eve. Not a little proud was he
of his pretty daughter.






Midsummer Eve. 33



“Look, mother!” cried Maurice. “See what a prize I have
received for running!” He held up a fool’s-cap made of paper.
“This was for coming in last at the race,” and the youth laughed
at his own failure.

“Those who gave it thee could not compete with thee at thy
book,” said the dame, rather hurt at Maurice for laughing at
himself.

“They would not thank thee if thou didst require them to
sit down to class, I wot. Ah! what have we here? LEve dragging
a young gallant after her. By my troth! what a comely fellow.”

“Mother!” cried Eve, edging her way with true Pennyfeather
determination across the crowd. “Father said I should present
our kinsman to thee, young Rowland Whyte. Is it not a second
cousin that my father would have it you were ?”

“ Eve, this is no courteous introduction,” said the dame, making,
or trying to make, a low curtsey, but finding it impossible for want
of room.

“We will imagine that my fair young coz has said all that
was necessary,” returned the young man with the grace and ease
which marked those brought up near the courtly circle, “as
indeed she has, when she has called me Rowland Whyte and
your kinsman.”

I will not say that the dame was unwilling to own the
relationship—on the contrary, she felt herself two inches higher
than at the beginning of the dance.

“May I make so bold as to pray my eldest cousin to dance
with me?” Rowland continued, casting a glance of admiration
on Annys, which was quite lost on her as she was watching Jacob
approaching. Evidently he too had come to beg her to dance.

“Annys, didst thou not hear?” said the dame sharply. “Thy








34 The Good Old Days.

kinsman is praying thee to dance.” Poor Annys was obliged
to accept just as Jacob had come up and was about to speak; but
seeing her led off by such a fine youth, he turned away in spite
of Eve’s glances, which were hints that she wanted to continue
the sport.

“Come, then, Eve, thou and I will pair off,’ said the good-
natured Maurice, who could perceive his sister's wishes; and Eve
was only too glad to leave her mother’s side and to join the
merriment.

It would take too long to recount the various sports which
took place; there was a small fair on one side of the green, and
thither each dancer would take his love or his partner and buy
a fairing. What jokes were made, what laughter was heard,
what light-heartedness was to be seen on every side! Alas! for
the good old days when mirth was mirth indeed, and not a hot-
house plant well cultivated till it had lost its original form.
England has no time for so many holidays now, and a village
green is only the home and pleasure-ground of a few geese or
some young cricketers.

Towards evening I must, however, own that the fun began
to get a little noisy, and the crowd was to be seen pouring into
the village on both sides of the bridge—for the procession was to
start from the inn, and this was a sight which none wished to
lose. Eve was so anxious to secure a good place, that she per-
suaded her father to take her and Ben on betore the others.
After the procession had passed, the Pennyfeathers were to return
home and have a sumptuous supper and their private bonfires—
for the villagers became too noisy and boisterous in the evening
for it to be either pleasant or becoming to mix with them. This
procession which appeared very grand to the outward eye, was,






Midsummer FE-ve. 35

however, composed of doubtful characters, and their finery was
of course very tawdry. As the village clock struck seven the
expected assembly filed out from beneath the old archway of
the inn. First came twelve young men dressed as archers, arrayed
in bright green coats, and carrying bent bows and sheaves of
arrows; next came twelve fishermen in bright corselets; then
a few billmen who wore aprons of mail (made of paper); and
then appeared, preceded by some morris-dancers, Robin Hood,
Friar Tuck, and Maid Marian, with their retainers. The rear
consisted of sword-bearers, henchmen, footmen, and giants. These
last, composed as they were each of three men, elicited roars of
laughter! As this goodly company passed, the bonfires were
lighted and the bright flames darted up into the air, whilst
a heavy cloud of smoke curled itself away on the light summer
breeze. Among the more tenderly nurtured there were some
whose noses did not appreciate the smell which rose from the
pile of burning bones, but these dared not express their disap-
proval of the most favoured of all the ancient and loyal customs
of the land, so they muffled up their faces or turned away. Eve
was not one of these—she was straining her eyes to see Friar
Tuck and Maid Marian. As they passed near the bridge where
she and her father were stationed, she was able to get quite close
to the maid, and she quickly recognized, in spite of walnut-juice
and finery, their waiting woman Amelia Sopp. This latter was
so proud of forming part of the show that she did not notice
Eve, and passed on all unconscious of having been found out.
“Now methinks we have had enough of this sport,” said
Master Pennyfeather, who was beginning to think of his supper.
“Tt is high time that we took home such worthless baggages
as this Eve of mine. Come, Ben. thou wilt be wanted; so I will






36 The Good Old Days.



have no tarrying behind.” Ben would far rather have stayed in
the village to see the procession return, which it did after going
the round of the great houses of the neighbourhood; but he dared
not disobey his father, and moreover he was to preside at the
home fires) This bait was sufficient to make him follow his
father and sister. He sought in vain to find Maurice; but as
no trace of him could be seen he kept up his dignity by walking
some way behind Eve. Master Pennyfeather had grown so lively
that he now nodded to every one he met, and asked any he might
know whether they would come to Sandy’s Hollow that evening,
where more dancing was going to take place. ve, too, joined
her invitations to her father’s, so that it seemed doubtful whether
the large hall would hold the assembly.

When these three at last reached the house they found the
rest of the family had been there some time, having been able
to get their waggon harnessed, Maurice giving a helping hand
and counsel to the not quite sober hostler. Eve ran up to her
bed-chamber to change her blue dress, which was now hardly to
be recognized, so dusty and torn was it. Sitting by the narrow
casement she found Annys alone and without a light in the
gathering twilight.

“What, sister! did the bevy of dames crush thy spirits?
Alone, too—and supper will be ready anon; then for some more
dancing. Ah! Annys, is it not sad that one must learn and
pore over books every day, and listen to that canting pastor, when
one could be so happy if every day were a St. John’s Eve ?”

“T am aweary,” sighed Annys, “and would not for the world
that every day should be like this one; but Eve, I would fain
chide thee for having left me alone on the green! I had promised
to stay and could not move ; it was most thoughtless!”










Midsummer Eve. 37

“What! wert thou dull, sweet sister? that is not thy wont;
come, I will give thee a kiss and thou shalt forgive me! I will
whisper something pleasant in thy ear. Know then that father
has bidden Rowland Whyte to come to-night, and he—that is,
the gallant—asked me in private whether he should lead off the
dance with thee! So I said yes; then he asked whether thou
couldst dance a galliard, and I was pleased to be able to say yes
again. Oh it will be fine indeed !”

“Leave me, dear Eve,” sighed Annys, “I would rest before
supper.”

“Art thou cross-grained, Annys, on St. John’s Eve? I fear
the saint will not favour thee if that is the case;” and the girl
hurried away after having put on another kirtle, seemingly ready
to begin again at the very beginning of the games. Annys, left
alone, leaned her elbows on the window-seat and buried her head
in her small hands. The whole day had been a disappointment
to her, she felt more inclined to cry than to join once more in
the festivities. To her the day seemed all too long, and the
evening she fancied would be still more wearisome.

“Ah!” thought she, “if even Jacob does come in I shall seem
to care only for this new gallant; but I should not be surprised
if he were to keep away. His father will not be here, 1 know;
he thinks it but riotous amusement. Ah! welladay! I do almost
agree with him. I find not myself much happier for all these
frolics—they do not feed my humour. I once heard Jacob's
father call them ‘fooleries, and I think he is right—but father
does not think so, he loves all these sports, and says when we lose
old customs then we shall lose old virtues.” She shook her head
in despair, as she heard the servants hurrying about below stairs
preparing for the supper, and in so doing her head came in con-



Cc




38 The Good Old Days.





tact with the pot of orpine. She looked up and saw the plants
were quite withered.

“Ah! wicked prophet,” she murmured, “this morning thou
didst prophesy to me a day of happiness, but it has been far
otherwise. I have still my herbs to throw into the fire to-night.
Perhaps they will tell me something more true. Yesternight
I dreamt of Jacob, and I did not tell my dream for fear of
breaking the spell . . . But what a foolish maiden I am!
If Jacob loved me, as I had fondly hoped, what would father
say? Even Eve was horrified at the idea.” At this moment the
ereat horn sounded, and Annys knew that she must hurry down.
She had no time to change her dress; but then she was as neat
as when she had started, only the pale faded forget-me-nots still
clung to her tresses, and in her hurry she forgot to take them out.

I will not describe the great supper which followed. Let
the reader imagine for himself a large wainscotted room, in the
centre of which stood a long oak table, now covered with a
home-spun cloth, and groaning beneath the weight of good
things. Forks had lately come into fashion, and there was
nothing to shock our modern ideas, except, perhaps, that the
appetites of our forefathers avould seem to us rather prodigious.
Towards the end of supper songs were sung, and Rowland ‘Whyte
delighted the company by singing, in a good clear voice, a song
beginning with,

“ Hail and welcome, fairest queen !
Joy had never perfect been

To the fays that haunt this green,
Had they not this evening seen.”

As he finished he turned towards Annys, who was so unconscious
of the compliment that Eve had to nudge her and whisper, “ Annys,






Midsummer Eve. 39



seest thou not that he means thee? “Tis only because thou art
the eldest, for I heard to-day some one remark that I was the fairest
of the two.”

Whilst the table was being cleared, all the company went
out into a field adjoining the house. There, three immense
piles had been built, and Ben presided over the lighting, helped
by Master Pennyfeather. It was now quite dusk, and this
much added to the enjoyment of the younger members, till the
darkness was illuminated by the bright flames. The wood-fire
was the soonest burned out, and the young men amused them-
selves by running across the still burning ashes, and the maidens
secretly threw in their herbs, to which they attributed, magic
powers. Annys had sought for Jacob’s face in vain among the
guests at the supper table, and therefore was less unwilling than
she might otherwise have been, to hear the new kinsman talk
about his experiences of London, She had even allowed him to
escort her to the field, and was grateful to him for shielding her
from the sticks and burning brands which were now and then
thrown about by the young men. She, however, seized a
moment when he was not looking to take her bunch of dried
herbs and to throw them into the red ashes. They had just caught
fire, when Ben, with a long pole, scattered the ashes all about,
and with them the bunch of herbs disappeared and were trodden
under foot. She was on the point of exclaiming, when, looking
round, she saw that Jacob stood not a yard’s distance from her.

“Ts it not time to return to the house?” said he, as he
caught her eye; “now that the fires are dying the night air feels
chilly, and I hear the music beginning.”

“Aye, and, fair cousin, I am promised the first dance,” put
in Rowland.








40 The Good Old Days.



“Nay,” remonstrated Annys, for the second time disappointed,
“but I said nothing.”

“But a pretty bird whispered it to me” Annys did not
answer, but walked on in silence, and having reached the hall
her mother at once whispered to her that Rowland Whyte was
to head the country-dance with her. She was therefore obliged
to submit, and when that was finished, and she looked round
the room whilst Rowland was complimenting her dancing, she
could nowhere perceive Jacob. The young girl no longer cared
for the dance, and would have been truly surprised had she
known that she was envied by all the maidens for having such a
handsome kinsman, who had so conveniently turned up on St.
John’s Eve, and who, moreover,-seemed quite prepared to dance
wm the saint’s day itself.

“What a conquest thou hast made!” babbled Eve, as she was
hastily preparing for bed. “ Would that I were thy age, and I too
should have young gallants dancing with me of their own accord.
Knowest thou, Annys, that I was forced to entreat Ben to dance
with me!”

“T would willingly have spared thee all my partners,” said
Annys, who had that day learned that expectations are but vain
things. “If thou wert my age thou wouldest wish to be young
again: well I am right glad the day is over.”

“Ah! Annys, thou art not in earnest? I would get up now
if we might begin again!” But in two more minutes the “nut-
brown pate” of the maiden was wrapped in slumbers.
























CHAP. IIL—-HOW MAURICE WENT TO OXFORD.

Mor

AN HEN Annys woke the next morning she remembered that
NG she had not found her bunch of forget-me-nots in her hair.
She was sorry, for she had meant to put them in paper and preserve
them as sad tokens of a sad day. She did not, however, dare to
ask if anyone had picked them up, for Dame Pennyfeather could
not have understood such a foolish fancy. Her mind was fully
occupied in seeing that all the household goods were put away,
and she had no mercy on the sleepy maids. Amelia was sharply
reproved for yawning when her mistress was setting her to
work. The good matron was further scandalized by seeing that
she had suspended a pair of large brass ear-rings to her ears, and
when asked where she could have got such vile trumpery,
replied, that they were fairings.

“Fairings, indeed!” quoth the dame, “let me see no such
fairings here, they are only fit to be given to one of the folks
who join the procession.” After which remark Amelia was not
again seen with her ears adorned.

In a few hours the household was once more going on in its
old routine, and, alas! all too soon for Ben and Eve, the pastor
made his appearance, Latin book in hand. He was greeted by
his pupils with a volley of questions, such as—




ee eS ee
42 The Good Old Days.



“Well, pastor, did you see Friar Tuck? they must have passed
right under your window. If you were looking out at the stars,
as is your wont, you must have seen the lovely mask that
Friar Tuck had on. Come, you must own that you were
peeping at the procession from behind your casement.”

“If I had,” answered the pastor, pulling out a “Ceesar” from
his pocket, “it would surely have been to upbraid them.”

“They would scarce have listened to you,” responded Eve ;
“the maid was, however, gloriously dressed. She had on mock
chekelaton, all glittering with gold, and an embroidered cameline
kirtle. But the greatest jest was when one of the giants fell
down. The mask came off, and the poor man, who was hoisted
on the shoulders of his fellows, was overturned into the midst
of the crowd, and for some minutes my father said the hapless
swain was in jeopardy of being trampled under foot! Surely,
pastor, you heard the cries; they were not far from Butcher
Roche’s shop. The jolly butcher himself was in the midst of
the disturbance, I saw his rubicund face glistening like a holly
berry.”

“T was soaring in mind to higher things,’ answered the
pastor; “I would not be seen among such gadding people. I
seek but the haunts of sobriety. It is time, Ben, to cull the
herbs of—”

“Yea, yea,’ was Ben’s answer impatiently, for he knew that
speech about culling “herbs of learning” by heart; to-day he
would willingly have been gathermg true herbs in the fields,
instead of the dry mental and figurative ones which his tutor





would fain have made him chew. Eve, however, was not
sorry to begin her studies, knowing that the sooner begun, the
sooner done, and to her they were no trouble. She secretly




How Maurice went to Oxford. 43



pitied Ben, whose head had not been formed with a view to
Latin or Greek, and who was hopelessly stupid over his books.
It did not improve the boy’s temper to see that his sister could
beat him at their lessons; he, however, revenged himself by
lording it over her in their play-hours; he knew full well that
if she tried to follow his example she would tear her girl’s attire
to shreds, and would get a severe reprimand from her mother.
If Eve feared anyone, that person was Dame Pennyfeather, who
tried to bring up her children according to Bible rule, and had
always before her mind’s eye the text, “Spare the rod, and
spoil the child.” So she neither spared the rod, nor spoiled her
children !

Rowland Whyte had come to Sandy’s Hollow a few days
after St. John’s Eve, and had informed Master Pennyfeather
that he was paying a visit to his uncle, who was a squire in
the neighbourhood, but that he had lately been made secretary
to the Earl of Sussex. He had only a few days more to spare,
but, when the autumn should have come, the earl had promised
him a long release from work, then he hoped that he might
once more be able to pay his respects to his brave kinsfolk.
Master Pennyfeather was most cordial, said that he was proud
to own such a goodly young man, though for that matter he,
Rowland Whyte, might be proud to belong to the race of
Pennyfeathers. Was there not a Pennyfeather now in high
power at some foreign court; was there not another in the navy,
and one in the army; in fact, was not the world nearly peopled
by Pennyfeathers and their relations? Rowland Whyte smiled
unperceived, and added gravely that he knew well that Penny-
feathers abounded, for at this moment there was one under

sentence of death for having been concerned in the late rising






44 The Good Old Days.



under my Lords of Northumberland and Westmoreland, which
the great Earl of Sussex had himself put down. The good
yeoman did not like his words to be so interpreted, but finding
nothing to say, contented himself by warmly repeating his
invitation. Rowland also impressed the dame most favourably
by sitting with her for half an hour, whilst he made his adieux,
and telling her about the court fashions. Annys was in the
room, and listened wonderingly at the stories of court wit, and
of entertaining gossip. It opened such a new world to her,
that the quiet country maiden listened to the recital with the
same eagerness as when a child she had heard her old nurse
repeat fairy tales and legends of the neighbourhood. She
wondered whether those grand court ladies were ever unhappy
about their lovers, as she was about Jacob, or whether they ever
cried when they looked out of their casements on moonlight
nights. Annys, however, dismissed these ideas. No, the witty,
gay people Rowland talked about could never be sad. At that
part of her meditations Rowland got up and took his leave,
making such a grand bow that Annys blushed, for he also
murmured a compliment in such low tones that Dame Penny-
feather could not catch the words. Poor Annys could not help
wishing for the rest of the afternoon that Jacob had been to
court and had learned to make such knightly bows!

With Rowland Whyte’s departure the excitement of midsummer
time seemed to be over, but there were quiet country pleasures and
pastimes which could always please the simple-hearted Penny-
feathers, and which made their lives flow on happily, as well as
peacefully. And very soon they began to prepare for Maurice’s
going to college. The mother’s heart was a little sore, as well
as her fingers, when she stitched away at the new set of shirts,








How Maurice went to Oxford. 45



but she would not let her sorrow appear, for she had a little of
the Roman matron in her character, and, moreover, felt a certain
pride in sending out her first-born into the world, in order to
show that censorious circle what a genius had been growing up
beneath the eaves of Sandy’s Hollow. Annys, too, felt the
approaching separation deeply. In early youth she and Maurice
had studied together, and played together, and Maurice had
always been her knight and her champion. He had ever been
ready to do battle for her, and no gentle knight could have been
more attentive to his lady love than he had been to his quiet
timid sister. Now it would all be changed. Maurice would be
called on to fight harder battles, and he would have to make
truth his lady love, and for her sake conquer many enemies.
Eve and Ben in a lesser degree felt sorry that their elder brother
was going out of their daily circle, for he had never been ill-
natured, and had often helped them out of their misfortunes.
But Master Pennyfeather was the one who most felt his son’s
departure, though he said the least. From henceforth he could
not appeal to Maurice, as was his wont, for after his college life
Maurice had elected to become a clergyman. Ben was to walk
in the footsteps of his father, that is, if Ben could ever learn to
walk in any footsteps, but those marked out by himself.

At length the day came which was to be the last one
Maurice was to spend at home for some few months. The
pastor had been invited to stay for supper, and pass the evening
at Sandy’s Hollow; he had assented with more willingness than
usual, for his purse having been of late very empty, his table
had followed suit; in plain words the pastor had not had a good
dinner for a week, and this was the reason why his grace that
day was so unusually long, that even Master Pennyfeather grew




46 The Good Old Days.



a little impatient and said a more hearty Amen than was his
custom. Annys allowed a few tears to trickle down her cheeks,
but the others behaved as usual. Eve, indeed, refrained from
making any pert speeches, and this for her was a great sign of
erief. After supper the family went out and sat on the green
lawn: a few benches had been brought for the elders, and
Maurice, Eve, and Ben lay on the smooth grass. Presently
Master Pennyfeather rose, and having retired to the house soon
came out again bearing in his arms a large volume.

“Think you, Ben, that father is going to preach us a homily
out of that big volume?” whispered Eve; “or is it for the pastor
that he may the better digest his supper ?”

“TI care not, if it be a sermon I will go to sleep, and if thou
tellest of me, Eve, I will not let thee into a secret that I have
found out.” Eve being very curious, nodded her acceptance of
the bargain, just before Master Pennyfeather reseated himself
and turned towards Maurice, saying,

“And now, my boy, tell us where thou art going to-morrow.”

“Nay, father, we all know that,” answered Eve, but was
silenced by her mother, upon which Master Pennyfeather repeated
his question.

“Tf all’s well, father, I shall to-morrow start for Oxford.”

“And what wilt thou do when thou hast reached the learned
city ?”

“With God’s help I hope to study and become a learned

”

man.

“Aye, aye,” said the pastor, “but thou wilt find there a
crowd of varlets who pretend to be scholars, and who are but
pupils of the devil. I tell thee, Maurice, beware of such fools in
caps and gowns.”








Flow Maurice went to Oxford. 47



“T vouch for Maurice that he will not mix with such as
those,” said Dame Pennyfeather, who had full confidence in her
son.

“But even among the learned,” persisted the pastor, “ Maurice
will find ravening wolves. Hebrew is taught by a Jew, and a
Greek monk instructeth in his own language.”

“Then thou wilt learn puzzling things,” said his father, “ they
will teach thee Algrim and many uncanny things. Is it not so,
pastor ?”

“Yea, yea, they will teach him also the property of the
circle, and the parts of the triangle, but this knowledge will not
keep out the devil from the heart.”

“Nay, I know that well, but Roger Bacon was not misguided
by his learning, and I hope I may not be,” said Maurice.

“Let us suppose thee well out of college, lad, and what then ?”

“Then I will take holy orders and be a good Protestant,
loyal to my church and my queen.”

At this speech the pastor was going to burst forth in defence
of the Puritans, when he was stopped by Master Pennyfeather.

“No offence to you, good Mr. Hapgood, I like right well to
hear the boy speak out so boldly. Now, Maurice, I am pleased
with thy answers, but prythee, lad, what sort of a parson wilt
thou make? Nay, answer not in thine own words, but read
this out, and if it should be a little rude in language, thou wilt
interpret it to us who have no learning.”

So saying, Master Pennyfeather held out the great volume
to Maurice, who took it and read in a clear voice Chaucer's
description of the poor parson :—

“A good manne there was of religioun,
And was a poore parsone of a toun,






48 The Good Old Days.



But rich he was of holy thought and werke.
He was eke a learned man and a clerke,
That Christes gospels truly would preach ;
His parishens devoutly would he teach.”

When he had finished to the end there was a moment’s
silence, then Master Pennyfeather repeated again the last two
lines in a slow, impressive manner—

“But Christes love and His apostles twelve
He taught, but first he followed it himselve.”

“That is what I would fain thou shouldest remember, my
lad; a Pennyfeather must needs set the example wherever he
goes, and thou wilt not bely thy race.”

“TI will do my best, father, albeit I am not strong on my
legs yet.”

“Modesty becomes the young,” quoth the pastor, “and I
am right glad Maurice is not altogether bereft of it, nor yet
entrapped by the deceitfulness of the world.”

By this time Ben and Eve had got tired of the serious
conversation and wandered away. This effectually stopped the
pastor’s moral remarks, for to say the truth they had chiefly
been hurled at the heads of his heedless pupils. Annys having
finished her work drew Maurice aside, so that they might once
more visit all the old haunts of childhood lying near the house,
and thus passed the time till it was the hour for family prayer
and retiring to bed. Master Pennyfeather lay down with a
clear conscience, for he had warned his son of the perils he was
about to encounter, and had, moreover, told him what was expected
of a Pennyfeather. The dame, I am sorry to say, kept awake half
an hour, worrying that Maurice’s twelfth shirt was not quite
finished, but she remedied this evil by getting up an hour earlier








Flow Maurice went to Oxford. 49



than was her wont. So in their several ways Maurice’s family
bade him God-speed.

‘The day after the departure of one of the family circle is always
a day of dulness and general sadness. Though Maurice had been
the silent one of the family, yet now he was gone it seemed the old
mirth had departed with him. Eve was especially dull, and only
consoled herself by being more troublesome than usual at her
lessons. After these wearisome tasks were over, Eve drew Ben
away into a wood at some distance from the house, and then said
with much energy—

“Ben, thou must tell me what thy secret is. Dost thou
know that thou went fast asleep whilst Maurice was reading
about the poor parson, and I did not tell of thee, so thou art
bound to tell me.”

“Nay, because it would not be a secret if thou knewest it ;
I wot that Annys and mother would know it afore night.”

“Nay, indeed, Ben, look then, what shall I do to convince
thee that I can hold my tongue when occasion serves ?”

Ben could not at that minute devise a trial to prove the
chattering maid, and as he really wished her to know his secret,
he only let her beg for a quarter of an hour longer before he
said “Well, Eve, promise once more and I will tell thee, only I
half fear—”

“T believe it is nothing, or thou wouldest have told me long
ago,” replied Eve, who, like a true woman, now went a round-
about way to get at her object. “I care not to hear it.”

“Tt truly will please thee, though. Know then that yester-
night when I was walking out alone in the evening before
supper, I wandered further than usual. I was about returning
home, when I thought I heard sounds not far off. They seemed










50 The Good Old Days.

to come from the old barn that has been left to rot, and where
no one ever goes. So I crept up quietly behind it, and sure
enough some one was talking within. Now, Eve, guess who
was the speaker ?”

“The pastor, I should say.”

“Yes, there he was standing on an old tub in the middle of
the barn, and around him were some thirty persons. Nearly all
of them were women and children, but the pastor was not
looking at them, he was looking straight up in the roof at an
old rotten beam, and I half thought it would fall on his nose.
He was talking very gravely, but I know not one word of what
he said, that is, 1 know not one word of the homily, but when
he had done speaking he said that if his hearers would come
Thursday, that is to-morrow, night, at the hour of eleven, he
would bring a famous preacher to talk to them. You see the
pastor is afraid of being seen. He little guessed that I was
peering at him through the beams. Anyhow, 1 mean to get up
and go too, to hear this great preacher. Only think, Eve, what
a frolic it would be to be out at that time.”

“Then, Ben, I must come with thee. It would be an adventure
so much to my taste. I promise no one shall know it.”

It is some way; thou art a girl, and couldst never walk
so far, besides Annys would hear thee quit thy bed.”

“Nay, trust me, none shall know.”

And Ben, after much persuasion, consented, though in his
heart he was very glad to have Eve’s company.

“There is yet another thing,” continued the cautious Ben ;
“there will be a moon on our way there, but none when we
come back, and there are ditches and such like to be climbed
over. In the dark it will be no easy task.”



7






How Maurice went to Oxford. 51

“There, Ben, have no fear of leaving me forlorn in a ditch
or on the top of a hurdle. Now let us see how best our plan
will succeed. Annys sleeps so soundly that a house on. fire and
a troop of soldiers would not wake her; of her there is no fear,
but it is about the back-door. We must pray Silent Joe to
leave it open for us. It is his business to see it is shut.”

“Pish! If thou want doors open for thee, thou hadst best
stay in bed. I had thought of getting out through my casement
on to the gable, and so down into the garden.”

“Aye, but how climb up again?” Eve was not prepared to
do this; indeed, the climbing up again in the dark would not
have been easy for Ben, so he condescended to listen to a plan
of bribing Silent Joe, who was a new servant man, lately come,
and who had acquired the nickname of “Silent” by his unusual
wisdom in keeping his tongue nearly always at rest except when
he was eating.

“ He never asks any questions,” continued Eve, “and if Amelia
finds out, and she always does find out everything, I know
something that will stop her tongue.”

“Well, I will leave all this underhand business to thee,” said
Ben, grandly. “Now we had best come home, or mother will
inquire what we have been doing.”

‘The rooms on the first floor at Sandy’s Hollow were large
and commodious, but the upstairs sleeping rooms were small
and dark. A long, badly lighted passage ran the whole length .
of the house, and the bedroom doors all opened into it. Annys
and Eve shared a room at the end of this passage; Ben had a
small closet at the head of the stairs at the other end; Eve
would, therefore, have the whole length of the passage to traverse
to join her brother. But the reckless girl only thought that the








52 The Good Old Days.

pleasure was heightened by the chance of discovery. She well
knew that if she were found out the punishment would be severe ;
but Eve had a clever head, and determined to lay her plans on
a safe foundation.

Silent Joe was busy building up a stack of straw the next
morning, when he was surprised to see young Mistress Hve
climbing up the ladder which was placed against the stack.
When she had reached the top she sat down, and looking round
to see that no one had observed her, said-—

“Joe, I want you to leave the back-door open to-night.
Ben and I wish just to have a little walk.”

“ Awaw,” responded Joe, not pausing in his occupation.

“And say naught about it, Joe.”

“Awaw,” drawled out Joe again.

“No harm can happen; we shall not tarry so very long.”

Joe made no answer this time, but scratched his pate and
paused in his work. Evidently he did not quite take in what
was wanted of him, and could not make out what Mistress Eve
was aiming at.

At last a bright thought struck Eve. It was commonly
reported that Silent Joe much admired Amelia. This latter had,
however, taken no notice of her dumb suitor, for it was a subject
of joke among her fellow-servants. Eve remembered this, and said
in a very coaxing voice, which was meant to move Joe’s heart,—

“If you will leave the door open to-night, Joe, I will tell
Amelia what a good-hearted swain you are. You would like
that, Joe?”

“Awaw,” said Joe, grinning from ear to ear: he evidently
took in this last piece of news, and he found it very pleasant
and comforting.










How Maurice went to Oxford. 53

Then thought Eve—surely he will do it; but she was not
quite certain even now, and determined to make sure. How
angry Ben would be if they found the door fastened! For the
undoing of the bolts would certainly awake, if not Master
Pennyfeather, at least the dame, who would not scruple to send
her husband down, halbert or club in hand, to fall upon the
robbers.

“Now, Joe, I will sing thy praises to Amelia this very
evening if the door need not be shut.”

“And the master,” said Joe, now taking in the idea that his
honour was being tampered with. “He will think ill of me.”

“T will see to that; no blame shall fall on any but myself.”

“ Awaw,” finally answered Joe, and Eve could get nothing
more out of him, and so contented herself with this.

The afternoon seemed truly long and tedious, she could
hardly sit still to her work. And this brought down a severe
reprimand from the dame upon her. Annys was so dull that
Eve did not seek out her company, or perhaps her sister’s sober
ways might have brought her back to her senses. In the after-
noon the weather clouded over, and rain began to fall. Eve
thought with regret that the land would be wet, and the heavy
ground she would have to pass would leave traces on her petti-
coats. However, she hoped to secure Amelia's silence by telling
her how she had discovered her under the character of Maid
Marian. Poor Eve, she could so well plot and plan for her own
thoughtless amusement, but she could not foresee the conse-

~ quences of her conduct.
















CHAP. IV.—JACOBS WOOING.

(}) URING the family prayers Eve could think of nothing but
WS how best to steal down the passage unheard by her mother.
Now, what if her stern parent should take it into her head to sit
up that night? Maurice’s shirts were disposed of, so Eve hoped
for the best, and these hopes were realized. She herself was always
in bed before Annys came up, and very often she had fallen fast
asleep, but there was no fear of that this evening. Eve, however,
dreaded sleeping so much that she sat up pinching herself. As
usual, Annys and Dame Pennyfeather came upstairs, and each
turned in to their own chambers. Annys, however, being sad at
heart (for Jacob had not come near Sandy’s Hollow since Mid-
summer's Eve), sat down on her window-sill, and opening the
casement, leaned out of the window. The moonbeams lighted up
her fair head, and strayed lovingly over her neck and hands; but
Eve cared nought for moonlight or for sentiment.

“Annys, thou wilt catch cold if thou stayest all night at the
window. Prythee, come and undress, and shut the casement.”
Annys started—she had thought her sister asleep—and immediately
drew in her head and shut the window. In truth, she was a little
afraid of Eve’s ridicule.

“Thou shouldest be asleep, little sister,” she said gently.






Facobl’s Wooing. 55

“Nay; how could I sleep when thou art all the while moving
about and making a noise?” Annys made haste without saying
another word, and in an hour more the whole household but Eve
was asleep. Eve guessed it must be near half-past ten, and knew
she had very little time to spare. There was enough light to dress
by, and this she did as quickly as she could. Yet she was obliged
to use unwonted care for fear she should upset a chair, and throw
down her brushes, or other such noises as she was accustomed to
make. How silently she crept down the passage, holding her
boots in her hands! how softly she tapped at Ben’s door, and how
eagerly she listened for his answer! It came at last, for Ben had
by no means exercised his sister’s self-denial in stinting himself of
sleep; but on the contrary, he had slumbered soundly until her
knock woke him up, and he jumped out of bed, put on his things,
and let her in. i

“Oh! Ben, I thought thou wert never coming; I thought too
thou hadst gone without me! There, do not tread so heavily;
mother will hear the stairs creak.” Eve was leading the way, and
once arrived at the bottom she breathed more freely. How glad
too was she to find the back-door not bolted! After all, Joe was
not so stupid as he looked. But their difficulties were not yet over.
They found that they were shut in in the farm-yard, and unless they
made a long round by the lawn and bowling-green they could not
get out.

“We shall be late,” sighed Eve in despair.

“T shall not make the round,” said Ben: “I. have often got
over the roof of the pig-sties, and so out into the fields; and that is
what I shall do now, whether thou wilt follow or not.” Eve had, of
course, no intention of being left behind, and prepared to follow.
What would Dame Pennyfeather have said could she have seen her


56 The Good Old Days.



younger daughter entering the pig-sty, splashing through the mire,
and lastly, running boldly through the midst of the collection of
animals, and rousing a dozen little two-weeks-old infant pigs, and
with a helping hand from Ben, hoisting herself up on to the roof,
and from thence leaping down into the field ?

“Ben, this is the most exquisite adventure.”

“Can’st thou walk no faster? there is some way yet,” was all the
answer she got. After this Eve spoke no more till they were
approaching the spot. When within a few yards of the barn door
the two children stopped and listened. They could see some lights
burning through the holes and cracks of the old beams, and could
distinctly hear a man’s voice speaking with much energy.

“That is not the pastor’s voice,” whispered Eve, edging up to
her brother.

“Could we not make our way in where it would be less chilly?”
It had rained during the evening, and every blade of grass was drip-
ping wet, and the earth damp and cold. The air too was saturated
with moisture, and a slight fog was rising, making the landscape
appear distorted and uncanny in the moonlight. Ben and Eve
approached on tip-toe, though they need not have taken this trouble:
no one was thinking of them, and no one heeded them. When they
came close up to the barn-door they found that it was only closed.
Eve, muffling up her head so as not to be recognized, gently pushed
it open and entered, followed by Ben. They squeezed themselves
into a corner,and then Eve found herself at liberty to take a survey
of the place and of its occupants. The old tub mentioned by Ben
had given place to a common wooden chair, raised on a kind of
platform : the tub was placed on the ground so as to form another
seat. Most of the people were seated on the ground, whilst a few
of them stood leaning against the wooden beams. Standing on










Facob's Wooing. 57
the platform was a man who at once attracted Eve's attention.
He was thin and spare; his face had an earnest expression, and his
eyes kindled as he spoke. On the chair by his side was a broad-
brimmed hat of black felt, “ quite of a novel shape,” thought Live.
He himself was dressed in black, and Eve at once recognized him
to be a Puritan clergyman. Seated on the tub was the pastor,
gazing earnestly at the preacher, and evidently drinking in every
word that fell from his lips. At first, Eve was so much occupied in
taking note of all those present that she did not hear what the
Puritan was saying, but presently she was attracted by the
eloquence and power of his speech. She now listened and caught
these words :—

“Have we not suffered, my brothers, for our faith, have we not
been exiled, have we not hidden ourselves in caves and dens, and
asked for shelter at every poor cottage? Aye, we have done all
this! I myself have crossed the sea and wandered through Ger-
many, seeking shelter and finding none. I have been hungry and
penniless, and why? Because I would not return to tread once
more in the mire, because even a sovereign could not force me back
to those iniquitous Popish practices. Aye, I fled, but there were
some who stayed, and shall I tell you what was done to them? Nay!
but that would make your blood curdle in your veins. Ask others
and they will tell you; but this much you all know—how that
those steadfast ones who would not give up their faith were thrown
into dungeons, noisome holes, dark, loathsome corners. Some were
kept there loaded with irons; some were tied to the stocks, and left
there for hours, fastened with manacles and fetters ; some whipped,
some beaten with rods, some buffetted with fists. But enough of
this: they suffered for the faith, and would not return to the
religion which could order. such cruelties. They are the blessed,






—
58 The Good Old Days.

and we have to follow their example. When our gracious sovereign,
whom God preserve, ascended the throne, the exiled heard from
afar of her goodness, and came flocking back to the old land.
Did they find Popish faith and Popish customs extinguished by
the blood that had been shed? Alas! the name only had been
effaced. The church has still her foes to fight against. Every-
where there can be found signs that Popery is not rooted out.
The so-called rulers of the church have once more lifted up their
voices, and are telling the clergy what they shall do within their
church, and how they shall do it, instead of allowing each one to
follow the path pointed out to him by his conscience. Very soon
greater tyranny will follow, and the blood of those martyrs will
have been shed in vain. Nay, but it shall not be in vain: if each
true believer will stand firm, what cannot we accomplish ?—
anything and everything. Take your Bible and let that guide you,
aided by your conscience.”

There was quite a murmur of applause when the preacher got
down from his platform. This he had to do very carefully, for
none of it seemed very secure ; indeed, as it was, he nearly fell into
the arms of Mr. Hapgood. Then came a great shaking of hands,
in the which the pastor joined, forgetting that he was not the man
of consequence himself, so much had he identified himself with his
friend. In the general bustle Ben and Eve were nearly suffocated
by being flattened against the wall: this proceeding very much
hurt Ben’s inner feelings and Eve’s outward sensations. On the
whole, they had not found this secret meeting much fun, and the
heat of the barn had made them very sleepy, and not at all inclined
to turn out into the dark night and walk home. There was also some
difficulty as to how they should get out of the barn at all without
being discovered, for Mr. Hapgood, after having shaken hands all










Facob's Wooing. 59

round within the building, had now stationed himself at the door-
way in order to repeat the process. Eve was fairly puzzled. How
could she and Ben pass unnoticed? for if the pastor shook hands,
he certainly would recognize them. (They had escaped the first
round.)

“We must run quickly past him,” she whispered at last to
her brother: “only one at a time: now you must go first and wait
for me round the corner of the barn.” Ben was only too glad, and
with a great deal of unnecessary noise he dashed past his tutor.
Eve saw at once that this had been a bad plan, for Mr. Hapgood
having stretched out his hand, expecting the next comer to seize it
and give it a hearty shake, found that the hand remained stretched
out, but not taken, and moreover, that some one had rushed by
him, treading with much violence on his foot in so doing. He
rubbed his eyes and began to say something about “a strange
apparition,” when Eve, thinking it best not to tarry longer, darted
past the bewildered pastor. “It is a spy! a spy!” said he.
Immediately the ery was taken up, and about half a dozen people
who still remained in the barn ran out in order to give chase. Poor
Eve! she heard the cry, and fear gave her strength. She never
paused to find Ben, but flew on straight before her into the night.
She heard the shouts of her pursuers, but the darkness which
hindered her also impeded their progress. She was, however,
crossing a field, and the wet mould clung to her shoes, and she
could not run. She was not aware, moreover, that she was flying
away in the wrong direction: her mind was solely occupied with
the thought of her mother. What would Dame Pennyfeather say
if Eve were taken by one of the common people as a spy? (In
those days it was no joke to be even thought a spy.) Then her
father—what would he say to her having attended this meeting ?






60 The Good Old Days.



Eve repented heartily as she struggled through that heavy field.
She heard steps: some runner was coming quite close to her. Oh!
she must elude him; she must run on till she came to a hedge,
where she could crouch down. Alas! at that moment Eve fell
over a big stone, and was so much shaken that for a few seconds
she could not raise herself up. Before she had collected her ideas
a hand had seized her, and some one was helping her to rise.

“By my troth! whom have we here? A maiden!” A thrill of
pleasure ran through poor Eve’s chilled veins. She said hurriedly,
“Oh, Jacob Buckston! it is you: Prythee, good Jacob, I beseech
you to take me out of the path of those vile people: I will do
anything for thee if thou wilt.” Jacob laughed heartily, which
wounded poor Eve’s vanity. He, however, had helped her on her
feet again, and was now trying to reassure the frightened girl.

“This is no fit night for you to be walking about, and alone
too! but it was indeed a fine sight to see how you frightened the
pastor!” and Jacob laughed again at the recollection. Eve was
silent and pouted.



“To speak seriously, Mistress Eve, may I ask your intentions,
for this is not the way home? Does Dame Pennyfeather know of
this midnight walk? I should scarce think she would approve
of her daughter turning Puritan.”

“Neither would Annys care to hear you were there,” said Eve,
not subdued.

“That is another matter. I went with my father, who is too
old to guide himself in the dark.” Jacob forgot that he was talking
to a young girl; he remembered only that she was Annys’ sister,
and therefore wished to justify himself. He had given her his arm,
and they were now retracing their steps) After a little silence
Jacob remarked,
















Facob’s Wooing. 61



“It passeth my understanding how such a frolic entered your
head. But it was fortunate I was there. Yet I did not see you
during the meeting.”

“Tf you come with your father I may come with my brother,”
and Eve tossed her head. The truth was that she was beginning
to be very much ashamed of herself; she had tasted her apple, and
found it sour.

“What! Ben is here too! Why did he leave you in this
plight ?”

“Ply me not with so many questions, only let us walk faster,
and, good Jacob, will you promise me not to breathe a word about
having seen me to my mother? As to those poor cravens who will
not say their say in the broad daylight, make up some cock-and-bull
story for them.” There was a silence; then Jacob said gravely,

“A man must ever speak the truth, Mistress Eve ; if not, he is
debased in his own eyes—when that happens things are come to
a sorry pass.”

“But you need say nothing, and no one will ask.”

“But in after years, should it ooze out, Dame Pennyfeather
would think of me as a dishonourable fellow, and I could not look
her in the face. Nay, nay, Mistress Eve, had not you best make
a clean breast of it and confess your fault ?”

“T could not, I could not,” said poor Eve, now quite humble.
“You do not know my mother, she is so stern, and has such strict
ideas of a girl’s conduct. Annys would never have done such
a thing; and indeed I meant no harm.”

“ Aye, truly ;” and by this Jacob meant that he knew well that
Annys would never have dreamt of escaping at night for a frolic.
Presently Eve, who was almost crying, said humbly,

“Then, Jacob, I know what must be done to ease your con-










62 The Good Old Days.

science. If you will come to-morrow into the bowling-green I will
tell Annys to go there, and you shall tell her yourself. Annys
may do as seems to her good about telling our mother.” Eve knew
well that she could easily work on Annys’ feelings, and thus hoped
to get out of the scrape altogether. Her spirits rose with this idea,
and it was in her usual tone she said,

“ Jacob, was it all true what that man was saying? If so, I do
not wonder much at there being discontent in these days. Though
what he finds of Popish practices in our village church I am at
a loss to guess.”

“There are many things not to his mind. Some of them would
even do away with the sign of the cross in baptism, and of the ring
in marriage. All form and ceremony is odious to them.”

“Why, Jacob, I thought that you yourself were a Puritan.”
Jacob laughed.

“There is no pledge which binds the Puritans, Mistress Eve.
They say that conscience should guide us; if so be that that forms
a Puritan, then I am one; but if you mean that I would wish to
abolish both state and church, then God forefend that I should be
called a Puritan ; but come now, here we are approaching Sandy’s
Hollow, and in this chill autumn air it is not good to tarry about.”

“Ben and I cut our way short by climbing over the pig-sties and
so out from the farmyard. Maybe you would give me a helping
hand up again, then I should not trouble you further.” But Jacob
quite declined this feat, and conducted the maiden round by the
lawn, and from thence led her to the back door! How dark and
silent was everything; a sudden fear took hold of the usually
courageous Eve. Jacob gave her his hand at parting, and she shook
it warmly. “Thank you, Jacob, you have been very kind. But
what of your father? and what shall you say to him ?”










Facol’s Wooing. 63

“He will have gone home with some neighbour, and I promise
he shall know naught about the runaway lady.”

“Tf you should meet Ben, you will tell him of my safety.”

“Ben shall find out what he likes,’ returned Jacob; “he will
not die if he is a little frightened, and it will teach him to mend
his ways.” So saying, he went off with quick steps, and Hve,
feeling very much like a thief, stole upstairs, and so into her own
chamber. All she had on was so bespotted with mud that she was
obliged to conceal everything beneath a large shawl, and soon after
the weary girl fell asleep, little thinking that Ben had been in half
an hour before. Not having seen his sister, and, moreover, hearing
the outcry, he had made the best of his way home, and was already
wrapped in the arms of Morpheus.

Eve’s punishment (for concealment is a real trial to the natu-
rally open nature) was not over. The next morning, when Amelia
came into the chamber, she was full of amazement at the most
extraordinary circumstances which had taken place during the
night.

“Ah! Mistress Annys, I will never believe but that the house
is haunted. I woke up in the dead of the night, and such a tramping
on the stairs that my blood became frozen in my veins. I sat up
and listened, and then I heard the tread of a multitude of feet in
the garden, and then I buried my head in the coverlet and nearly
fainted !”

“Tt is well thou art alive to tell the tale,” said Annys, smiling.

“Nay, but this is not all; this morning, Anne has found foot-
marks on the stairs, and enough real earth that would serve for
a man’s grave.”

“Or a ghost’s, thou timorous Amelia.”

“You may laugh, Mistress Annys, but I say it is no laughing




64 The Good Old Days.

matter ; I would rather lie in my grave than pass such another
night.”

“Or perhaps thou wouldest rather go out merry-making, and
figure as Maid Marian,” put in Eve crossly ; “come, enough of thy
tales.”

Amelia blushed scarlet, but said not another word about the
mud. She at once divined that Eve had found her out, and more-
over, that for some reason nothing was to be said about the night’s
disturbances, if she wanted not herself to get into disgrace. Hve
congratulated herself on having escaped the only mode of dis-
covery that had entered her head; but neither she nor Ben were
prepared for Master Pennyfeather’s sour looks at breakfast. The
cause of these looks had occurred before that meal, when the
yeoman was making his morning’s survey of the farm. The
autumn was already far advanced—many of the trees were bare,
and there was nothing which could tempt Master Pennyfeather
to linger long over his inspection of his live-stock. But as he
passed the pig-sty which contained his best sow, behold the sty
door was open and the little pigs were nowhere to be seen! Silent
Joe had not yet come round with their morning meal, so the
yeoman concluded that he had carelessly left it unfastened the
previous evening. I am sorry to say he became very wroth within
himself, and seeing a lad lingering about sent him at once to find
the delinquent. Silent Joe was again at work at his stack, and
being summoned, appeared, pitchfork in hand, before his master, who
was standing in the sty. His face did not, however, express any
surprise at seeing his master’s state of mind.

“Sirrah! what mean you by your carelessness? Look what
damage has been done. The pigs gone, and who knows where or
when they will be found.”








Facol’s Wooing. 65

“ Awaw!” replied the silent one unmoved.

“A plague on you, man. Have you no explanation to give
me?”

Silent Joe put his thumb under his chin, and took hold of it,
seemingly trying to remember what he had or had not done the
evening before; but evidently his memory could not recall such
a long past period, so he only shook his head slowly. Master
Pennyfeather, seeing he could get nothing further out of him,
calmed down, thinking him more fool than knave; so saying he
had best hasten himself and seek for the wanderers, he took himself
back to the house with the sour looks before mentioned.

Whilst Ben and Eve were lingering about before the arrival
of the pastor, they heard their father lament Joe’s carelessness to
the dame, and assure this latter that he had taken the man to be
a trusty fool, but now he found that he had no head as well as no
wits, and that he hada great mind to part with him. Poor Eve
bitterly reproached herself, for she had no unkind feelings towards
Joe, and would willingly have spoken out and told her father
everything ; but the dame’s presence restrained her then, and every
minute made free confession more difficult and impossible. Ben
took the whole affair most easily, and had found time to whisper
to his sister that she had acted very foolishly on the previous night.
Eve did not deny the statement; still it never improves the temper
to be told something which one knows to be true, about personal
shortcomings. Eve found out that it is very unpleasant to be cross
with one’s self; she began to understand what Jacob meant by
being debased in one’s own eyes. Before going to join Ben and
the pastor, Eve went in search of Annys. She was helping
her mother to mend some precious household linen, and hardly
looked up when Eve said—


66 The Good Old Days.



“ Prythee, Annys, wilt thou go to the bowling-green at eleven
o'clock? I was told to tell thee.”

Annys answered “ Yes,” thinking the message came from her
father, who often wanted her to come to him to take back direc-
tions to Dame Pennyfeather. Eve waited not to be questioned,
but hastily joined the pastor, who could not imagine why his pupil
was so wonderfully subdued. Once or twice a mischievous feeling
came over her. She would dearly have loved to have inquired
about the meeting and the supposed spy, but she restrained her
tongue, knowing that the pastor would at once inform against her.

“ Annys, it is eleven of the clock,” quoth Dame Pennyfeather
at last. “Go, seek thy father, and after that thou mayest read thy
French; I shall want thee no more;” and thus the mother
dismissed her daughter from her thoughts, little dreaming who it
was she had sent her to meet. Annys put away her work, and
slipping on her pattens, for the ground would be wet on the
bowling-green, thought she, the maiden tripped out. She walked
down the path of the old garden at the end of which stood the
sun-dial, crossed the lawn, and turned in past the yew hedge on to
the bowling-green. This was a long smooth bit of lawn, on both
sides of which rose the tall yew hedge. A small path ran beneath
the hedge, and at one end was a tiny arbour. Annys looked up
and down, but could see no one. The sun was shining and making
the many rain and dew drops to flash back blue, yellow, and red.
The birds were having a morning concert, the invitations to which
performance were given out gratis. Some smaller ones were
darting, or rather springing along the grass and the path, in their
own peculiar fashion, looking for worms. Annys had an eye for
beauty, and sauntering towards the arbour began plucking some
late monthly roses, thinking she would wait a few minutes to see






Facol’s Wooing. 67



if her father made his appearance. After a few moments she
heard a step, but as she was struggling with a rosebud she did not
look up till the footsteps paused ; then she exclaimed—

“There, father, I have hurt my fingers picking this, but I would
have it.”

“You should have waited till I came, Mistress Annys ;” and
the girl started, and turning round beheld Jacob Buckston.

“JT had been told it was my father I should meet; that is,”
added Annys, always most truthful, “I understood I was to see
him here.”

Jacob saw her troubled face, and said at once—

“Then the scapegrace did not tell you; indeed I might have
guessed as much, as she bid me come here for the purpose of
telling you.”

“Who then? Not Eve? What has she been doing?”

“Be not astounded, fair Mistress Annys, it has ended happily,
though I must own I was much alarmed at first; for had any but
myself found her I know not what they might have thought.” He
then related what had happened, finishing with his promise to tell
only Annys, and to let her follow her own counsels for the rest.

“Only be lenient,” pleaded Jacob, who loved Eve for Annys
sake, and would not that through him the maiden should be well
chid, as she indeed deserved to be.

“Do you then think me so hard-hearted ?” replied Annys, with
a little tremble of the red lips.

“Not a whit; I think that ofttimes you lean on the other
side.”

Annys answered nothing; she felt herself in a dream, and
~ yet it was almost like a night-mare. There was something which
prevented her from speaking. She would fain have answered from










68 The Good Old tS

the depth of fie? heart, bit no reply would come. When she did
speak, the words were not what she intended.

“Then you too were attending the secret meeting. My father
laughs about them in public, but in private he laments over them,
and says they will lead to harm. He says, moreover, that we owe
obedience to the sovereign, and that these meetings are dis-
honourable, and unworthy of true men.” Jacob looked hurt, but
said calmly—

“There may be two sides to every question. Will you not
grant that, Mistress Annys? Last night it was the great and good
man Mr. Fox who himself addressed the meeting. You were too
young to understand the miseries endured by the poor Protestants
in the last reign; but the sore is still fresh in the minds of many
men. They do not forget what they suffered, and now they would
fain prevent the possibility of a recurrence of those persecutions.”

“Yes, you may be right; but I mind having heard father say
that many of those ‘martyrs’ provoked the authorities. Nay, that
a even courted death.”

“Men’s minds are seldom evenly balanced, Mistress Annys ;
besides, in this reign there has been much provocation ; Sampson
and the worthy Humphrey were dismissed from the colleges at
Oxford, and that violence has done much harm to the cause of the
church. But I came not here to dissert upon the affairs of the
Puritans. I am only a half-hearted champion. I wish you had
heard Mr. Fox. Even your sister was struck with his earnestness.”



“What would my father say?” answered Annys, laughing ;
“know you not that he can be very bitter against the disobedience
of that party, as he calls it?”

“T know it too well, and that is why—” he paused, and the

| colour mounted to the soft cheeks of the maiden. She knew by












Facol's Wooing. 69



instinct what Jacob wished to say, but she did not mind biding his
time to hear it. She did not help him by word or look. “That is
why,” repeated Jacob, “I have not spoken what has so often been
on my lips, what methinks you must have seen ere this in my
eyes; but the thought of your father—Ah! Mistress Annys, you
may have thought me to blame; you may even have doubted of
my love, if such a doubt could enter your mind; even now I dare
not tell you what is in my heart. I hear you say beforehand that
it is impossible, that I may not love you.”

“T could not say that,” said Annys, in a very low voice.

Jacob seemed hardly to hear her remark as he continued : “1 have
no right to tell you this, but for this meeting which neither of us
sought. I would not have done so, but by my troth I could not
keep it in. Yet you shall not say that Jacob could do an ungentle
thing ; if so, I should not be worthy of you. I will straightways
to your father and tell him—implore him to think twice before he
reject my suit. I have so long dreaded what would be his answer
that I put off till this moment. Then came the thought that
perhaps I was not loved. I cannot court you like the gallants
who have fair speeches at their fingers’ ends, but I know that I
could love you far better. Annys! will you not believe this?”

Annys did not wish to doubt, and felt far too happy to
think about what her father would say. Unlike Jacob she was
content with the present happiness, as she held out her hand and
they walked on together down the little path, where there was only
just room enough for the two side by side. Moments of perfect
happiness are so rare, they so seldom can be repeated, that on
looking back we often wonder why we did not make a better use,
or what we think a better use of them when they were ours. We
would have said so much more had we guessed what circumstances



E






70 The Good Old Days.



would follow, and then we upbraid ourselves bitterly for having
wasted those golden, but, alas! winged moments which can never
be recalled.

“Mistress Annys has of late lost her zeal for the French
language,” murmured the pastor, as Ben’s stupidity put him in
mind of his more docile pupil. “It is a bad sign when the spirit
wearies of useful study, and refuses to imbibe the wholesome
draught of learning.”

“My mind would rather occupy itself with other things besides
those vile books,” said Ben. “If I were as old as Annys I would
never open another ; that will be my desire when I am a man.”

“Except the Bible, Benjamin,” replied the pastor, sternly.

“Nay, I would go to church and hear what is appointed for me
to hear.”

“There is Annys walking up the lawn,” cried Eve, who had
been looking out for her sister for the last half hour; “may I not
run and warn her that you are at leisure? There too is Jacob
Buckston with her. Look, Ben!”

“A godly young man,” quoth the pastor, “and one from whom
she may learn much good.”

“He is not a Puritan at heart, though,” responded the heedless
Eve ; he told me so himself, and I rejoice to hear it.”

“What say you?” cried the pastor with unusual warmth;
“my ears deceive me, or it is an. invention of your tongue.”

“Yes, yes, I dare say ;” and Eve, surprised at her quiet tutor,
was glad to escape in order to carry her message to Annys.

“ Annys, dear Annys, have you heard?” whispered Eve, with-
out taking notice of Jacob; “and you will not tell of me. It was
but a piece of sport, truly it shall not happen again.”

Annys was too happy to be able to chide much: she, however,






Facol’s Wooing. 71



said laughingly, “Jacob will think but ill of me for having let thee
escape from so near to me, and ill of thee for getting into such
mischief.”

“But you will not think very ill of me,” pleaded Eve. Since
last night Jacob had grown in her estimation: she really respected
him, and this was indeed wonderful on her part.

“T could not think ill of one who had been the cause of my
happiness. What sayest thou, Annys?”

Eve now took in the state of affairs, and a curious expression
overspread her countenance. “But my father! Oh Annys! he will °
ask what took thee to the bowling-green, and then it will all out.”

The prospect was gloomy, indeed, to Eve, who had thought
herself out of the wood. She now remembered her message, and
said that Annys had better come, or their mother might find out
she had been out.

“Does Mistress Eve remember what I said about truth?”
asked Jacob sternly. “Nothing can be obtained by crooked means;
I would say, nothing that is worth having. I have naught to hide!”

Eve hung her head: she took Jacob’s few words to heart more
than all the pastor's sermons, and so she returned silently to her
studies. Presently Annys followed, and sat down to read a book of
French history, written by a certain Froissart, of whom Annys
knew nothing but that she liked his lively style, and was generally
much interested in her book. To-day, however, she had to use
great self-command to force herself from calling her historical
personages Jacob, or saying in the middle of a paragraph, “I am so
happy!” It was well that she could be happy for a few hours at
least, for she was young, and her hopes were tinged with golden
love; such a thing as disappointment her mind could not at
present take in.




















CHAP. V.—MASTER PENNYFEATHER’S PIGS.

jp oRmc this time Jacob had been seeking for Master Penny-
Dy”, 7 oe ee
BA eather, and at last lighted on him in a wood at some
distance from the house, whither the good yeoman had gone to see
about some tree-cutting. Jacob, however, had come at a bad
moment. A tree was being felled, and in a few minutes it would
come crashing down.

“Stand off, Jacob Buckston! Holla, there! keep a look-
out! ease it, ease it! Plague take thee, fellow! thy rope is in the
wrong groove. Now, out of the way; holla!” The last mighty
strokes were struck, and with a crash, a cracking of branches, a
sudden flight of birds, a rustle, and lastly a shout from the men
standing by, the tree fell. Master Pennyfeather shook himself
well over, drew out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, and
then with the air of a man who has done a good morning’s work,
though in truth he had not struck one stroke, he turned round
towards Jacob, saying, as he held out his hand—

“TI must crave pardon for my rude behaviour, but in truth
it was a ticklish moment: if I had not been here they would have
spoilt that timber for me; I lay a wager on that. Has thy father
marked his trees yet? My children are already thinking about
Christmas-tide, and the Yule log must be well seasoned before










Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 73

Christmas. Ah, Jacob! thou'lt find it out soon enough, I| trow.
We must have an eye ourselves to everything, and not leave it to
silly hare-brained fellows, who scarce know their right hand from
their left. I might as well dig my grave as let them have their own
way. Just fancy to thyself my vexation this morning at finding
half my pigs wandering about the country. It was that blockhead
of a Joe. If it were not that I am short of hands, he should go
to-morrow. But I was forgetting: thou couldst not have come to
see my tree fall: what was then thy purpose—a message from thy
father? If it be about that mill-stream, I tell thee plainly, Jacob,
I will hear none of it.”

Poor Jacob, usually so bold and fearless, knew not what to
answer, and began to walk off from the neighbourhood of the men,
who indeed would have overheard had he begun to speak.

“My communication was of a somewhat private nature,” he
said at last, whilst the yeoman was still wiping and panting for
breath: “it related to a meeting I had this morning with your
daughter, Mistress Annys.”

“A meeting! how came that about? by appointment ?”

“Yes; but it was not for any purpose of our own. Still, when
I saw her again I could not hold my tongue, and I told her that I
loved her. I have now come to tell you, Master Pennyfeather, and
pray you to consider my suit. It is no hasty love, no young man’s
fancy, for I have loved her as long as I have had a heart to love; I
loved her the first day I saw her, when we were both young, she,
indeed, but a child, with quiet ways, and naught of subtlety about
her. Methinks such love should not be altogether considered
hastily, though I know you care not much for our family, and there
is no good feeling betwixt you.”

The yeoman had now found his breath, but was nearly losing it








74 Lhe Gooa Old Days.



again from surprise and anger. Jacob had expected as much, and
stood by calm and silent, though not for a minute losing his
temper.

“Sirrah! how dare you come and make love to my daughter ?
I wonder she is not ashamed to let you speak smooth words to her ;
a meeting forsooth! and who let you meet my daughter? Do you
think I should let a Pennyfeather marry a Buckston ?—a Puritan,
a man with no pedigree! It’s a marvel to me how you could be
so presumptuous.”

Jacob waited till he paused, then said, “You care not for your
daughter's heart, Master Pennyfeather? I cannot expect you to
think of me ; but she—I fancy she is not wholly indifferent. Nay,
I know she loves me.”

“Then she may learn to unlove thee: not with my consent
shall Annys be your wife.”

“She shall not be my wife without your consent,’ answered
Jacob, who knew too well what misery an unblessed marriage
would bring, and would not for the world that Annys should
repent of being his wife. So saying, he turned aside and was soon
lost in the wood. Master Pennyfeather took a long time to recover
his temper ; indeed, he was so much afraid of meeting Annys that
he sent a message to his wife that he would not appear at the mid-
day meal, but would like some mess to be sent out to him. This
was accordingly done by the hands of Silent Joe.

“Aye! aye! Joe, and have you found those pigs? Scoundrel
that you are, you should not stay an hour longer if I were not in
extra press of work.”

Joe looked foolishly sulky, and murmured one. of his: usual
exclamations, but got away as soon as he had deposited his
master’s food on the trunk of a tree.








\ WA \

WN ADD Teg 06 oto ne pee



(S MARKS, ARA SS

I,
scree

MARCUS WARD & CO:









“ye. SILENT JOE GETTETH INTO HOT WATER?




Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. : 75



Master Pennyfeather would rather he had stayed, so that he
might have had some one to vent his wrath upon. When one
is in a bad temper the day wears but slowly away, and when one
is unhappy the day seems to lengthen out into two, so for both these
reasons I cannot say which of the two aggrieved persons—Annys
or her father—were the most glad when the darkness obliged
Master Pennyfeather to come in and set himself down by the hall-
fire. Happily for him there was no one there when he first entered,
so he was able to give sundry kicks to the great oak table, and to
upset a chair or two before he finally settled himself down and
began to meditate.

“Was there ever such an unhappy man as myself?” thought
he; “I must e’en have a neighbour who behaves like a Turk about
a paltry stream which runs twixt my land and his, and then,
forsooth, his son must needs fall in love with my daughter. A
low-born Puritan to cast his eyes on the eldest daughter of a
Pennyfeather. Tl see him dangle from the gallows before that
happens, as indeed may be the case. If the queen be as deter-
mined as folks say she is, why, shell soon have these Puritans
up and teach by sharp means if they will not learn by gentle ones.
Aye, aye!”

“Father!” said a soft voice close to him. “Father, wilt thou
wish me joy? Is he not the handsomest, the best, the bravest man
in the county? Have I not been longing for thee, and thought the
day would never end ?”

Master Pennyfeather was silent. It was now his turn to be
dumb. At last he said in an uncertain, half playful tone, “Come,
come, Annys, thou couldst not have taken it in earnest. Pshaw!
I thought thou wert more sensible. Consider, Annys, the fellow
is a Puritan, and has been in danger, or at all events will be






76 The Good Old Days.



in danger of being taken up as a disobedient, unruly mischief-
maker.”

“IT know not what his principles or his opinions may be,”
answered Annys, standing up straight and proud before her father,
like a true Pennyfeather that she was; “but I know, father, that
Jacob is a right honourable man, and as good a Christian as any in
the land. As to being a mischief-maker, I have never heard him
breathe an ill-natured word of any living soul.”

“Aye, aye! that may be; I say not but that he may have his
merits; but then his father is a cross-grained, beggarly churl. He
wishes to pick a quarrel with me about that stream, and by my
troth he shall find me a tough subject for his blows!”

“But it is not the father who loves me,” pleaded Annys.

“Enough of this, wench; I tell thee no Buckston shall ever
have aught that is mine, unless he give up his puritanical whims.”

“Jacob would scarce displease his father by openly breaking
with him. He would not be a bad son for my sake, and I am
right glad of it.” Annys’ blue eyes never sparkled like the hazel
orbs of pretty Eve, but they had an open truthful look which
inspired respect as well as love. Master Pennyfeather looked
upon Annys as perfect because she bore his name, but he could not
understand her being so far blinded by love as to wish to become
a Puritan’s wife. Far better not marry than to give up the church
and the good old ways.

“Here will supper soon be prepared, so let us hear no more
about it, Annys. Dost thou mind me?”

“T cannot bid my heart obey thee, father, and if I meet Jacob
I shall tell him so; but in all else I hope thou wilt find me an
obedient daughter.” Some of the household now entering, poor
Annys retired to her chamber.










Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. ue

It was quite dark, and the chill autumn wind whistled beneath
the eaves and round the corners of the house. The sad moaning
found an answer in the girl’s heart and mingled its sighs with hers.
The morning had been so bright, so full of sunlight, and now the
evening brought nothing but sad thoughts, and a great void which
nothing could fill, Of course Annys said to herself that evening
that nothing ever would or should fill that place in her affections
which she had given to Jacob. Those words “never again” belong
to youth, belong to that time when clouds and sunshine quickly
succeed each other; but whilst the clouds are lying low there seems
no hope of the sun reappearing, and when sunshine reigns, the far
off clouds are viewed as specks which cannot increase or burst
upon the life which revels in the sunlight.

Perhaps Jacob would give up his opinions, mused Annys; but
even as she mused she remembered his strict ideas about truth.
He would never stoop to a mean action, never profess with his lips
what his heart could not endorse, and on the whole Annys was not
sorry that her lover should be of such a firm, upright character.
Alas! lovers as well as unromantic folks must follow the daily
routine of life, and as the horn sounded, Annys dried her tears and
went down to take her accustomed place.

In the midst of the meal a horse’s hoofs were heard in the
yard. At so late an hour this was a most unusual thing. Master
Pennyfeather, who noticed the curious looks on the faces of his
household, said he should himself go and see what traveller had
stopped to ask for hospitality, which thing he accordingly did.
He was not long absent, and as he re-entered he held up a large
square paper, saying joyfully :

“There, Dame Pennyfeather, what say you to this? A letter
from your eldest born, come all the way from Oxford. We have










78 The Good Old Days.



indeed much to be thankful for, now that the quietness of the land
allows us to hear of the safety and welfare of those we love.
What say you, shall I open it at once ?”

“It would be more advisable to finish supper,” answered the
dame, who had little curiosity in her composition, and could
restrain that little admirably. Eve had many troubles on her
mind, Annys, as we know, was sad, and Ben cared not much for
any news which came out of book or paper, so no one remonstrated
against the delay. After supper, however, another log was thrown
on to the fire, and the whole family being seated the father read
Maurice’s letter.

MY MOST LOVED AND HONOURED PARENTS,—

I would willingly have sent you before this some token of my
poor penmanship to prove to you how well I was in mind and body. I
like right well the college life, were it not that now and then some
mischievous fellows oppress me and would fain that I should join in some
of their mad frolics). But when I resisted them they wished me ill, and
I had some persecution to bear. All is now however passed over, and we
are good friends when we meet, which is not often, for I keep within my
rooms or the lecture-rooms, knowing well the preciousness of time. The
finest thing I have seen was the entry into this loyal city of our
great Queen herself. It was a fair sight indeed, but it behoves me not to
describe what Rowland Whyte could best tell you of I met him in the
streets, for he was in the suite of my Lord of Essex. Rowland Whyte
said that he would be in our neighbourhood afore myself, upon which I
wished him joy. My heart longs after you all. I would fain know how
fare the twins and our wild Eve. Tell Annys I read daily some portion
from out the Bible she gave me. I wish I could show you the fair
colleges which adorn this city. The river, too, affords much enjoyment
to those who come to Oxford for amusement and not for improvement.
Tell Ben I depute him to choose the Yule log, and let it be of a famous








Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 79



size. If you dance in the hall we will not except one of the old customs.
Ask Annys to let me know when we are to dance at her wedding.

Your dutiful son,

MAvRICE PENNYFEATHER.

“A wonderful letter!” exclaimed Master Pennyfeather, looking
at the outside as well as the inside of the large sheet which
Maurice had not managed to fill “Maurice is a wonderfully
clever fellow. Ah! Ben, I fear we shall never receive such a large
epistle from thee ; does this not make thee wish to go to college ?”

“Nay, nay, one genius is enough for the family. I would far
rather shoot with the bow like Jacob Buckston, and ride like
Rowland Whyte, and become an honest man, than grow musty
over books. I would not be like the pastor for the world.”

This mention of Jacob brought a cloud on two of the faces of
the circle, and the letter was folded up and put away along with
the deeds belonging to the Pennyfeathers. Eve soon slipped out
unnoticed ; she wished to find Amelia, which she happily succeeded
in doing. Eve was certain that neither Jacob nor Annys had told
of her; there was only one person she now feared, and this was
Silent Joe, who, if he were to be much blamed, might find his tongue.
If he told his master that his children had taken a midnight walk,
Eve knew not what consequences might follow.

“Prythee, good Amelia, I would thou couldest stitch up my
kirtle, which Ben has even just now trodden on. I would thank
thee heartily. Come then to my chamber with thy needle and
thread.” Amelia complied, and presently Eve said—

“Dost thou not think Silent Joe a very comely fellow, Amelia?”

“T do not deny that he is well-grown, Mistress Eve, and that
his appetite is something astonishing.”






80 The Good Old Days.



“Nay, but he is also a well-favoured sort of a fellow.”

“Tt would not be my place to deny it,” was the guarded
answer, for at present the maid could not see what the young girl
was driving at. At something, she was sure.

“He certainly does not talk much, but perhaps, as the pastor
would say, he ruminates all the more.”

“There is no denying that, certainly.”

“T fear,” continued Eve, coming to the point, “that he may
think my father was somewhat vexed about those brainless pigs,
but thou hadst best tell him, good Amelia, that it is nothing, and
that my father will soon forget it. Above all, tell him not to
mention it! He thinks a mighty deal of thee, I iancy.”

“TI can hardly believe that, Mistress Eve ; but of course if one
good turn is done me, I must say that it deserves another.” Amelia
spoke the words pointedly, and Eve, who understood well enough,
was forced thus to make a mean bargain with her maid-servant.
She seemed to be led deeper and deeper into difficulties. How she
| wished she had not gone out, and then she wished still more that she
| had owned her fault. Every day made it more difficult to confess,
and Eve found she had not courage to face her parents’ anger.
She answered therefore, half crossly, though she had but herself to
blame—

“Of course, Amelia, that is but just; now my dress is mended,
and it will soon be time to assemble in the hall. Remember, |
trust thee to deliver the message to Joe.” So saying, Eve ran
downstairs, and Amelia shook her head up and down and smiled



in a contented manner, murmuring—

“That is well; I now can be sure that that silly girl will not
disclose her knowledge. She has entrapped herself.”

Amelia also descended well satisfied with her interview ; whether





Set Se Ree




Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 81



she told Joe, or how she managed to explain to him the matter
need not be told. One thing is certain, that Joe still kept to his
silence, and apparently his wits did not sharpen as winter came
on, and Christmas with all its gaiety was at hand.

Surely in those olden days old Father Christmas was more of
a smiling old man than he now appears to us! I fear we have
offended him by taking too little notice of him. He has now
folded his arms, and as he shakes his head reproachfully, he says,
“Yes, yes ; it’s all very well for you: you say you are too busy
now to attend to me. I am a jolly old fellow doubtless, but really,
I am rather too much of a good thing. They did not say so in
the year 1570—oh no! Do you know what they did when I was
walking slowly towards them? Oh no! of course you don’t,
because you have never taken the trouble to inquire. But I won't
tell you. Only one thing I will say: that they enjoyed my
company a great deal more in those days than you do now. I
made myself a great deal more amusing. Ah! ah! my old sides
shake to think of it And what snow-storms I brought along
with my white locks. Ah! ah! When I laughed and shook
my hoary head, the earth became white, and the ice spread itself
over the water, and the icicles got blue noses, and my fingers made
everything look like frosted silver when I touched them accident-
ally. Ah! ah! ah! I was a jolly boy then, but now—well, well,
it’s quite altered. I can’t expect you young people who have
smoky trains, and I don’t know how many posts in the day, to care
whether I stay long with you or not. I hear you say quite sadly,
‘Dear me! there’s Christmas coming again ; it seems but yesterday
since he was here last.’ The folks in 1570 said quite otherwise.
Ah me! it is hard when the old people have to be put away on the
shelf; but it’s the way of the world;” and the old gentleman












82 The Good Old Days.



melts into childish tears; and this is the cause why we so often
have quite a mild Christmas. But in the time of good Queen Bess
Father Christmas was a welcome guest, and his approach was hailed
with delight and joy. Nowhere did he receive more greetings than
at Sandy’s Hollow. Perhaps Dame Pennyfeather was the only
one who did not altogether expect him with unbounded pleasure,
for her mind was weighed down by the beef and the venison which
would have to be provided. Then the beer! What would her
husband say if every man on the premises had not enough—and
more than enough—to drink; so she must see that there was
plenty brewed; and there must be the best malt put in, for the
labourer knows what good beer is as well, nay, better than his
superiors. There was also some present to be provided for each
family, and her own household was not satisfied unless a gift was
ready for them on Christmas Eve. Dame Pennyfeather was, how-
ever, quite equal to the occasion. Her daughter Eve wished
many times in the morning that her duties were only made up of
looking after a household. She could not see that going to visit
the dairy, and ordering the maids, could even be considered as
duties. If such were their names, she would willingly exchange
them for hers, which were learning French and Latin, and hearing
the pastor declaim against the wickedness of all Roman Catholic
kings and countries. In this way he taught history. When he
lectured upon Martin Luther his eyes would brighten, his telescopic
figure lengthen out, his whole being seemed changed. Of late the
poor man had been growing very thin, and an anxious frown had
become habitual to him. The tender-hearted Annys soon noticed
it, for her own troubles made her more susceptible to those of others.
“What has taken away your spirits, good sir?” asked she,
about a week before Christmas, which that year fell on a Monday.






Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 83



“T cannot confide my sorrows to you, good Mistress Annys ;
“T would not burden a young heart with the troubles of one who
is not far off from his grave, but e’en you must know that we are
living in sad times, and that wickedness is rampant.”

“TI know not that our day is more evil than other days,”
returned Annys, “but I know that troubles come upon the young
as well as the old; still, I would fain relieve you if I could.”

The pastor gazed a minute at Annys: he seemed to perceive
for the first time that she too had a sad look about her which was
not habitual. A silent sympathy was that day established between
them, though they agreed in nothing except in thinking Jacob
“a godly young man.” I will not say that Annys at all considered
that the pastor's sufferings could equal hers, but still she was sorry
for him, and pity can never be wasted. On Christmas Eve, Ben
and. his sister were to have a fortnight’s holiday, and it was with
no little glee that they found the time drawing near. Instead of being
more attentive they were less so, and this circumstance did not
help to smooth the brow of the weary pastor. Eve, who had over-
heard the above conversation, bent over towards her sister and
whispered :

“T know what makes the pastor sad.”

“ What then ?” answered Annys ; to which Eve replied, laughing :

“It is the wickedness of the world—Gog and Magog in especial.”

“For shame, Eve! I would not joke about the sorrows of ©
others: who knows whether thou mayest not thyself have grief
some day.”

Annys little knew that Eve did carry about with her the daily
fear of her autumn escapade being discovered. Of late she had
been happier, thinking it had all blown over; but she was daily
tormented by Amelia, who would often insinuate that if Mistress














84 The Good Old Days.



Eve did not do this, that, and the other to please her, she would
mention to Master Pennyfeather how Silent Joe had been blamed
unfairly. Annys knew naught about the pig-sty, or nothing
would have hindered her from clearing Joe’s reputation.

“You will come and share our Christmas dinner ?” asked Annys
of the pastor when lessons were over, and both were standing on
the threshold of the door. “You must promise me that; and know
you that Maurice returns to-morrow ; and he would never forgive
you if you came not to hear his many tales about Oxford.
Maurice was ever a favourite with you.” ‘

“Yea, yea; he was a youth of much promise, and I say not but
that he might have grown up to be a Puritan prop had he been
left to my teaching ; but I love him right well as it is.”

Annys smiled, but it was a sorrowful smile; for as she stood
there and saw the snow lying many inches thick on the hard
ground, she also noticed that the pastor’s black coat (of a most
spare cut of cloth) was sadly threadbare, and could not protect him
from the piercing wind. So she said playfully, “ You are not going
to one of your meetings, good pastor? It is not weather for you
to be out in these cold snowy days; surely no one would wish to
turn out from their fire-side and their cheerful homes.”

“Nay, but that is then the time when the wolves prowl around
and seize the flock ; if any must be sacrificed it must surely be the
shepherd, and not the lambs of the fold.”

Annys did not understand to what he referred, or what he
feared, but she did not laugh at him, only smiled once more as he
went his way. As Annys turned into the hall she beheld no other
than Rowland Whyte, who had come in whilst she had been
studying her French. He looked more of a gallant than ever, and
rose with so much haste and politeness that he let fall his feathered






Master Pennyfeather's Pigs. 85

cap, and as it rolled away Annys’ first impulse was to pick it up.
This somewhat spoiled the meeting, but Dame Pennyfeather, with
true courtesy, made all smooth by saying that his cap had no
intention of being displaced from its lodging, and she hoped
Rowland Whyte would return as favourable an answer to her
husband’s invitation.

“T should indeed demur to thrust myself upon you. at this busy
time,” quoth Rowland, “but that my heart yearns for the quiet
pleasures of a country life, and my uncle, the squire, has betaken
himself to the town. I shall therefore be much beholden to you,
nay, much delighted.” But Annys thought to herself that this
fine gentleman would not have come to them had his uncle, the
squire, been in the country.

“What news bring you from court?” demanded the dame, who,
albeit she looked so prim and stern, was the one of the household
who enjoyed court gossip or what she called “news.” Rowland
enjoyed no less giving out his ideas and opinions. It sounded
mighty fine to tell his personal experience of court life to his
country relations. They little knew what a mere court drudge the
poor youth’s post really was, and by his words they could not
have guessed it.

“T have never seen Her Majesty so lively: in September we
had a right royal journey to my Lord Hunsdon’s mansion. It
was quite a progress. The queen went in her canopied-chair,
which was carried by six gentlemen. These were preceded by
some knights of the Garter. The whole suite accompanied her,
but by far the finest sight was the queen herself! You should
have seen her jewels: pearls the size of—”

“Pigeons’ eggs, doubtless,” said the dame; “I have heard tell
of them.”








86 The Good Old Days.



“And then her diamonds, how they sparkled! Ah! fair
Mistress Annys, you should have been there to see it. Yet I make
bold to say none could have vied with you as to freshness. Those
ladies of the court are too much bedizened to please me: they are
not to my taste.”

“Methought you just now praised their jewels,” said Annys,
who felt in no mood for compliments.

“Yea, but there are fairer jewels which nature gives, and
which art denies.”

“And what say they of the Queen of Scots?” asked the dame

“They say so much that one cannot tell which is the truth.
Some call her fairer than the fairest, and as innocent as a dove ;
but the greater part who are near the queen do but blacken the
Scot’s face and fame.”

“If I were at court I should speak my mind,” said Annys,
“and I would not blow both hot and cold.”

“Not to cool your porridge, and to warm your taper fingers ?”
asked Rowland laughing.

Annys saw that she could not bandy words with a courtier, se
contented herself with saying, “I would cool my porridge and go
with cold fingers in order to be consistent.”

“And feel the cold wind for your pains. Aye, Dame Penny-
feather, you must ne’er send your daughter to court unless under
safe guidance.”

“Truly, our Annys is too simple for court life.”

“Know you not that the simple are those most hard to deal
with? The queen would rather deal with a knave than with one
who was too simple. The first she could put into the Tower, but
the second there is no getting rid of.”

“Marry !” cried the yeoman, entering ; “do I hear you speaking












Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 87



treason, fair sir? But I came to find my little Annys. Look you,
my pale flower, there is Bernet the smith, who is in great trouble
about his child. It has the croup again, and his wife says that
none but Dame Pennyfeather can cure it. Thou canst not go,
dame; but couldest thou not tell Annys what thy remedies are,
and she must tuck up her kirtle. We must e’en do our best for
the poor, or we shall get no Christmas blessing. Well, Annys,
what is thy mind?”

“T will willingly go, and if I do but get a little snowy there
will no hurt be done. Prythee, good mother, tell me thy receipt.”

“Would that I could go myself; but as I must not, listen,
Annys. Thou must take a couple of onions—then hold them over
a steaming vessel. Next thou must cut them into slices, and then
apply them to the soles of the child’s feet. Take care thou cover
them up with flannel, or the virtue will be gone. I have never
known the cure fail if done rightly. When the child sneezes thou
must give it a drop of this stuff, but an it sneezes twice, put thou
on more onions.”

“Come, then, get thee gone forthwith,” added her father, “ and
tell him I send him this crown to buy what is requisite.”

“T question whether you could send him a kinder present than
the sight of Mistress Annys’ face,” said Rowland. “Her look of
amity would cure me were I never so sick;” but this time his
compliment was wasted, for Annys was already in her chamber
beginning to array herself for the walk.

The way to the smith lay through a lane leading by the side
of the Buckstons’ farm, so that one reason of Annys’ willingness to
go may be easily divined. But in truth she was always ready to
perform any little act of kindness which lay in her power. As she
passed out of the Pennyfeather estate she entered a lane called










88 The Good Old Days.

Hawthorne Lane, and here the snow had drifted so deep that she
found it hard work to get along. She was about half way when



she saw a kneeling figure which made her heart beat. It was
Jacob, she was sure, but what was he doing? He was kneeling low
on the white surface, and in his hand was a tool. Annys was so
glad that she walked all the more slowly. She liked watching
him unperceived, for in truth she had not set eyes on him since the
unhappy day when her father had withheld his consent. Jacob
was too honourable to seek out Annys, though he would often
linger on the outskirts of their domain to catch if he might but
a glimpse of her. Annys, on the other hand, felt no compunction
about speaking to Jacob, if she could only have the happiness of
meeting him—and here he was! Her heart almost jumped into
her mouth for joy, and as I have said she crept on gently.
Presently a lusty voice behind the hedge sang out in no very
musical tones—
“Come bring with a noise,
My merry merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing.

This was accompanied with loud blows from an axe, which told
plainly that the singer was thinking of Christmas and of the
famous Yule log.

“Come then thou here, fellow,” cried Jacob, without looking
up; “instead of singing thyself hoarse, I would thou mightest give
a helping hand this way. The poor thing is nearly dead, and I
must make speed.”

9

“ Aye, aye, master!” answered the voice, and a young wood-
cutter came springing down from the top of the hedge, and very
nearly alighted on Annys herself.

The youth’s exclamation of dismay caused Jacob to look up,










Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 89



and seeing Annys, the colour slightly mounted to his cheeks, but
he did not get up or relax from his employment. Annys and the
youth now approached at the same time, and the former saw at
once that Jacob was trying to dig a poor sheep out of a drift.

“Ah! Mistress Annys,” said Jacob, “I see you have a bottle in
your basket; is it some cordial that could do this poor beast any
good? I half doubt whether I shall save it now. Gently, Harry,
the sheep can well feel, albeit it is half dead. I think thou hadst
best run to our house and bring back some Hollands. Tell old
Mary it is for the sheep which was once her pet lamb, and I trow
she will give thee of the best.”

“Very good, master, though I know not how I can make the
speed you wish in this snow.”

“Then don’t stay there chattering like a woman. I beg pardon,
Mistress Annys. I meant not women such as you.” The boy went
off with as much speed as was possible, then Jacob's manner
changed, though he would not leave the sheep. Annys put down
her basket, and gave a helping hand.

“Ha! Annys, Annys, my heart has been right sore on thy
account since last we met. I would fain have sent thee some
message, but I would do naught that was underhand.”

“Dear Jacob, I knew that thou wouldest not change thy mind,
so I cared not so much, and my own heart was fixed.”

“Aye! say you so, Annys, sweetheart ?”

“Thou couldest not doubt that?”

“T know not; at times all looks dark and lowering. My father
is not overpleased at me; he still harps upon that mill-stream, albeit
the poor brook is under snow and ice, and cannot flow much
anywhere. ‘Then he reviles thy father, and when I remonstrate, he
calls me a church-ridden churl. He is old and has many infirmi-








90 The Good Old Days.





ties, so I will not vex him with overmuch contradiction. But at
times I am down-hearted.”

“Poor Jacob! thou too hast much to bear. But thinkest thou
not that at this blessed Christmas-tide all ill-feeling will be put
aside? Oh! if thou couldest come to church on Christmas-day—
and now I fear it will be Rowland Whyte who will be with us.”

“What! that young vain gallant who robbed me of my dance
on St. John’s Eve?” Jacob was somewhat excited, and with
a mighty effort he released the sheep and began rubbing its poor
half-frozen body. Annys was trying to pour a little of the cordial
down its throat, and did not see the angry flush on Jacob’s face.

“Alas! Jacob, I must not tarry though these moments are
precious. I am bound to a sick child—oh! my heart grieves about
the religious differences. If it were not for these——but prythee,
Jacob, is there aught amongst the Puritans which alarms them?
Lately the pastor has had a troubled look which saddens me.”

“ Aye, tender-hearted as ever, my Annys. I know not what to
tell thee. ‘Thou knowest that the pastor, though he looks so quiet,
is very zealous in the cause. I know not, but I gather that he is
a marked man, and that if he does not beware, he will be in danger.”

“In danger? What of?” Annys looked frightened.

“Who knows? The Queen likes not all these secret meetings,
and in truth they are mischievous. Indeed, Annys, I would not
go were it not for my father—but he clings to his creed.”

“Ts there danger for thee, Jacob? Alack! there comes thy lad.
I must not tarry longer or the child may fare ill.”

At the youth’s approach the lovers were obliged to return to
their stiff ways and cold speech, so that Annys having seen the
sheep in a fair way to recovery went forward, trying to make up for
lost time. Yet her heart was lightened. It would not be difficult






Master Pennyfeather’s Pigs. 91



to be patient and hope for better times, now she knew Jacob would
not change towards her. And Christmas was coming; Christmas,
which had such a good effect on the tempers of all the brave folks
of “merrie England.” Pleasant thoughts speed the way, so that
Annys found herself at the cottage before she knew that she had
got half way. It was pleasant too to act nurse and lady-bountiful,
when she was looked upon as an angel of goodness. The onions
did their part; whether nature herself might have restored her
patient without the aid of Dame Pennyfeather’s onions, it is not
meet to inquire. When Annys reached the lane she was only too
happy to see Jacob waiting for her; no one will doubt they had
a pleasant talk and a pleasant walk; and as they had not sought
the meeting, both of them were free from scruples of conscience.
Jacob would not, however, step within the limit of the Perinyfeather
land, though Annys begged him to come a little further. His strict
view of what was right and honourable was to him sacred. Nothing
could have made him go to the right hand or to the left, when he
knew his road lay straight before him. Annys found it a great
relief to meet with one who could so well direct her, and settle so
easily her many uncertainties; if only Jacob had not had those
Puritanical leanings, all would have been so happy. Nevertheless
it was with a bright face she tripped into Sandy’s Hollow, being
met at the door by Ben and Eve, both exclaiming eagerly—

“Annys, know you that Rowland Whyte is going to stay for
a fortnight at least? Shall we not have some happy days? for we
must have a great deal of company in honour of such a gallant.”

“Yes, yes, I know it; let me go; I must see that Maurice’s
chamber is prepared for him. He wants no grand company, but
I fancy he will want a bed.” Annys went to Maurice’s chamber,
but thinking more about Jacob than about her brother’s bed.

ss


















































CHAP. VI.—THE PASTOR DISAPPEARS.

after this, and was tinging part of the landscape with a
pretty rose-light, when Annys might have been seen standing on
the door-step and looking eagerly over the broad surface of frozen
snow. Her blue eyes, with their simple honest expression, nad an
anxious sad look in them, which was touching in one so young.
She had been standing there fully ten minutes when a step
approached from behind her, and Maurice’s voice said cheerfully,
as he took hold of her round the waist—

“My sweet Annys, I have not half feasted my eyes on thee,
why are you deserting me? Rowland Whyte has even stopped to
listen to my stories of our grand feast. Ah! you should all see
the chimney of Christ Church. That good cardinal had a right
loyal idea of what cooking should be.”

“What, Maurice! hast thou learned to eat an ox entire since
yonder city of Oxford received thee in her arms. If so be, thou
must not bide at home for Christmas. But, brother, my mind is
sore troubled this morning about the pastor ; I have been looking
along the road for him, but it is all in vain. My heart misgives

ae" winter sun had risen over the white land two days

me. I feel sure some mischief has befallen him.” .
“What! because he has shirked his morning’s teaching? I








The Pastor Disappears. 93



think he did right well. Eve is a very mad-cap at the idea of the
Christmas dances and good cheer, and can settle down to nothing.
As to Ben—”

“Nay, it is not that; but oh! of late his face has been so
sorrowful, and he has been wearying himself to death with his long
tramps about the country. There has been some mischief, I fear
me, ©

“Ah! say you so? Have the Puritans made Sandhill too hot
for them? Faith, I am not sorry; they should be put down with
a high hand.”

“Tf they had but one neck, as Nero would say ; but, Maurice,
they are acting up to what they deem right, and a man can do no
more.”

“Right, Annys; meseems thou art grown in wisdom. What
is it that has filled thy head with such wise sayings? but come,
I see my father in the yard. The snow is so crisp it will not
hurt thee, and we will go and ask him.”

The two accordingly laid the matter before Master Penny-
feather, who, as we have said, had a warm heart, and who had
always acted kindly towards the poor pastor. He, however, did
not think so seriously of the non-appearance of Mr. Hapgood.
Doubtless he had caught a cold in his head, or had some other
ailment.

“Then he will want some one to nurse him,” said Annys,
“though I never in my lifetime have known him have a cold; but
of late his coat must often have allowed much wind to penetrate.
Will you not go and see, father ?”

Master Pennyfeather demurred ; there was much to see after.
At last he said, “Thou hast foolish ideas, Annys, but a right
tender heart. Come, I will promise thee that I will go and order






—

94 The Good Old Days.



him a turkey. It shall be sent up to his room, and he can eat it
during the whole of Christmas-day. Will that satisfy thee ?”

“Thou shouldest add a new coat, Annys thinks,” said Maurice.

“ And make her go without one for herself, eh ?”

“Yes, indeed, father, that will I right gladly do; but I was
going to ask thee if I might accompany thee. A woman can
always say the most cheering words if illness is the matter.”

“Thou thinkest over much of thy sex, Annys, but a woman
will e’en have a way, so go and get thee ready, wench; and
Maurice, do thou see if that fool Joe is doing his duty out yonder,
whilst I take Annys to the village, that is if thou hast not become
too fine a scholar to look after out-of-door work.”

“A scholar has more sense than a gallant!” said Maurice, who
pitied Rowland for finding nothing better to do than to tease Eve
and laugh at Ben.

Very soon after Annys and her father set out, for the snow
was firm enough to render walking agreeable. The maiden had
slipped-on a long half-tight pelisse. It was well quilted and trimmed
with fur. She did not forget to hang her purse to her girdle,
thinking she would add a few gclicacies to her father’s turkey.
The young serious face was an attractive sight, as with a quiet
determination she struggled to keep up with her father’s pace.
Annys had always her mind set on what she undertook; it was
this honesty of purpose which made her such a useful right hand
to her mother. During the walk she mentioned her fears about
the poor pastor’s safety. He was so unselfish that if there was any
danger to be encountered he would be the first to undertake it.
Master Pennyfeather would not, however, believe in danger. In
half an hour they reached Sandhill, and walked quickly up the
street lying on this side of the river. The bridge had to be crossed,










Lhe Pastor Disappears. 95



and here the wind blew so hard that Annys clung to her father.
Very soon they were at the entrance of the further village, and
then they found themselves in front of the worthy Roche’s
shop, which was plentifully supplied with turkeys, all looking as if
even in death they were mourning over their untimely end.
Roche, who had fears of not selling all his stock, had stationed
himself on his door-step, and would dart out on the passers-by and
inquire whether they had yet bought their Christmas turkey.
On seeing Master Pennyfeather he was quite eloquent on the
merits of his beautiful birds, digging his fingers as he spoke with
much energy into the ribs of the departed ones.

“Ah! ah! Roche! and so you can see turkey written on my
face? Well, I tell thee there are a dozen depicted on thy features.
However, tell us thy price, and if it be not exorbitant I will surely
buy one.”

Roche named his price, and was further going to relate how no
other turkeys in the country were as cheap, when Annys interrupted
him by quickly exclaiming,

“Good Roche! we wanted to know how Mr. Hapgood fares,
as he came not to Sandy’s Hollow this day or yesterday. Is he
indisposed? Pray tell us!”

Roche’s manner changed at once, and he became very mysteri-
ous; next he beckoned them into his shop.

Poor Annys’ heart sank within her : her fears were certainly not
unfounded if this mystery was necessary.

“Look you, sir, it was a sad thing, a very sad thing.”

“But what was it? Speak out, man, and tell us what was
sad.”

“Ah, sir! that is it. I was told that my eyes must be turned
away, and my tongue must hold its own counsel.”








eo
96 The Good Old Days.



“Tut, tut! man, show some grains of sense, and out with the
business.”

“He was a good man, sir, and I have naught to find fault with
his way of living under my roof, unless it is that ke kept the fasts
| so rigidly, albeit no Popish priest ; but I must say, sir, that I have
oft-times been much annoyed at his lengthy sermons as he stepped
out and in of my house. Though my wife will bear me witness
that I never listened to them, and was as deaf as if my ears had
been sealed with wax. No, no, there will be no one found to say
that I was aught but a good Protestant and a right loyal butcher!”

“Qut upon thee, man! no one is asking after thy welfare.”



| “ Ha, sir! [ was coming to the history if you will have patience:
| one must first pluck a fowl before one can get at the good flesh.
| It was even in this way that the thing took place: I was sitting in
| my parlour, my wife being in bed, and the night cold and lonesome,
| when I heard a great knocking at the outer door. I wondered for
| some time who was the neighbouvf who was so late a visitor,
| when the knocks were repeated with greater strength. I knew
Mr. Hapgood was in bed, and I could in no way guess; so, deter-
mined to go and see, I rose from my seat—”
“Well, well, let us suppose you have opened the door,” said
Master Pennyfeather impatiently.
| “Let us then suppose this, sir, an it please you, if so you will
but hear half my tale. What was my surprise in beholding half-a-
dozen soldiers, who had evidently walked a good six miles in the
snow; I might venture to say seven. I prayed them of their
| courtesy to tell me their business; thereupon they said they had
| come to seize the person of Mr. Hapgood, known to be a disobedient
| and turbulent fellow. I told them that I verily knew Mr. Hapgood,

| but that he was as quiet a man as any in the realm. Indeed, that












“ye BUTCHER ROCHE_GOOD TURKEYS & BAD NEWS.




The Pastor Disappears. oy



he could talk by the hour, but that his words could disturb no one.
They, however, would not listen long to me, and bid me go and wake
up Mr. Hapgood, and bid him rise and come along with them.
I was very loath, but was forced to obey ; and when I entered his
room I found he was indeed awake, and was dressing himself.
Before I could speak he said, ‘I know all, good Mr. Roche, and will

2:

be downstairs anon ;’ whereupon I begged he wouid not go with
them, but he replied that the shepherd must jump into the lion’s
mouth if necessary. It was so cold that I insisted on giving him
my own coat, and he promised to send it back or its equivalent in
money. When he walked down the stairs the soldiers, that is, one
of their number, came forward and said he was apprehended for his
insubordination to rule, and for holding secret meetings, and could
only save himself by delivermg up the names of those who had
attended ; whereupon he spoke out boldly and said, ‘Never! if ye
tear me limb from limb. Do what ye list with me;’ and so
the whole party went out into the cold night, and I saw no more
of them, save that one soldier came and told me to keep the matter
quiet, and to go on as if naught had happened; but I must not be
accounted to blame for having told you.”

Annys was shedding tears, and when the story was told she
seized her father’s arm, saying earnestly, “I beseech thee, good
father, to get him released. Where was he taken, and who seal
be asked about the matter ?”

“Not so quick, Annys ; I fear this is on account of his religious
opinions, and I would rather he had been taken to prison for com-
mitting murder than for following his conscience! Knowest thou
where they took him ?”

“Nay, by my troth, I know not; for it was a bitter night, and
I looked not even whether they went up or down the street.”








98 The Good Old Days.



“T know who can help us!” cried Annys; “our kinsman,
Rowland Whyte, for the order must come from court.”

“Quite right, Annys; thou hast a clever head, though it is not
too large. Come then home. These are times when a man should
not hang out his colours too plainly, good Roche: good-morrow to
you. ‘There will be fine doings here on Saturday, and many a one
will deserve to be put into the drunkard’s tub on the morrow.”

“ Aye, aye! but I take good care it shall not be Roche,” quoth
this worthy, who was not very sorry to see his company depart,
for he had noticed several passers-by who, had theW been enough
persuaded, might have bought one of his turkeys.

Annys on the way home told her father how she knew that
lately these secret meetings had done much harm, and how a
certain Mr. Fox had been diligently preaching and trying to set
the people against the church. She did not, however, tell how she
had come by her news, and as Master Pennyfeather did not too
closely inquire, Eve again escaped detection. In the meantime she
had not been employing herself in as praiseworthy a way as her
sister, and had let her mischievous tongue run away with her and
her sense of right




















CHAP. VIL—TOO GOOD A BONFIRE.

@HE master of Sandy’s Hollow was in a very bad temper when

he entered the yard of his homestead. Things had not gone

as they should have done, at least as Master Pennyfeather had

intended. The pastor was so much connected with his family that

some evil tongues might blazon abroad suspicious facts, and thereby
bring him into trouble.

‘Woe to the unlucky person who first crosses the path of a man
in a temper against nobody in particular! To-day the yeoman’s
wrath burst upon Joe’s head as he was lazily wondering whether
the Yule log had best be brought within-doors by him, or whether
there was the least chance of its bringing itself in.

“Come, you vagabond, you lazy dog, bestir yourself! In all
my life I never saw such a slow fellow, by my faith !”

Joe, too, was in a bad temper from various causes which we
need not inquire into, but Joe’s temper was in no ways like Master
Pennyfeather. This latter’s humour resembled a thunder-cloud,
the former’s a volcano. The first eruption was visible when, instead
of patiently listening to his master’s rebuke as his master meant
him to do, he gave an angry kick to the log, as much as to say,
“Would that this were the master!” The yeoman understood this
well enough, and the thunder rolled, then at last burst. We need








100 The Good Old Days.

not put down i string of appellatives which regaled Joe’s ears.
In the midst Annys put her small hand on her father’s shoulder,
saying, “Come then, dear father, forgive Joe, and let us quickly
re-enter the house; time presses.” Alas! her father had already
forgotten what Joe’s offence was, and so could not forgive it.
When he had exhausted his breath he rewarded himself by dis-
missing Joe from his service.

“There, rascal, get you gone; I will have no more of such lazy
good-for-nothing dogs.” This done, he wiped his mayen and
entered the house.

Joe had been quite calmed by his master’s last outburst. He
took up his jacket, which lay on the ground, shook his fist at the
empty space which had lately contained Master Pennyfeather, and
then muttering, “Awaw, awaw; he'll soon have a Yule log and
bonfire big enough for his big*Words to burn in!”
and walked off.

“A word with you, if it so please you, good kinsman,” said
Rowland Whyte to the yeoman, and at the same time making such
a bow that Master Pennyfeather thought with pride on every letter
of his name. Aye! it was one to be proud of when the great
family of Pennyfeather could reckon amongst its ranks a courtly
man who knew how to make such a bow! His brow cleared,
and the storm being over, the clouds rolled away.

he turned away

“Yes, yes, kinsman, one word, and as many as you will ; but
first let little Annys tell you what has befallen that worthy
Hapgood.” Annys did so,and Rowland smiled at her tale, especially
when she added imploringly, “Oh, kind kinsman! I pray you use
your influence at court and get the poor man released. He is so
harmless, and moreover, so good !”

“If you get him released, I pray you, Rowland, get him also






Zoo Good a Bonfire. 101



transported,” joined in Eve, who was in a flippant mood; “I am
right sick of being taught by him.”

“TI fain would oblige you both, fair coz, but I revere the race
of Pennyfeathers too much to care to endanger another head of
them. Know you not that one has—”

“Tut, tut! no one could doubt me! and I trow my head is as
firmly fixed on my shoulders as most men’s. Ah, Rowland! I see
thou hast it not in thy power to help us in this matter; but come
with me in private and out with thy matter, now mine is at an
end ;” and the two men retired.

“I know well what he is going to ask our father,” said Eve,
approaching her sister and looking mysterious, so as to excite her
curiosity. “ Why, Annys, how sad thou art! surely the pastor’s
fate hangs not so heavy on thy mind ?”

“He was always kind to me, but I have other matters to
sadden me.”

“ Annys, what will you give me for telling you a secret ?”

“Come, Eve, leave me then alone to think, and go seek Ben
that he may see after the Yule log. My father has dismissed Joe.”

“Good riddance of bad rubbish, say I; but my secret, Annys ;
well, I must tell thee: Rowland Whyte is such a fair-spoken
gentleman! he has been saying a hundred pretty things to me
whilst you were out ; amongst others said he, ‘And would you not
take me for a brother, Mistress Eve?’ That was all because I
said I would have naught to do with a courtier. I could lay
a wager he is now asking thy hand from our father.”

“Hive, how canst thou talk so!”

“Aye, but I do;” and hardly had she spoken the words when
Master Pennyfeather and Rowland entered the room with smiling
faces. Her father noticed Annys’ scarlet cheeks.

G




102 The Good Old Days.



“Eh, eh! what little bird has been whispering? Come, my
Annys, spare thy blushes a little; thou must een look up and
listen to the fair proposals that Rowland is about—”

“ Nay, nay, father! indeed I am—” began poor Annys in her
confusion, making no sense of her words, which allowed Rowland
to believe that he was coyly accepted; and before anything else
could be said, shouts were heard of,—“ Here it comes—make way—
make way for our bonny Yule log!” All but Annys and her father
rushed out to give a helping hand with the Yule log over the
threshold, as it was thought most unlucky not to have laid at least
one finger on the wood before it had passed the door sill.

“Annys,” said the yeoman (sternly for him), “what means
this scene? If it be Jacob thou art hankering after,I tell thee
plainly thou wilt never be his wife, and so thou hadst best set
thy face towards Rowland. Such a gallant, such a comely young
man, and so fair-spoken: he has just told me that he will take
thee to court, and that the queen will raise thee high. Eve may
yet, through thee, marry a rich nobleman, who knows ?”—then
seeing Annys still weeping—“I command thee, wench, to have
done with these fooleries, and to give some word of welcome to
thy future husband, or by my troth—but here he comes. Good
Rowland, Annys will follow out my wishes, and thou must forgive
her if surprise and—but young people understand each other ;”
and so saying, the master, glad to have got over the part of an
angry father, was happy enough to laugh over the Yule log.

Annys was much too shy to utter a word in answer to a string
of courtly phrases, which indeed she scarcely heard; and when the
hall became full with people, and she was free to retire, she went
to her chamber and cried her heart out over the old pot which had
once contained the orpine!












Zoo Good a Bonfire. 103



“Hurrah for Christmas tide!” Every one ought to be happy,
thought Annys, but she was not; to her it was, “ Woe to Christ-
mas Eve.” At this minute Dame Pennyfeather hurried into the
room, not being aware of what had happened.

“Come, Annys, haste thee below stairs, for such a company
has come in! the maids and myself can scarce serve all the folk.
The song is just about to tune up: thou hast missed the placing
of the log.” The girl dared not disobey, and before she could reach
the hall, music or noise of all description began, and then burst
forth the song of the Yule log!

“Come, bring with a noise,
My merry merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing ;
While my good dame she

Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts’ desiring.

“Light the new block, and
For good success in his spending.
On your psalteries play,
That sweet luck may
Come while the log is a-teending.

“ Drink now the strong beer,
Cut the white loaf here
The while the meat is a-shredding,
For the rare mince-pie
And the plums stand by
To fill the paste that’s a-kneading.”

“This is blythesome, sweet Mistress Annys,” whispered Rowland
in her ear, “ and I wager that ‘sweet luck’ will soon be ours.”

“T love not such sport,” returned she shortly; “and see, sir, your
help is wanted to decorate the rafters; I pray you lend a hand.”

Thus dismissed, Rowland went among the crowd, and before








104 The Good Old Days.



the evening was over had said some pretty speeches to all the
girls in the room, and had drunk as freely as if he were not a
courtier. Annys thought with a bitter sigh that he did not behave
as one much heart-smitten. Jacob would not have done the same.
Annys could not guess what the night would bring forth, or she
would not have bemoaned herself so much, I fancy.

It was twelve o'clock at night. Sandy’s Hollow at last was
quiet, the Yule log had burnt down quite low, the dogs lay sleep-
ing on the mats, here and there a cat walked softly about, and
Christmas Eve was dead. One of the inhabitants of the house was,
however, tossing restlessly on her soft bed, and this person was no
other than Eve. I very much fear that her supper had disagreed
with her, for in spite of everything she could do, sleep would not
come. Annys had fallen asleep in the act of shedding tears, but
as Eve did not know this, she began envying her sister’s quiet
repose. Presently thinking that if she went to look out of the
window she might become suddenly sleepy, she softly got out of
bed, walked across the room on tip-toe, and drew away the heavy
curtain. The night was very dark, but the snow lighted up the
ground. Eve was just about to go back to bed, seeing nothing to
amuse her, when she suddenly perceived a dark object against the
snow, and the light of a lantern. Presently the light was put out
and the figure disappeared round a corner. Eve, whose courage.
was not of any high order, made but one leap back into bed, and
had soon hidden her head under the clothes. In spite of this, sleep
came not, and for an hour more she lay bemoaning her fate and
inventing a pathetic tale for the next day. Her waking thoughts
at last. became confused, and she dreamt that it was Midsummer
Eve instead of Christmas. It was quite warm; the sun was



shining, and Ben was just going to light the bonfire.


ey

Zoo Good a Bonfire. 105

“Oh! Ben, wait there till I can get out of the smoke,” she said
in her dream ; but this woke her. She started up in bed to find
the room was indeed full of smoke. I am sorry to say she entirely
forgot her sister, but in one instant she had opened her door and
stepped into the passage. The room the sisters occupied was, as
I have before mentioned, at one end of a wing of the old house, and
quite distant from the centre of the dwelling. What was Eve’s
horror to find the passage so filled with smoke that she could not
breathe! The end of the wing must be on fire! Her door banged
to, and she flew through the smoke, taking but two seconds to reach
her mother’s room.

“Mother! father! the house is on fire!” But the discovery
had already been made by the servants, who, in all sorts of
costumes, came rushing towards Master Pennyfeather’s chamber.



Amelia was there, wringing her hands and saying she knew she
was on fire, and of course would be burnt.

“Hold thy tongue, Amelia!” cried Eve; “why think only of
thyself: are we not all in danger? Fetch me a kirtle and shawl.”

“What! not along that passage, Mistress Eve! How came
you out ?”

I need not describe the scene of bustle which ensued; the
panic was so great that all the household turned out of doors
except the yeoman. His wife had found some difficulty in waking
him, but once out of bed he was all activity. Setting everyone
at_ work with authority, he cried— It is only the wing, my men, that
is on fire! Don’t let it be said the fire conquered a Pennyfeather !
There, now! let the women keep out of the way, and let us get as
much water as possible ! ”

The snow was melting round the burning wing, and made the
footing dangerous. It was a glorious scene, however, and Rowland








106 The Good Old Days.

Whyte, who being far removed from the part on fire, had there-
fore had time to dress himself almost elegantly, said calmly,
“Tt is worth seeing Dame Pennyfeather; I would not have



missed the sight for twenty marks!”

At this minute Eve rushed up almost beside herself with
grief. “Oh mother! mother! Annys! It is all my fault; I forgot
her: I pray you, Rowland, save her! See! see! up there on that
first story! The fire has not yet reached her, but the smoke—
oh help! help!”

The yeoman heard these words and turned pale. “Annys!
Annys! how is this? What! still in her room? Cowards!
thieves! rascals! why did you not tell me? Here, James, Bracy,
your weight in gold if you can get the ladders. I forgot; here is
Rowland Whyte. Ah, my boy! I know thy heart has leapt up
there already though—but come, haste, Rowland; there is the door ;
that way may still be safe. What, man! why tarry 2”

“T would indeed risk everything,” said Rowland, edging back,
“but, good sir, this is an impossibility. Eve had best a to her
to throw herself out of the window.”

The men were now bringing the ladders, but the confusion was
great. The yeoman, however, found time to say, “Thou craven!
thinkest thou such as thou shalt have her? I would rather the
flames devoured her. Art not thou ashamed to be standing
there, in lace ruffs, to boot?” and so saying, the despairing father
rushed towards the ladder and was himself going to ascend when
a firm, strong hand put him aside.

“This is my business, good Master Pennyfeather; you cannot
endanger your life: if I die it will have been for her.”

It was Jacob Buckstone, who, having seen the fire, had run all
the way from his farm, and had been greeted with the news that






Too Good a Bonfire. 107



Annys had not been able to escape, for that the passage in the
Wing was impassable. It was no easy matter to ascend the ladder,
for the gable was tottering already, the fire below having eaten
away some of its supports; moreover, no Annys appeared at the
window, which was closed. Jacob almost feared she had been
suffocated before she was aware of her danger. Carefully and
steadily he mounted, knowing that more haste so often makes less
speed, and that Annys’ only chance might thus be lost. He had
no time to feel anxiety ; his whole mind was concentrated on the
work in hand. At last his head was level with the sill of
the window, and raising his voice he cried, “ Annys, Annys ! haste,
I beseech thee!” Nothing answered him, and with one blow he
| burst through the glass and looked in. A sudden gust of wind
happily cleared the room for one instant of the smoke, but what
availed this? Jacob with a glance could see no one; only a heap
of clothes in one corner, which in the agony of the moment he
fancied must be Annys lying dead. It needed only this sight to
make him desperate. With one bound he entered the room and



felt his way to the corner. There was hope certainly ; the heap
of tumbled blankets contained no living person. But where could
she be? Even the brave Jacob dared not open the door of the
room, knowing well that the draught would end all hope of escape.
He now heard voices from below shouting something; he heard
some word of warning about the tottering ladder, but he could not
understand it. If Annys was dead he cared very little whether his
means of escape were slender ; indeed, quite a happy feeling came
over him at the thought of dying for her, perhaps with her. The
smoke was clouding his intellect ; his head felt dazed, but he made
a few steps towards the window, unconsciously seeking to get out

of the stifling atmosphere. More shouts from below, a great cloud
|










108 The Good Old Days.

everything, and that voice awoke Jacob from his torpor. It was
Annys’ accent, and he seized the ladder and shook it; still the
maiden called, “Oh, Jacob! Jacob! make haste; I am safe, quite
safe! oh Jacob!” The feet which had been so steady but a few
minutes before, now seemed almost unable to guide themselves, and
the strong hands could barely clutch the top of the ladder. Jacob
appeared from below like a drunken man staggering on the edge of
a precipice. The flames only a few yards from him began to throw
out their long, thin, cruel arms, as if eager to clutch their prey, but
at every second they hid them quickly away as a bucket of water
was poured over them. Then how spitefully they hissed, angry at
the disturbance of their plan; but again they darted forth, despite
their foes, and curled upward with more eagerness than before.
Hurrah! hurrah! why, they have almost touched the giant who is
descending that frail wooden ladder. Poor fool! does he think to
escape them? Ah! ah! he had best be somewhat quicker then.
No! no! now they have him: they wind their flame-fingers about
his hands and force him to let go.

There was a cry of despair from Annys, then Jacob fell heavily
to the ground. Happily the height was not great, and gentle
fingers came at once to his help. Annys, who would not be
restrained, pushed her way through the crowd and knelt down on
the earth to gaze into his face. ‘The silly one took his motionless
and closed eyes as signs that death had taken him from her, and
cried out,

“Oh Jacob, Jacob! would that I had died instead of thee,
alack !”

A groan was her answer, but never was groan more welcome :
the girl’s spirits rose immediately, and seeing Maurice she said,





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Too Good a Bonfire. 109

“Dear brother, help me to carry him into the barn, away from
this bustle. Ah! I forgot; thy poor arm is hurt: why am I to be
the cause of so much pain?” ‘Two men were, however, ordered by
Master Pennyfeather to do her bidding, and very soon ministering
to the sick man gave Annys plenty of occupation. The rest of the
women followed their example and retired to the barn, whilst the
men renewed their efforts toward putting out the fire. Master
Pennyfeather, relieved from anxiety, worked like a very Hercules,
and before five o’clock struck from the rude hall clock there was
a shout of, “Three cheers for Sandy’s Hollow and good Master
Pennyfeather ! ”

The worthy man doffed his fur cap and said reverently, “ All
praise to God, my men, that He has left some portion standing ;
aye, enough to shelter us and any poor folk who may pass by this
night. Now look you carefully round, my boys, so as not to tread
on any burning brand.” So saying, he left the farm men to get
the rubbish somewhat in order, and went to the barn to see with
his own eyes that all were safe and sound.






tes

















































CHAP. VIII.—FAITHFUL LOVE.

us spite of the night’s occurrences the whole party, except

Rowland Whyte and Jacob Buckston, appeared at the
breakfast-table. The long Sunday prayers which the dame usually
insisted on were, however, replaced by shorter ones, for none had
risen too early. As may be imagined, there were many questions
asked about the fire. Annys was called upon to tell how it was
that, when all were expecting her to appear at her bedroom window,
she had suddenly rushed in amongst them, and by her entreaties
had persuaded Jacob to save himself.

“Ah, Annys! thou hast very nearly been his death ; as it is,
the poor fellow’s left arm has a serious burn!” said the dame.

“He says he does not mind,” replied Annys, looking down.
“T am indeed grieved at the business, for neither can poor Maurice
move his right shoulder in consequence of me.”

“Tell us then how it happened

12

cried everyone.

“When I woke I found the room filled with smoke, and guess-
ing at once that something was the matter, I jumped out of bed and
dressed with all speed. I saw Eve was gone. Then I tried to
open the door; but in so doing I let in such a current of hot air,
that I was near being suffocated, and hastily allowed it to shut
again. Not knowing what next to do, I ran to the window and








Fatthful Love. 111

saw many of you bustling about, but no one heard or saw me.
I was indeed beginning to fear when I heard a great knock, and



the door bursting open revealed Maurice, his head rolled up ina
wet towel. Ah! Maurice, I could barely refrain from laughing,
but there was no time even for that. ‘Soak your towel,’ he cried,
‘and do the same ;’ then he rushed again into the burning, stifling
passage, dragoing me after him, for I could see nothing, and very
nearly fainted. The rest you know.”

“But thy arm, my boy,” asked the dame, “how came that
hurt ?”

“A mere knock, mother: before we were well out a beam
gave way and deposited itself on my shoulder; happily I did not
receive its full force, or I should not be listening to these tales—
but here comes Rowland.”

Accordingly this young man entered, trying by courtly bows
and fair speeches to make the yeoman forget his lack of courage.
But the yeoman’s pride was only skin deep; beneath this lay a
true honest English heart. He was deeply hurt, for in spite of
Rowland being a Pennyfeather and, moreover, betrothed to his
daughter, he had for ever disgraced both that name and the name
of gentleman.

“Good morrow, good kinsfolk,” began Rowland ; “I am indeed
charmed to see that the worthy Dame and Master Pennyfeather
have received no harm. ‘There, too, sits the wise Maurice with
a knightly scarf about his shoulder. Ah! Eve, good-morrow! and
the blessed infants, too, I am glad to see are alive and well ;” then
approaching Annys, who had not before noticed that his empty
chair was beside her, he half whispered, “Ah, fairest Annys!
a misfortune at the beginning of happiness prevents one from



coming at its close: ’tis best so.”




112 The Good Old Days.



The yeoman, who only waited for some opportunity, burst forth
angrily, “Aye! aye! ‘tis best so indeed. I took you for other
metal, sir, when I offered my daughter’s hand and heart. By my
faith, you never possessed her heart, and her hand you shall never
have if my name is Benjamin Pennyfeather ! ”

Annys, who dreaded scenes (though this one caused her heart
to beat with gladness), now interposed, saying their kinsman was
needing his meal; but Rowland, with much show of anger and
injured pride, said—

“T have heard that my uncle, the squire, has returned to his



domain; I will therefore no longer trouble the worthy yeoman
with my presence. I see well that the wind has changed, and that
some low Puritan is now in favour. I would not for the world
that the court should hear that Rowland Whyte associates with
rebels ; so I will take my leave, not without thanking the worthy
Pennyfeather for this timely warning, which I hope will at. least
keep my Pennyfeather head on my shoulders. Adieu! good dame;
to you, fair Mistress Annys, I do but say au-revoir!” So saying,
the gallant went forth with the step of a marquis out into the fresh
morning air, and was soon seen to ride away.

“ May he fall into a drift!” murmured Ben: “I never before
set my eyes on such a craven.”

“Hold your tongue, sirrah!” cried the yeoman, who now
wished Rowland Whyte safe back. What was he going to say at
court about him? Some treasonous lies, doubtless. But no man
ever likes his enemy to go away in a bad mood, and, moreover,
without his breakfast !

“ What an unfortunate man I am!” he cried, walking uneasily
about the hall: “here I must needs have a daughter with two
lovers, neither of which please me, and besides this there are three








Faithful Love. 113



more wenches who may bring me into the same trouble by-and-by;
who knows if their lovers may not be of the popish religion next
time?”

“There will be plenty of time to bemoan thyself about Eve
and the twins when thy house is built up,” remarked his wife
sternly. “Come, Annys, help me to prepare some cool bandages
for Jacob’s arm ; perhaps thy father will go and inquire into last
night’s business. Did any see some late stragglers about who
might have done this mischief ?”

Eve then told what she had seen, at which Amelia, who had
not left the room, said it must be that wicked, deceitful Joe.
Here she burst into tears, and being reproved by the dame, excused
herself by saying that the master had dismissed Joe, whereupon he
had told her, Amelia, that she would see a Yule log that evening.
Poor Master Pennyfeather seemed overwhelmed with his troubles,
and telling Maurice and Ben to follow him, said he would inform
the needful authorities forthwith, so that the person of Silent Joe
might be seized.

“Ah, Annys!” said Jacob as she entered his room with her
mother, “I am sorry to occasion this trouble: when this arm is
dressed I will not burden you any more with my presence. In the
meanwhile the sight of thee is a cordial. Forgive me, good dame ;
I cannot refrain my tongue from telling her so.”

“Thou wert a foolish fellow, Jacob, last night ; but Annys had
better hold thy hand whilst I dress thy arm.”

“ Nay, I can bear pain,” answered Jacob rather proudly.

“No need to tell us that after last night ;” and Jacob, catching
sight of Annys’ tender eyes, held out his hand, only too happy to
be able to clasp hers. But the maiden did not find it a very
happy position ; she almost fainted at the sight of the burnt arm,




114 The Good Old Days.

and it needed all the self-possession she could muster to prevent



her from rushing out of the room. Ah! it is fortunate that women
have brave loving hearts as well as weak nerves—by the first they
can conquer the second.

In the evening the whole family once more assembled together
round a blazing fire in the hall, and this time Annys looked radiant
with happiness, for Jacob sat next to her, albeit her father had said
nothing more on the subject of love or lovers. Nothing could be
heard of the perpetrators of the mischief, which might have proved
so fatal to some of those happy faces now lit up with the firelight,
which flickered fantastically over them and over the old dark
rafters.

“JT have many thanks to offer you, Master Pennyfeather, for
letting me abide here last night, and to you, dame, for all your



care of me.”

“Tut, tut, man! say nothing of that,” replied the yeoman.
‘T’ve sent down to thy father to tell him thou must bide here
awhile. That is, thou must ask Annys if she will let thee. Ah!
the little bird blushes and says nothing; but what says the adage
eh, Maurice ?—‘ Silence giveth consent. Well, well, | would not
have chosen thee, Jacob, I tell thee plainly ; but there, what is to
be done when two obstinate young heads think they know better
than their elders? As to being a Puritan, I would all good
Protestants would act as thou didst last night. Dame Penny-
feather, what say you ?”

“1 would not think other than thou thinkest,” was the guarded
answer of the dame, who rather fretted over the Rowland Whyte
affair.

Annys for all answer went and kissed her father in a right
English manner, and then returning to her former position, placed












Faithful Love. 115



her hand in Jacob’s uninjured palm: it is very much doubted
whether it was taken from that resting-place for the remainder of
the evening. “Ah, Jacob, I am so happy!” whispered Annys for the
one minute they were alone, “and I thought yesterday that I never
should be again. Now whatever happens I can never be sad
again, and Christmas will once more be the happiest time of my
life.” Ah, Annys! Annys! clouds and sunshine come not once

only. This lesson is not yet learned.


















CHAP. IX.—CHRISTMAS-DAY IN THE EVENING.

f

i WW HAPPY CHRISTMAS to ye!” ‘To be sure: why should

any one be sad on such a day? Poor and rich, high and
low, all share in the highest sense that happiness, so that there is no
mockery in the good yeoman’s words as he walks round to all his
cottages, saying in his own cheery voice, “A merry Christmas to
you!” First, there is the church-going, All the family go that day,
even the twins, for all house-work has been prepared beforehand.
Then when they once more return, Ben, who has run on in front,
meets them at the door, shouting and singing till his throat is hoarse,
and presents each one with an immense piece of holly. Then what
a bustle there is, what a settling of plates, what a shouting for
Annys and Jacob! who are at last discovered bending over an old
pot where an orpine plant once grew. Never mind; Annys had
watered that pot well with her tears, and foolish Jacob was going
to keep it as a relic.

“Dear me! dear me!” says old Father Christmas, laughing
very loud, “ how foolish lovers can be, to be sure ; nearly as foolish
as poor old Father Christmas himself ; however, everyone has their
turn, so that makes it even. Come now, boys, give me room;
I am the herald of the wonderful Boar’s Head!” Then follows
a long procession of men-servants and maid-servants, in the midst
















Christmas-Day in the Evening. 117



of which may be scen the boar’s head all decorated with holly, and
a grim smile illuminating his face. There are few who can smile
at their own death, but then few have such a fuss made over them.
As the boar is placed on the table Maurice gets up and sings in his
full sweet tones—

“Caput Apri defero

Reddens laudes Domino.

The Boar’s Head in hand bring I,
With garlands gay and rosemary ;
I pray you all sing merrily,

Qui estis in convivio.

“The Boar’s Head I understand
Is the chief service in this land ;
Look wherever it be fande,

Servite cum cantico.

“Be glad, Lords, both more and lasse,
For this hath ordained our steward
To cheer you all this Christmasse
The Boar’s Head with mustard !”

After which all the family begin the real business of eating. No
tasting of morsels in those days; people would have been ashamed
of having ten courses handed round and “just touching” say five
of them. No, no, no; they had a dinner and they made a dinner,
and that is why the brave English could fight those poor
Spaniards, and snap their fingers at an Armada. But enough of
this: I will not make your mouth water with the descriptions
of that dinner ; suffice it to say it was a very good one, and that the
sight of the happy faces round the board was a feast in itself.
I must proceed with my story. Many neighbours had come
on this Christmas-day to see the burnt wing of Master Penny-
feather’s house, and many were the inquiries into the cause of the



H


118 The Good Old Days.



conflagration. Anathemas were hurled at Silent Joe, who, not
being there to hear them, minded them not at all. These wonder-
ings were brought to a close-by the yeoman saying in his usual
happy, good-natured voice,

“Come, neighbours, let us amuse ourselves. ‘If that wretch
is guilty he has at least not the pleasure of thinking we are burnt
out. Here come the fiddlers, and here is the hall. I must first
introduce to you my future son-in-law, whose gallant conduct is in
everyone’s mouth. His left arm, you sce, is useless; but we, neigh-
bours, shall watch to see whether he will not manage to foot it with
Annys. Come, Jacob, take her hand and open the ball!” No
sooner said than done, and Jacob’s whole countenance seemed
changed by happiness. What will not joy accomplish in the
beautifying of a face? Joy just touches with soft fingers the eyes,
and at once they become radiant and beautiful; next he kisses
the mouth, and the curves séem to alter and appear lovely. Nay,
joy has sometimes pressed his fingers into some soft cheek and left
there a dimple ; but sometimes he does all this and then flies away,
saying, “I only wanted just to show you what I was like, you see ;
I cannot stay with you to-day; perhaps some other day I will
see you again, but who knows?” Ah! who knows indeed if the
joy of the days that are no more will ever return ?

The dance had begun at two o'clock in os afternoon, for late
balls were not in fashion just then.

About half-past four, when Annys had sunk into a chair quite
tired out with dancing and happiness, some loud unmusical voices
were heard singing outside. It was growing dusk, and the sounds
agreed well with the hour.

“Ah! chance has brought us some stray carol singers,” remarked
Jacob, “ but they are behindhand.”



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Christmas-Day tn the Evening. ? 119



“Nay, they are but strolling minstrels; I will go and offer
them some of our new brew ; it is first-rate, some say. Ah, Jacob!
I feel as if I could make everyone as happy as I am myself. This
time on Saturday that dreadful kinsman of ours was sitting by me,
but I remember not one word he said.”

“Thou hast a short memory, my Annys; perhaps thou hast
forgotten what I told thee on the bowling-green.”

“No, no, no; of that converse I remember every word. Ah!
I had nearly forgotten the singers ;” and snatching up a large jug
of beer and a tumbler, Annys hurried to the door; at once the
sound of voices and flutes ceased. Annys beheld two men and
a boy, who looked with longing eyes in at the windows where the
merry party were seated. One of the three was an old red-faced
peasant, who, if he could sing at all, certainly could make no
heavenly music. As soon as he saw Annys he tucked his fiddle
under his arm and gazed with greedy eyes at the glass. The other
man was tall and strong, looking far too hale a man to turn beggar,
for these wandering minstrels were not much better. The lad had
a round good-humoured face, but evidently did not find playing
the flute a very agreeable Christmas-day occupation.

“Tt is most too chilly for you, good folk,” said Annys kindly,
as she poured out a glass of beer ; “will you not enter awhile ?”

“ Nay, thank you,” answered the sturdy man somewhat shortly,
then added, “we came on an errand to Mrs. Annys Pennyfeather.”

“To me?” cried Annys ; “who then sent you ?”

“As we passed a cottage some fifteen minutes’ walk from here,
a woman came hurriedly out and begged us if we were passing
Master Pennyfeather’s house to call and: ask Mistress Annys, his
daughter, of her charity to hasten thither, for her child was sore
taken with some complaint, of which she described the symptoms,












120 The Good Old Days.



but by my troth I forget how they went. She said none but you
knew how to cure the child.”

“ Alack! that must be Widow Janson’s child; I marvel me,
however, for the child was healthful enough yesterday ; howbeit,
I will hasten at once.”

“Then we will on our way,” said the man indifferently; “but
thou, boy, run back and say the lady comes anon.”

“Nay, trouble not the boy,” said Annys; but before the words
were out of her mouth the boy was running in the direction of the
cottage and the two men had moved away. The maiden quickly
re-entered the hall, and going up to Jacob, whispered, “ Widow |
Janson has sent for me to hasten to her sick child; it is not dark,
so I will be back before any have noticed my absence. Nay, thou
must not come, dear Jacob; it would never do for thy poor arm.
Ah! I can command thee now!”

“ As thou wilt, mine Annys; but who brought the message ?”

“The singers, but they have passed on. Adieu for half-an-
hour !”

Annys hastened away, and a few minutes after Jacob saw
her trip off on her deed of charity. He may perhaps be forgiven
for thinking that his Annys was nothing more nor less than
an angel. The room, though full of people, seemed to Jacob to
become suddenly empty, and he began to think of the gathering ©
gloom. Why had he let Annys go alone? It was near, certainly,
but a message sent by minstrels sounded strange. The more he
thought the more impatient he grew, till after ten minutes’ reflec-
tion he could bear it no longer, so with difficulty pulling a cloak
over his shoulders, and his great hat on his head, he slipped out
upon the white snowy ground. He had not walked more than
a few paces when he espied a large knotted stick on the path ; he








Christmas-Day in the Evening. 121



stooped down and picked it up, murmuring, “It is fortunate my
right arm is not damaged ; I fancy it could defend Annys better
than those poor feeble things which that Rowland Whyte called
his arms!” This you will notice was truly a lover's boast, and as
such should be forgiven. For five minutes Jacob amused himself
by following exactly the two small footprints of his love, then he
took another fright, he knew not why, and hastened on
quicker. At last the cottage light could be seen to glimmer: it
was at the entrance of. a small wood and solitary. About a
hundred yards from the cottage Jacob saw with much surprise that
the snow was much trodden down, as if several men had been
trampling it, and beyond this he lost sight of the small footprints.
A cold sweat burst out all over him. What did this mean? or
was his mind going? He ran to the cottage and hammered at the
door with his fist, which soon brought a poor woman to the sill.

“ Quick, woman; say, has Mistress Annys Pennyfeather been
to see thy sick child ?”

“Aye, sir! that she has many and many a time; ‘twas last
Michaelmas when Betty took a strange complaint in her head,
and was that wayward—”

“Peace about last Michaelmas; has she been here this night
to thy sick child, I ask thee again ?”

“Ah! sir, I pray you calm your mind, I meant no offence; but
thank God, my child—but I have two, sir—is as hearty as she has
ever been. That is to say Betty, but Tom is but sadly; only you
see, sir, he’s at Lisbon on some ship of her gracious—”

But the distracted Jacob had already strode back to the place
where the footprints had paused. As he ‘strained his eyes close to
the beaten snow, he suddenly noticed that several fresh marks,
entering the wood, were visible. He followed them, though nearly






122 The Good Old Days.



driven mad by the idea that he was going the wrong way.
However, Annys had been gone so short a time she could not be
far off; if this path failed, he would return and seek everywhere.
Very soon the narrow path broadened, and it entered a large green
road which was the public way for carriages going through the
wood. Jacob knew all these paths by heart, otherwise he might
easily have lost his way. After some ten minutes’ walk the road
turned an angle, and what was then Jacob’s surprise to see round
the corner of the fir-path a rude, covered litter placed on the snow,
about half-a-dozen men standing round it, and Annys, his Annys,
leaning against a fir-tree, whilst a man well muffled up, seemed to
be earnestly entreating her. Jacob’s first impulse was to rush up
and deal blows with his stick on the head of all seven, but a
moment’s reflection showed him that he would be immediately
overpowered, and thus not save Annys. Ah! it was some vile
plot of that rascal Rowland Whyte. Jacob had not ‘been seen,
so with stealthy steps he crept in and out among the trees till
he came within ear-shot. Annys was saying—

“No, I tell you again, Mister Rowland Whyte, I would rather
die of cold than enter the litter of my own free will; if you touch
me I will scream, and there are some who could hear.” “Rowland
smiled. . |

“Nay, sweet dove, ruffle not your feathers; hark you, I know
something which would be the cause of a Pennyfeather seeing the
inside of a prison; but should you consent to what I have prayed
of you, not a hair of their head shall be touched—I mean your
parents.” Annys half uttered a little ery of pain, but stopping
herself, she answered-—

“T do not believe one word you say, and again I say no.”

Jacob could stand this no longer; with the agility for which
ia ara






Christmas-Day in the Evening. 123



he was famous, he suddenly sprang upon the astonished Rowland,
dealt him a blow which sent him reeling a few paces, then seizing
Annys by the hand, said—

“Quick, follow me, they will not be able to find my track.”

Before the astonished followers of Rowland had made out what
had happened, not a trace of Jacob and his betrothed could be seen
through the dark pine stems, then their first thought was to pick
up their fallen leader, who, being only stunned, soon returned to
consciousness, saying, as he did so—* Ah! ah! I will be revenged
for this; but come, fellows, why do you stand staring at me ; away
with you, and seek the pair. I care not what you do to the vile
Puritan, but hurt not the maiden! I will recover anon, and walk
home.”

By this time Jacob was safely hidden in a little cave which no
one but himself knew, and where, leaning against a stone, he was
trying to soothe the frightened Annys. Her head was on his
shoulder, and though the darkness hid her pale cheeks, Jacob's
heart was rent by hearing her frightened sobs.

“My treasure, why distress thyself now? Art thou not safe
with my arms round thee? Nay, nay, think not of the villain ;
he cannot get thee here, though, had not I followed thee, I tremble
_ at the danger thou mightest have gone through.”

“Nay, Jacob, he might have killed me, but I would not have
moved. I feared him, oh! so much, but I would not show it; but
ah! Jacob, how I prayed. Never in my life have I prayed as I did
then. Think you he will be revenged on my father ?”

“Fear nothing, sweetheart, Jacob has still one arm to protect
thee and thine with; but come, the danger is past, it is already
dark, and the household will be alarmed.” So saying, Jacob gave
her his unhurt arm and tenderly conducted her back to Sandy’s




124 The Good Old Days.



Hollow. Their absence had been remarked, and some jokes
bandied about on the occasion ; but Dame Pennyfeather, thinking
Annys had, without leave, jomed Jacob, was preparing a severe
reproof, had not Jacob whispered in her ear—

“Say nothing, I beseech you; Annys has been in danger. I
will tell you all anon.” Eve’s tongue had not yet learnt restraint.

“Ah, Annys, had the pastor been here, he would not have
allowed thee thy evening walk.”

“Poor pastor!” said Annys. “Ah, Jacob, I would give all I
had, except thee, to see him here once more in the midst of us.”

“And to hear him say how sinful we all were, dancing when
‘we should be sleeping. Alas! Gog and Magog!” and Eve wagged
- her head slowly in imitation of the pastor; all near her, except
Jacob and Annys, laughed. This latter remarked gently—

“Eve, it is not right to make a mock of thy elders; perhaps
trouble will some day teach thee forbearance ;” but the incorrigible
sister only tossed her pretty head.












CHAP. X.—A PENNYFEATHER IN PRISON.

ANG O one can depict the rage of Master Pennyfeather when the
;) next day Jacob related what had taken place on the previous

evening. He raved against Rowland Whyte, swore that he had
harboured a viper in his house, and concluded by saying—

“T knew well he would do me some ill turn, when he walked
out of my house with the air of a king. Aye, aye, a king forsooth ;
he should be broken on a wheel if I had my pleasure.”

“Calm thyself, Benjamin,” said the dame, who was so busy
putting away all her best possessions that she had not had much
time to think of Annys’ affairs, except that she had told her this
would be a lesson against believing all the wandering minstrels
who came to the door. Annys was too happy to care much what
was said to her; to-day she was all anxiety about Jacob's arm,
which the cold air had not improved. The yeoman insisted that
the brave Puritan should remain a few days longer with them, and
was generous enough not even to mention the mill stream, for
which forbearance Annys inwardly thanked him.

“Indeed, Master Pennyfeather,’ remarked Jacob one day as
the two men were sitting over the fire, when the rest of the
household had retired to bed, “I know well I am in no way
worthy of your daughter, but she will never find any who will


126 Lhe Good Old Days.



love her as much, not even if he were the queen’s chancellor to
boot.”

“Aye, aye, man, thou hast proved thy words, and so that
she turn not Puritan, I shall be right glad to see her in thy
keeping.”

“That is what I wanted to speak about. As long as she was
not mine I would not declare my sentiments; some might have said
of Jacob Buckston that he turned in order to marry pretty Mistress
Annys, but now it is otherwise. I tell you plainly, sir, I am sick
of the underhand ways our people employ, and am determined to
give them up. My father will be angry, but I must endure that
for Annys’ sake.”

“Well, well, Jacob, every one must have some craze or other,
and that is thy father’s, not forgetting either the mill stream.” In
this way the two became fast friends, and all animosity seemed
to have been burned out on the night of the fire. A week had
scarcely passed, however, when one morning as the family were
assembled for breakfast, Amelia ran in looking much alarmed and
flurried.

“Alack! what is going to befall us; I sce a party of soldiers
coming round the road! They are coming to kill us.”

“Silence, wench! they will not trouble themselves about killing
thee, methinks,” said the dame sternly. “It is but a party going to
change a garrison. Benjamin, thou had best stand at the door and
bid them welcome.” ;

“Certainly!” answered the yeoman, starting up from his chair,
and so great was the excitement that Eve and Ben, even
Maurice, hastily followed him. The report was true enough. Half-
a-dozen soldiers, with an officer at their head, were slowly making
their way along the road leading to one side of the farm. Very












A Pennyfeather in Prison. 127



soon all the party clattered into the yard, and the officer alighted
as Master Pennyfeather said with jocund mien—

“Welcome, brave gentlemen, to my poor home ; you will certes
do me the favour to dismount and breakfast with a loyal subject
of her most gracious—”

“Come, come, good sir, it is too late to hoodwink us any longer.
I bring here a warrant empowering me to seize you, and I shall
hand you over to the civil authorities to be tried according to law.”

The dismay depicted on all the Pennyfeather faces cannot easily
be described. On the yeoman’s countenance consternation soon
gave place to wrath. His face became crimson, he clenched his
fists, and looked ready to do battle.

“ How, now sir, what do you mean by coming to insult me in
my own house? Aye, me,a Pennyfeather to deliver myself over into
the hands of justice: this is some vile plot.” The noise brought the
rest of the household to the door, and great was the distress of the
worthy dame on hearing the cause.

“Good sirs, there must be some mistake about this; a slight
explanation will clear the mystery. My husband is a most loyal
subject. I pray you, tell us what is his fault ?”

“Madam, I fear there is no mistake in the matter; your hus-
band -is accused by a most honourable gentlemen, Mr. Rowland
Whyte, who can bring forth witnesses to bear out his statement.”

At this the yeoman’s passion burst forth :—“Then it is deep
conspiracy, a pack of lies, a—a—a—.”

“Come, sir,” said Maurice, “ what is then the accusation ? it will
be easy to refute it, there is none so honest and loyal in the land.”

“ Aye, aye! the law will find that out. Master Pennyfeather
is accused of countenancing and upholding the vile and treasonous
sect of Puritans, nay, of attending, or at least some of his family,








128 The Good Old Days.



their secret: meetings—all such have been declared by Her Gracious
Majesty the Queen to be traitors, and therefore to be imprisoned.
If the accusation be false, doubtless all will soon be cleared up.”

“Neither I nor one of mine have ever set foot in any of their
secret holes,” cried the yeoman ; “it is false, utterly false.”

“ Aye, and a most wicked lie,” returned the dame.

At this minute a cry was heard, and Eve, in floods of tears,
threw herself on her father, and sobbed out—It was me; I did it,
good sir, take not my father! I went with my brother, but it was
only a frolic, my father knew it not—take me, take me; alack,
alack!” and the miserable girl wrung her hands in her despair.

“Thou, Eve, and Ben?” said the yeoman calmly, as if struck
dumb.

“Thou art not my daughter,” said the dame, “to have brought
this trouble upon me;” but now Jacob stepped forward and
confronted the officer :—“I cannot believe that some child’s frolic
could influence the law, it is impossible.”

“Who knows?” said the officer, shrugging his shoulders; “if
the child owns to the deed, doubtless the father also assisted. The
judge will soon find out. Come, sir, no more tarrying, we have
some way to go, I advise you to mount one of your horses.”

Eve sobbed as if her heart would break ; this infected the twins,
who joined their voices to hers; the dame herself looked ready to
give way, but Maurice had taken hold of her arm and was giving
her support and comfort. Annys stood pale, motionless, and mute,
near Jacob, thinking that if her father was suspected, who had
never set foot in a Puritan meeting-house, how much more might
Jacob, who had been a declared Puritan? But what could she
do? poor, weak, timid, little Annys, though her woman’s heart was
so large that she would willingly have suffered in the place of those












A Pennyfeather in Prison. 129



she loved. As to Master Pennyfeather himself, he stood up calm
and brave, now that he knew the worst, and really behaved like
the innocent man that he was, though many guiltless people
similarly situated have found this line of action impossible. The
horse was procured, and the yeoman mounted as if he were going
to market, then turning towards his assembled family he said—

“Tt becometh you not, my children, to grieve for me as if I were
to blame. Cheer up, dear heart, take care of the children—my
little ones especially. Eve, I forgive thy frolic, but may thy future
ones not bring forth such evil fruit. Maurice, bide for the present
at home. Ah! Jacob, I need say nothing to thee, I will trust my
treasure to thy safe keeping.—-Now, gentlemen, I am ready to
do your pleasure.”

In this manner Master Pennyfeather quitted his home, leaving
behind him many aching hearts who could hardly brook to see
him guarded by a soldier on each side. Poor Eve ran away to
her room directly the last had been seen of her father, and
throwing herself on the floor, found that she had now plenty
of time to repent. It was not only the disobedience of going
out at night which had brought on this trouble, for at the bottom
of her heart Eve guessed that Silent Joe must have been the
informant. Had she not helped to undermine his truth and
honour ; had she not allowed him to be blamed unjustly, and held
out hopes which she knew would not be realized, as baits for her
own convenience? If repentance such as Eve's is blessed and
salutary, surely it is far better to follow conscientiously each right
impulse, as did Annys, even though at the time more pain than
profit be the result. The dame had her household duties as usual
to perform, and she was not the woman to sit down and weep
when there was work to do; but Annys and Jacob retired to an






130 The Good Old Days.



empty room to talk over what was best to be done, or indeed if
there was anything to do.

“Alas! Jacob, I fear it is all my fault, but thou wilt believe
me when I tell thee I gave him no encouragement. My father
could not discern Rowland Whyte’s flattering to mean nothing.
He cared not for me, I feel sure.”

“Nay, there perhaps may lie his only virtue. To see thee,
Annys, is to love thee, so I cannot blame him for that; but his
conduct deserves no pity. As to thy father, my one hope is that
he may meet with the pastor, who would not fail to clear him.
Ah! poor man, he was a right honest fellow, though he could see
but one path.”

“That business of Eve’s was indeed unfortunate, but who could
have informed against her? thou told’st me none recognized her.”

“Aye, none did; I would take my oath of that, but that we
care not about such things; an honest man’s word suffices.”

“Yes, thine, my Jacob, but here comes Eve; I pray thee, scold
her not, she looks sad enough, our merry Eve.”

It was indeed Eve, who had come to confess everything. She
had now found her courage, and she would no longer spare herself.
She told Jacob all that she had done, addinge—*“ Ah! Jacob, if I
had heeded you when you spoke of truth, I should not now be
so unhappy. I shall never, never smile again.”

This announcement brought smiles on the faces of the other
two, and Annys, tenderly putting her arm round Eve’s neck, said—
“Cheer up, my dear little sister, our father forgave, and who then
will dare to blame thee? Dry thy sweet eyes, and give us one
of thy smiles, despite thy vow.”

Eve could not resist this appeal, and from this day forth she
looked upon Annys as nothing less than a saint.












{?

CHAP. XI.—‘“ THE QUEEN IS COMING

she LL seemed changed at Sandy's Hollow when the master of
the house was gone. In the evening, when the great logs
were put on the fire, there was no cheerful gathering round the great
open chimney. Maurice would pore over a book. Annys, sitting
near Jacob, would cry half the evening, with an occasional smile,
however, when her lover whispered some tender words in her ears.
Eve seldom laughed now ; she found it hard to bear the reproachful
looks of her mother, who, though never blaming her by word, yet
punished her much more severely by her marked indifference. Eve
could have borne anything better than that, though after all it was
the very medicine needful to cure the girl’s self-will and conceit.
The dame did not speak about her husband, she kept all her grief
locked up from the gaze of her children, but her worn, stern face
told better than anything else how much she suffered. It was now
two months since Master Pennyfeather had ridden away, and
nothing had yet been heard of him. One evening Annys said—
“I think I will go and seek for my father, surely somewhere
news might be heard of him. Maurice, what say you, no one
would hurt a weak maiden like myself?”
“ Annys, thou hast after all more courage than we deemed ; but
what would Jacob say to thy pilgrimage ?”








(eee



132 The Good Old Days.



“Tt is impossible, I expect news daily. However, if it will ease
Annys’ mind, I will myself ride over to D , where I expect he
will have been lodged,” answered Jacob.

“Ah! Jacob, thirty miles, nay, that would take thee two days!
If any trouble overtook us we should miss you sorely.” At this
speech Maurice looked somewhat indignantly at his sister.

“ How now, sweet sister, thinkest thou that because I came from
college I am no man, and cannot defend my kith ?”

“Nay, Maurice, but yet-—’ The truth was Annys did not wish
Jacob to absent himself; she was becoming fearful now about the
absence of those she loved. Dame Pennyfeather was, however,
most anxious that Jacob should go to the town of D , and so
without further delay he declared his intention of starting the next
morning. Almost before the dame had risen from her bed, Annys
was tenderly filling a leathern bag with provisions for her lover's
journey. He was fastening up his long buskins, and seeing to his
horse. At last the moment for saying good-bye was come, and
Annys threw herself weeping into his arms.





“Ah! my heart misgives me, Jacob, when I see thee going
away. Nothing but misfortune has of late fallen to our share, but
if ought happened to thee I feel my heart would break.”

“Nay, my Annys, that is having but little faith in Providence.
A man must do his duty, he cannot do more or less, and the rest
he must needs leave to God. Keep a good heart, and all will come
right.” So saying, he kissed the pale face he loved so dearly and
rode off, leaving Annys very sad and heavy hearted.

“ Alas! when will he come again ?” said she, as she turned into
the great hall, now desolate indeed for her.

When the breakfast was ready, it was discovered that Ben was
missing, and the dame immediately began to fear some evil. Eve,




“The Queen is Coming!” 133



however, was able to relieve her anxiety, saying she had seen him
go out early in the morning. Very soon a noise was heard, and
the dame forgot to chide her rough boy when he rushed into the
room, so thankful was she to behold him.

“Mother! Annys, Eve, guess the joyful news I bring you!”

All exclaimed with one breath, “Father is coming!”

“Nay, I had forgotten him for the minute, but some one will
pass over against the road up yonder this very day. Aye, and the
sun is coming out. Oh! what a fine sight!”

“ But who then ?” said Annys.

“No other than the queen herself; fancy, mother! The queen
will pass by on her way to Cowdry, and they say it will be a right
fine sight. I have just now seen a wooden railing rudely put up
to prevent the village people from pressing too closely on Her
Majesty. ve, wilt thou come and see it ?—I mean, may she come,
mother ?”

“Yes, yes, if she has a heart for fine sights. My heart is but
ill-tuned for such festive pageants. Howbeit, Eve has my per-
mission to go where she lists now ; it will hurt no one.” Eve hung
her head and said nothing, but Annys replied—

“Dear mother! I will myself take the children there if thou
wilt let me: it would be a pity to miss such a sight.”

For all reply the stern dame put her apron over her eyes and
wept silently. Children can never grieve for long together, and
though Ben was sorry enough about his father, yet the news of this
morning had greatly restored his spirits.

“ Annys, if thou come at all thou must come early to get good
places. The queen will pass at mid-day, and there will certainly
be a scramble for the foremost places. I shall go now.”

“As thou wilt; but I will come anon with Eve and the little








134 Lhe Good Old Days.



ones.” So saying, Annys went upstairs to perform her usual house-
hold duties, Her mind was, however, deeply occupied with one
thought. She had heard so much good spoken of Her Majesty. Was
she not considered to be her people’s friend? was she not always
saying that she wished for their welfare ? if so, then surely if Annys
threw herself on her knees before her, she would listen to her and
hear her petition. She would explain that it was a vile conspiracy
which had but too well succeeded in depriving them of their
father. She knew her mother would pine away her life; although
she said nothing, Annys could see she suffered dreadfully. But on
the other hand, how could she, a quiet timid maiden, find courage
enough to stop the royal procession? How would she bear to find
all eyes turned upon her? and what would Jacob say, he who was
so particular about a maiden’s behaviour? For a few minutes her
heart failed her, then she thought again about her mother. Suppose
the yeoman could not clear himself, suppose he should be kept for
years in prison, or be put to the torture, and forced to confess
what he had never done. Horrible thought! surely she would
conquer her nerves to prevent, if possible, such a fate befalling her
father. The queen was not so uncaring of her people as to reject
a suit which was so righteous. Annys, as she dressed herself in her
simplest clothes, made up her mind to offer her petition; even
if she did no good she would have done her best to save her father.
She, however, kept her plans to herself, and about eleven o’clock
she started forth, accompanied by Eve and the children, to the spot
indicated by Ben. Maurice cared not to go, but stayed with his
mother and tried to replace his father at the farm. ; “
Tt was indeed a beautiful day ; a warm early spring had caused
the earth to put on a pretty green mantle of leaves; the birds
rejoiced at the departure of the winter, and every living thing was






“The Queen is Coming!” 135



making itself happy; that is to say, all living things which had
not a heart where trouble and disappointment had entered in to lodge,
for in such hearts it is always winter, and a chill wind seems for
ever to be blowing. When Annys arrived great preparations had
already been made, and the wooden railings were supporting the
weight of many a sturdy youth and buxom maid. Even old folks
of both sexes were there, and some strong men had left their work
to catch a glimpse of the great queen. It is weary work waiting
in a crowd, but besides this there is much inconvenience to be
borne with patience. The strong will push the weak, the children
will get between the legs of the men, and then insist on lifting
up their voices in order to get their parents to take them in their
arms or settle them on their shoulders. Now and then some lucky
man would come riding up near the crowd, upon which would
follow some screams of women, who feared to be trampled down
by the quiet gray mare who was on the point of falling asleep.
It was through this crowd that Annys forced her way up to Ben ;
she had begged Eve to mind the little ones, and Eve, unlike her
usual self, was glad enough to stay in the rear and look after her
sisters, though she much marvelled at Annys’ unwonted curiosity.
Annys felt her heart sink as the minutes wore on, and when a body
of Lances came to station themselves at intervals along the rail-
ings she knew the queen was not far off. Her pale face excited
the compassion of a kind woman, who, with a babe in her arms,
stood beside her. “Thou lookest ill, mistress,” she said kindly ;
“why not lean against the wood?” Annys smiled and said she
was not ill, but only sick at heart with trouble. At this minute
there was a movement in the crowd, and simultaneously everyone
exclaimed, “The queen is coming!” All necks were stretched
forward to see, but no dust, no soldiers were visible; only with a








136 The Good Old Days.



frightened “miau” a poor cat rushed across the road. Ben imme-
diately laughed heartily, and the laugh was taken up with increased
merriment among the crowd. Next time, however, that some voice
cried “The queen is coming!” no one looked much interested till
the tread of horses advancing with slow measured paces was
distinctly heard. This time the queen was really at hand. When
Her Majesty showed herself to her subjects she wished them to see
a good deal of her pomp ; and she arranged her processions so well
that it was, as Ben had predicted, a very fine sight to see first
her retinue and then the royal person herself. First came twenty-
four gentlemen of rank riding on white horses, then some knights
of the Garter richly dressed. To-day even the chancellor, bearing
the seals in a red silk purse, was riding in front of the queen.
She was seated in an open carriage, and round her walked many
gentlemen, whilst behind the carriage some dozen ladies, all spark-
ling with jewels and adorned with feathers, rode on white horses.
But how shall I describe the queen? Her attire added greatly to
her stateliness, but could hardly be said to enhance her personal
appearance. Now she was no longer young; her face was fair and
oblong; her eyes were small, yet they were pleasant and lively; her
nose a little hooked, and her lips thin and compressed. Two goodly
pearls were attached to her ears, which were but partially covered
by false red hair. As to her jewels, a pen would fail to describe
their number, size, and brilliancy. The morning sun illuminated
the silver thread which bordered her rich silk mantle and white
brocade dress, and made her diamond necklace to appear as if on
fire. How the crowd gazed at all these wonderful things! but
Annys saw none of them. When the queen was yet a few yards
back, the maiden could catch a glimpse of the well-shaped proud
head ; she could see that as the queen turned her gracious looks, all










“The Queen 1s Coming!” 137

knees were bent to the ground, and many voices cried, “ Long live
the queen!” Annys saw everything, and yet she deemed. herself
sleeping and dreaming. Slowly the cortége advanced: the woman
with the baby in her arms stretched her head forward and then fell
on her knees, crying, “God save the queen!” adding in a whisper,
“ Kneel, mistress ; know you not it is the queen herself? I pray
you kneel; she will see you.” Annys stooped her pretty head,
bent her knees, but with another purpose in her mind. Just as the
queen was fronting the spot, a maiden was seen suddenly to dart
from under the railing, and pushing gently past the lance, throw
herself on her knees before the royal carriage, saying in a low
clear voice,

“Pardon, gracious majesty! pardon for my father!” There
was a murmur of surprise among the crowd; the queen looked
down and beheld the kneeling figure whom the gentlemen were
trying to push away. She had not heard the words Annys
had spoken, but seeing the gentlemen proceed to force her away
without her orders, she said in a commanding voice, “Gentlemen,
I pray you stop! Methinks it is unseemly to use violence towards
one of my subjects, and that a tender maiden, without any word
from me!” The gentleman at the head of the company looked
abashed, though he knew full well that on every other occasion
the queen had strictly commanded that no one should be allowed
to stop her progress by presenting petitions unless her express
commands were given. Her Majesty then waving her hand, caused
the way to her carriage to be cleared, and bending forward, asked
- why the maiden had impeded her progress. Annys could scarcely
answer; her tongue faltered, but summoning all her courage, she
said, “I ask but a simple boon from your highness. My father
has been taken from his home on a false accusation of conspiring










138 The Good Old Days.



with the Puritans. One word from you, gracious lady, would
release him from—”

“We think thee over bold, maiden, but honour thy daughter's
heart. Thy name, child ?”

“Annys Pennyfeather,” said the maiden simply. There was
a titter heard from the ladies who rode behind. One even
whispered loud enough to reach the queen’s ears—

“That name would sound strange at court. It would take two
dainty mouthfuls.”

The queen looked sternly towards the whisperer as she answered
right graciously, “ Maiden, thy petition is granted ; the matter shall
be looked into: if it be as thou sayest, justice shall be done.” The
speech was meant to be heard by the crowd, but it was none the
less gratifying to the timid Annys. The multitude immediately
shouted aloud, “ Long live the queen! God bless Her Majesty, the
friend of her people !”

“Tf it please your majesty to grant one other boon,” murmured
Annys, still kneeling, although the gentlemen, impatient at the
delay, tried to close round the carriage.

“How! what further, wench? Thou art not easily satisfied.”
The queen’s voice had lost the tone of condescension; she, too,
thought it was time to move on.

“There is a poor Puritan pastor who is as harmless as a dove.
He is retained in prison, but surely there can be naught against
him which, if your majesty knew, she would not pardon.”

“What! thou art begging for a Puritan ; thou, a loyal maiden!
This is strange. I deem thy father is not so innocent as thou
wouldst make him. Enough, enough!” and with a wave of her
hand, the queen commanded the procession to continue its course,
leaving poor Annys bitterly regretting her too great boldness.




“The Queen is Coming!” 139



She could not remember how she got back to the railings, but even
then she was not left alone. Everyone wished to see the maiden
who had been courageous enough to stop the royal carriage.
Some admired her, some blamed her, others said it was some
conspiracy. In the midst of the confusion Eve came up to her
sister, and taking her by the arm, said in a loud voice,

« Annys is my sister, and I know there is none like her in all
the land! Come, sweet heart, this way; we shall be soon out of the
crowd if thou follow me.” Annys obeyed the younger sister, who
indeed looked equal to be anybody’s champion, with her flashing
eyes and commanding manner. Soon they found themselves in
their own meadows, and alone, Ben having taken the twins back
to the house. “Ah, Annys! how brave, how good thou art! I hope
indeed thou wilt never go to court. I heard those proud women
laugh at thee. What made thee think of doing such a thing?
Annys, art thou ill? how pale thou art!”

“Nay, but I fear it was in vain.”

“ Well, I think not; the queen, they say, will lodge this night
at D ,and she may perchance hear of the matter, then thy sweet
face will come back to her remembrance.”

“God grant it may be so! Surely when the storm is darkest
then the rainbow must be visible somewhere. But say nothing
to our mother: we will wait till Jacob comes back.”

“Tf my father should not be released, Annys, I think I shall die
of grief. I am thinking of him all day long.” So saying, Eve
wiped away some tears, usually strange visitors to the merry girl,
and then both the sisters walked home silently together.












CHAP. XIL—“ ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.”

iy WEEK had passed, and had brought neither news from

Master Pennyfeather nor the return of Jacob Buckston.
Old Farmer Buckston himself had become anxious about his son,
and had tottered up to Sandy’s Hollow to see Dame Pennyfeather.
He was surprised to see the change that had taken place in her.
She was now much softened by her troubles. After having silently
borne them for some time, she had at last given way, and found
her only: consolation in talking ceaselessly about her husband to
Maurice, Annys, and even Eve.

“Look you, Dame Pennyfeather,” said Farmer Buckston,
leaning on his stick and shaking his white head, “if ever the
master comes back, and to my thinking he never will, I will say
nothing more about that mill-stream you and he wot of.
These are evil days; the Philistine is scattering the true Israelite,
and who knows where a Samson can be found! There is the good
Mr. Hapgood languishing in prison, and my arm is not strong
enough to wield an ox-goad. But I was forgetting you are still in
darkness, and have not yet sought the light. Jacob, too, is a sad
renegade. My old years have fallen in evil roads.”

“That will be cheering news for my father when he does come


Pe



MAROUS WARD E Cou



8

“ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

H.S.MARKS, A.R.A.








“Al's Well that Ends Well.’ 141



back!” cried Maurice; “so you really do give up the old mill-
stream fight ?”

“JT said not so,” answered the farmer; “I did but say I would
say no more about it, but the quarrel, should all go well again, will
be the same as before. Tut, man, what is life without some bone
of contention? Jacob and I have always some topics which we
differ upon.”

At this moment a trampling of horses was heard. The dame,
as usual, started forward ; she was always expecting some one who
might tell her about her husband. The rest of the family had also
heard them, for Annys and Eve both ran with their brother out
into the court-yard. Annys was the first to speak.

“ Look, look along the road! I am sure it is Jacob’s form.”

“And I,” said Maurice, “could almost swear my father was
with him; but say nothing till we are sure.” A few minutes
more and their guesses were changed into realities. True enough
Jacob and Master Pennyfeather were urging their horses forward,
and almost before the dame could reach the door-way she found her-
self clasped in her husband’s arms, upon which the stern lady began
to ery, and so much surprised him that he walked two paces back.

“Upon my oath, this is the first time I have ever seen thee cry,
sweet wife. Ah, ah, ah! well, well; some have strange ways
of showing their joy. There, too, is my Annys. Ah, child! we
have some things to tell thee. What! here is Eve in tears; won-
ders are not at an end. Ah! Farmer Buckston, you have your son
and I have mine now; how are you?”

“Well, I must say, Master Pennyfeather, I did not expect you
home so soon, or I would have said nothing about the mill-stream; —
but I suppose what is said cannot be unsaid, so I fear there is an
end of that.”






fr a ae
142 The Good Old Days.



Everyone laughed heartily, and then they plied the two travellers
with questions. Annys could see no one now but Jacob, and had
they been separated ten years their happiness at meeting each
other again could not have been greater. At last the yeoman said—

“Come in, my children, and Jacob will tell you his story, which
is more amusing than mine: my tale will keep for some winter’s
night. Here, Jacob, take this seat and tell thy tale.”

“T reached D .” began Jacob, “ with but few adventures, and
those few were neither pleasant nor exciting; such as my mare
falling lame, and getting myself robbed of my purse. Ah! I meant
not to tell thee, Annys, but the cat is out of the bag, and thou
mayest keep the money when thou art my wife. Arrived at the
town, I inquired at the inn if ought had been heard of the queen’s
visit, whether she had inquired about the Puritan prisoners said
to be lodged in the town. The landlord was a sour, ill-favoured
looking man, and answered but meagerly to my questions, saying
the prisoners were not there, but had been taken to Melsham.
This discomforted me a good deal, that town being full ten miles
further on; but as my horse was spent, I rolled myself in a coat
and said I would rest a bit by the fire. Toward nine o’clock there
entered a man who called for his supper. I thought I knew his
voice, but could not for some time recollect where I had heard it.
At last, when he had eaten and drunk heartily, he became talkative
with the landlord, and said he must travel this night to Melsham,
for he was wanted the next morning to give evidence against some
Puritan traitors; then I saw that I was in company with none
other than your old farm man, Silent Joe. You may be sure I said
not a word, but determined to keep my eye on him. When he rose
to go I did the same, and taking the road which he chose I waited
till we had reached a lonely wood, then sticking my spurs into my










“Alls Well that Ends Well.” 143



mare’s flanks, I soon was alongside of him. He had quite lost his
speechlessness, but had not also doffed his foolish air.

“*Good evening to you, Silent Joe, said I; ‘methinks it is
not quite safe to be so near Sandy’s Hollow; it is well known who
burned that wing, and the authorities are seeking thee!’ He
turned quite pale and tried to deny the fact, but I continued—
‘Look you, my fine fellow, when we reach Melsham I will deliver
you up to justice, till then you and I travel together.’ You should
have seen how he showed his mind then, begged me to say nothing
about it, and at last I said that if he liked to turn his horse’s head
and go back to where he came from I would certainly not follow
him, as I had business of my own. He was very loath to do so,
but at last he did, and sulked away into the darkness. To cut
a long story short, I heard when I reached Melsham that the queen
had sent an order to the effect that Benjamin Pennyfeather was at
once to be examined, and if his judges could find nothing against
him he was to be released. This order had much astonished the
officials, who knew not how Her Majesty could have made herself
acquainted with the name and offence of the prisoner. I took care
to render myself at the court for the trial, and I was rejoiced to
see your father come forward, led by two men, but looking well and
cheerful.”

“ Aye, aye, that was but to spite them,” put in the yeoman.

“The trial proceeded ; I kept myself in the back-ground, when
I saw no other but Rowland Whyte come up and bear witness
against his kinsman; he accused him of conspiring against the
queen, of going to secret meetings, and I know not what else, adding
that one of the yeoman’s own men was coming, or should be there
at this minute to uphold him. It was altogether a lame story,
and I laughed in my sleeve, knowing well that Joe would certainly








144 Lhe Good Old Days.



be ‘silent’ this day. The judge said he could find no real ground
for detention, adding that Her Majesty the Queen had ordered the
prisoner's immediate release, without further trial. You should
have seen Rowland’s face when I came forward, and addressing
your father, told him I had come to escort him home.”

“Come, Jacob, what a long story when the best is yet to come ;
thou must let me tell the rest.”

Jacob smiled assent and the yeoman took up the thread of the
story.

“We had reached a wood (the same in which Jacob met
Joe), when we suddenly heard despairing shouts for help. In
an instant we turned our horses’ heads towards the spot and saw
several ruffians attacking a gentleman in gay attire. He had his
back against a tree and was hallooing like a boy. Jacob flew to the
rescue, and I did the little I could) We were now three to four,
and if the gallant would have used his weapons somewhat better it
would have been quick work. However, seeing we were getting the
upper hand, the four rascals took to their heels, not before one
craven found the means, however, of having a pistol-shot into the
midst of us. The gallant screamed like a woman, and then fainted.
It was almost dark, so it was not till Jacob fetched his tinder-box
that we were able to recognize Rowland Whyte. When he re-
covered his senses he saw my face,and looked vastly ashamed, poor
fellow! We asked him whether he was hurt, and he groaned and
said that indeed he felt himself dying. Well, we got him to the
inn, where he insisted on getting pen, ink, and paper, and deposing
to the four who had assaulted him. Poor fellow, we could not
leave him, though I thought but slightly of his wound. His fine
manners fell off like a snake’s skin, and below the boy was not so

bad. Eh, Jacob?”










“Alls Well that Ends Well.’ 145



“Nay, nay, I will say nought against him, though I found it
hard to forgive him concerning Annys.”

“Where is he now ?” inquired the dame.

“ Jacob sent a man to warn his uncle of the accident, but before
he came the poor boy was dead. By my faith, though, I think he
died of fright more than of his wound. He sent some foolish token
to thee, Annys, and asked my pardon in a right Christianly fashion.
Well, well, I bear him no grudge; a Pennyfeather can make himself
happy even in prison.”

Annys was shedding tears over the death of the man she had
never loved, but soon looked up to ask—

“Father, what about the pastor, was he not released ?”

“Nay, not yet, my brave girl; a friend of his came to see him,
however, and told us the history of Mistress Annys Pennyfeather
beseeching the queen! You should have seen his face, all of you!
The poor man said that he could see Annys would still be converted
to the right religion, and when I mentioned Jacob he added, ‘Ah!
I thought all would be well. Tell her that my fate matters not so
that some are saved!’ I had not the heart to tell him thou wast
a renegade, Jacob. However, now that I know the inside of a
prison, I will spare no pains to get poor Hapgood out of that
dreadful den !”

“Didst thou have no feather-bed ?” inquired Eve ; upon which
her father laughed so loud and so long that she thought her
question had perhaps been foolish.

“Tf only the pastor were here we should be as of old,” said
Maurice.

“Nay, indeed, Maurice, I hope I am wiser and better,” said Eve,
humbly ; “I shall always remember our troubles were brought on
by me. But now father has come back, you will forgive me, will




146 The Good Old Days.



you not, mother?” This appeal could not be rejected, and the
yeoman added—

“ Aye, aye, I did not think a’ Pennyfeather could have faults,
but now I know better ; let us hope the time will come when they
will all be cured! But now let us be cheerful as becometh us. I
prophesy that before the wing is built up we shall have the pastor

|?

once more teaching his wild pupils

I have done my tale; it only remains to add a few facts which
may not be without interest to those who have followed the
fortunes of the Pennyfeathers. Old farmer Buckston died before the
end of the year, and Jacob, now become the possessor of the farm,
agreed that his wedding should take place on Midsummer-day,
when he had put everything in order for his pretty bride; but it
was settled that Jacob should come and spend Christmas-tide at
Sandy’s Hollow, to join in the festivities given in honour of the
new wing being completed. Before that day arrived, Master Penny-
feather was able to get an order of release for Master Hapgood, who
returned to his old lodgings at Butcher Roche’s, after promising
to have nothing more to do with the secret meetings of the
Puritans.

“Let us all go this Christmas Eve and bid him welcome,”
cried the yeoman, when the pastor’s arrival was made known to
him, “and we must ourselves carry his Christmas dinner ; I should
guess his purse will not be too full.” Accordingly the whole family
started, Annys and the twins loaded with parcels. When they
approached the butcher’s shop they perceived him on his door-step
as usual, watching eagerly the passers-by to see if “turkey” was
written on their faces. As soon as the yeoman saw him he cried
out—










“Al’s Well that Ends Well.” 147



“ Aye, aye, my good Roche, you remember I owe you a turkey,
and I hope this time you have the pastor in safe keeping!”

“Yes, yes, sir, he is safe enough, and I intend he should have
a Christmas meal and no fasts this year. Ah! ah! ah! Look
you, sir, he is a right good man, for he brought home the coat I
lent him when he went, and has never so much as worn it once
when he was freezing with cold in prison. I did chide him, but
his answer was—‘I felt sure, Roche, I never should be rich enough
to give thee its equivalent in money, yet the temptation must have
been strong, for—”

“Come, come, we wish to see him, and not thy old coat,” said the
yeoman good-naturedly, and the whole party spent the rest of the
day with their old friend, taking him back with them to Sandy’s
Hollow, in order to spend with them

A RIGHT MERRIE CHRISTMAS!



Ee a pee oe eee)
Marcus Warp & Co., Royau Unsrzr Works, Bevrast.







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describe
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describe
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'2011-09-20T07:04:19-04:00'
describe
'1905' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIS' 'sip-files00017.txt'
9056a64a01ee2c4a05c4ac9d1c8004d6
562e4cf4819bfae4e182556537b7f063cde7961e
'2011-09-20T07:06:18-04:00'
describe
'36795' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIT' 'sip-files00018.pro'
56ccd8eec5d84fd90293371f0aa1098c
a68bccdcdda555cb606a48342c8804d4b8441d34
describe
'4042048' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIU' 'sip-files00018.tif'
49dd446f5ebcec7660f6f0fce83d138e
f350fc64a28e8880a2ded5db88b39ac9ef0e53c0
'2011-09-20T07:07:22-04:00'
describe
'1639' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIV' 'sip-files00018.txt'
3a7a27851b4b3b70a6bbe31244722fc2
c199911c936cd029fe633fde56cbb246bc4c14cb
'2011-09-20T07:05:02-04:00'
describe
'26841' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIW' 'sip-files00019.pro'
4bad69722e8a774c1c5b9144718adc53
0ade967c12a6b870327c1d883cb9ff94f2925b9b
describe
'3978696' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIX' 'sip-files00019.tif'
9d510545913cbf073759da1ff2d54640
d3a69cf09d92a7957dbc06921d4f2bf9961a89e9
'2011-09-20T07:07:32-04:00'
describe
'1175' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIY' 'sip-files00019.txt'
6f7dfa284242c30008dfa4d2cd1f1d2d
784a24880055905b6e182acedc326afe884a6967
describe
'37141' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKIZ' 'sip-files00020.pro'
f2b75e72bb2cdb56a030ebcfd081fd1d
0b9ab2fbcf842f842b35eacac3b5a32121706878
describe
'4092620' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJA' 'sip-files00020.tif'
1f4e857dd8c3c8906cba7feb25ba1909
498d76ab66e53e5082d2c1c60f7c8f1d4d173854
'2011-09-20T07:04:56-04:00'
describe
'1537' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJB' 'sip-files00020.txt'
3e3ce171c153c0527993c4b0fbff9b6c
8ba885d13a467def7391696d65422ee88e35ed9e
'2011-09-20T07:04:12-04:00'
describe
'43793' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJC' 'sip-files00021.pro'
8be288061c8830616e672d2b01ce6033
cb0dec123d175e81888414f39016d8588cead967
describe
'4330532' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJD' 'sip-files00021.tif'
f10be4fa5894bf7120e5a8460e8b38e4
b263d6685512bfc27302d83a6da43c82b9fcd7d7
describe
'1827' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJE' 'sip-files00021.txt'
c60febf1895ee235abba54b6a2fa4f7e
d7e76cd265b38af7ef348187c877e584e5a06270
'2011-09-20T07:05:04-04:00'
describe
Invalid character
'47332' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJF' 'sip-files00022.pro'
2bb84771281e21dd9231bdcfd7ec3b4c
a462b65ffb14a32a826b4998d310dad1eeb166ae
describe
'3889824' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJG' 'sip-files00022.tif'
b563637daf7d60a87efa052bcbb2288f
4001492d1cb965df2a2f4eb840bed782eeff92d0
'2011-09-20T07:07:20-04:00'
describe
'1868' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJH' 'sip-files00022.txt'
62a9b9aab4f1f538e9b057540d281729
64e36a16f5965a0b747d73e68e5ddbe02ee9ca5d
describe
Invalid character
'43253' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJI' 'sip-files00023.pro'
12258930199ac7027d4384e4fe40f2d7
6c1c047d14619ab2c541d4e180f1b0b1992eb2bf
'2011-09-20T07:06:17-04:00'
describe
'3953428' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJJ' 'sip-files00023.tif'
a5f6a9cdbfd425b3ac81c2c87a35eb37
20b0827f3303e75e367b287d11b891039113e8f5
'2011-09-20T07:05:24-04:00'
describe
'1779' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJK' 'sip-files00023.txt'
7d523fa30cb4c81c30f3a4cc667781e9
36bb92773351f79cf44d8821681cf844b480c30d
describe
'46804' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJL' 'sip-files00024.pro'
13894365efd3797b75f8bffe70a4aa45
e6cd3dd34b25620e2d7d78116a646ef7f452031e
'2011-09-20T07:07:59-04:00'
describe
'4103220' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJM' 'sip-files00024.tif'
7c82d9843dcfbaf00bf7d976982ab0e6
4fb89c182611076fa83d932fb35db48808d04841
'2011-09-20T07:07:03-04:00'
describe
'1850' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJN' 'sip-files00024.txt'
84bc51b1ec3a1122d17cb3f3a4462333
a620e545583a9c4fc073488f7fb4237515eefc80
'2011-09-20T07:05:25-04:00'
describe
'45434' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJO' 'sip-files00025.pro'
188907a096b017caec7be107dfc755d5
7a5dbfe1b7b746f2285f166abd4610ec454c65d2
describe
'3965192' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJP' 'sip-files00025.tif'
8ed70e1bf5f9cf6333cc13320aefba00
1758ba1480a706e392be451583e832a7fa24a32b
'2011-09-20T07:06:40-04:00'
describe
'1816' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJQ' 'sip-files00025.txt'
58b0569c699e7c1711672513af21017e
57846d0482fe8b98e735be19fc5a0a3fc2ae95a6
'2011-09-20T07:07:14-04:00'
describe
'46063' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJR' 'sip-files00026.pro'
a0dbdf333d36975fa764bc6092ebf278
fcf6dbf94daac219aeef67ef2fa9b7ffc3ae4be5
'2011-09-20T07:04:26-04:00'
describe
'3999500' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJS' 'sip-files00026.tif'
d664711f4b36441c55e9866594917056
1ada0a699b975ff3ab2eade7cf82636ddab4f29c
'2011-09-20T07:06:19-04:00'
describe
'1829' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJT' 'sip-files00026.txt'
ae65aba3991762603224105488cd46be
169f20921134c8b651bee89b7a408e39ff91a765
'2011-09-20T07:05:22-04:00'
describe
'46219' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJU' 'sip-files00027.pro'
a0348a415fb31db88317718be99b8218
e53546d9a4b04dc8e2127be56c0efe486ca77f80
describe
'4043860' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJV' 'sip-files00027.tif'
951b0a6fd394038b7aa62dd08a7be97d
ec995a720db8207220b6c3e1bd939702bfac5fe6
describe
'1855' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJW' 'sip-files00027.txt'
6f93ca22e160a851513ccb4008f36ed8
f6643d67a54a37ea5f5fd033f1027bcd50b352b3
'2011-09-20T07:07:38-04:00'
describe
'49361' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJX' 'sip-files00028.pro'
0bd206872ab3216747c4bcc5a07c4e17
2b2b9edc6ffaf602e96b335345cdfc3f8fc53ce4
'2011-09-20T07:07:21-04:00'
describe
'4304292' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJY' 'sip-files00028.tif'
34f38538c56d043ff876162a8178899c
ad3e1afdbe9b2ea5d66961b75004b833cc3b444b
describe
'1934' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKJZ' 'sip-files00028.txt'
6b0d9321bce2face7a7a2c40e0e5119c
20960c09629d32c99d9c4d993a9d9f91a54be795
describe
'45977' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKA' 'sip-files00029.pro'
96a084fd50d625292e0bb6a4b150a25b
3a11f62b82186bf5c252ddf12d76bd6cd9c6aa05
'2011-09-20T07:04:14-04:00'
describe
'3966320' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKB' 'sip-files00029.tif'
03e281becbb23a0dbf799678c5d091c9
0fee4251441ea3543cdccd268fd35af26a600338
'2011-09-20T07:06:51-04:00'
describe
'1845' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKC' 'sip-files00029.txt'
3fd46743c3740fbebdf63e7c7d4cc206
194c1c1476faf0317c34e837ade4c60b4cc21a39
'2011-09-20T07:07:18-04:00'
describe
'47517' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKD' 'sip-files00030.pro'
0c83de2904500445bd60b75914d756c3
e8398c88fa011fc515e0cf83ef0c569626511353
'2011-09-20T07:07:41-04:00'
describe
'4036480' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKE' 'sip-files00030.tif'
24e1a34ecaa442bdf244e7bcc2922ed3
34551e23e0bfde800e870c2f5acdd7cb6df91d7c
describe
'1881' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKF' 'sip-files00030.txt'
7852a4b958b5d3f40267796f308a6275
34987ca3a68c61b235ba653a1509f73474f414c0
'2011-09-20T07:04:59-04:00'
describe
'46953' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKG' 'sip-files00031.pro'
795c67e86e3a5a23b9c83554dd09f9dc
c8b56bcea6b5f21787084785af432fff43b3d33c
'2011-09-20T07:07:17-04:00'
describe
'4193796' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKH' 'sip-files00031.tif'
68f4aae7a036e436aa510b3752d75869
d8a50901507d5ba29478befed49326e071e61b3a
'2011-09-20T07:05:44-04:00'
describe
'1874' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKI' 'sip-files00031.txt'
a3a608cb7f574f51f5239846c06c5295
7edf581cde8729441414b7f4efb2febc55d80a91
'2011-09-20T07:05:29-04:00'
describe
'45071' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKJ' 'sip-files00032.pro'
56a6eaccd38b8d346d1d730e58f4ba57
e3e14ce45abce707badacb37e06db393d223addc
'2011-09-20T07:06:41-04:00'
describe
'3988956' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKK' 'sip-files00032.tif'
3fe7855fb59400c127ca7bdea4b11eae
ffecf9a270426202c2659e410d44d5404f9c4f99
'2011-09-20T07:05:48-04:00'
describe
'1800' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKL' 'sip-files00032.txt'
5cfd553b5b82679bb01416566b5ac104
3bd60c8dd483a22ecd078cc22d361f8bd4e1c3d5
'2011-09-20T07:06:38-04:00'
describe
'45263' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKM' 'sip-files00033.pro'
8638d7ac3d30f1c44332bb7a2399f899
4fcbb2e58219d29e892d5fb799da5467638423d2
'2011-09-20T07:05:12-04:00'
describe
'4013848' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKN' 'sip-files00033.tif'
61c77c05c0f87db38c8764abc473c89c
a3be73888c3ea133f07b50f5357a3fff31acac67
describe
'1813' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKO' 'sip-files00033.txt'
f361d020f76e21dadf01baee1fdecb32
23e585eed9fa712606e792ed027889d914e91da5
'2011-09-20T07:05:31-04:00'
describe
'47488' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKP' 'sip-files00034.pro'
502bdb93fbaa41f5c303b47c907be7fa
6b8fd8abfd29085f4b9dfe4596013c204532962d
'2011-09-20T07:06:36-04:00'
describe
'4304268' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKQ' 'sip-files00034.tif'
1d1baf8e7d2a8ea76acb295dcf2b3170
401a1c3a399064b9a2d7138235dc51f23a6b669d
'2011-09-20T07:05:59-04:00'
describe
'1871' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKR' 'sip-files00034.txt'
76cfd4676d5e5acdefb7ad7a0a1c25c9
9f3af67282b5d15524281eb0347234d614b8f7b0
describe
'42782' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKS' 'sip-files00035.pro'
87cb7bc70f1d896f93eb7679bb9e0258
8449fb46d4ee0bf6139038a4dc95582417cee9ff
describe
'4060120' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKT' 'sip-files00035.tif'
71116aa299317b439f787313f72871d6
1acb25a28641200c8b6d6c07a780802d67226b1d
'2011-09-20T07:04:55-04:00'
describe
'1736' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKU' 'sip-files00035.txt'
6104cbdf7acfbc77b1c6e95957c81bdc
b0f2ef23fa1258ecfc518fcfd5793ddccc4435aa
describe
'46351' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKV' 'sip-files00036.pro'
07cf26ea7644836b19c999df299d3452
f24a662be081f97ec51fabc0b9106112e6503d6b
'2011-09-20T07:05:27-04:00'
describe
'4228024' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKW' 'sip-files00036.tif'
760e5728475f2896b5c29702e1b94fcb
0fc0148585dcd497fc7510aa2f948dec2ff25307
'2011-09-20T07:04:20-04:00'
describe
'1823' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKX' 'sip-files00036.txt'
4089cbde56df2e52d227dde30818018a
523be1a6b5ec93a3d0b18facc64fe92923d676bd
describe
'49340' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKY' 'sip-files00037.pro'
a2ca29a042333f8e9bc45d2aebbb73d6
4606763412752f65035d26aac05f7f76f4a8b603
'2011-09-20T07:06:43-04:00'
describe
'4098888' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKKZ' 'sip-files00037.tif'
7a9feb49850cd923cea5b544f5449f98
b26fb395d900292bd2da19887761d74909d5ae46
'2011-09-20T07:06:09-04:00'
describe
'1962' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLA' 'sip-files00037.txt'
95d859b5e479a5913528369ee2705cb0
848fba3cb5d969e3eb5f602fdac3f5629d10b476
describe
'47594' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLB' 'sip-files00038.pro'
a8bbd4fadc70910b1df8cd3597348404
f6633866699f77f3d7822a0bbc84069a93c7d85e
'2011-09-20T07:05:40-04:00'
describe
'3846872' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLC' 'sip-files00038.tif'
75ee37320813f2f5358795865bf72846
80741e8b222c0f63ebd9d5c96e7f1ba046bc8f18
'2011-09-20T07:06:25-04:00'
describe
'1878' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLD' 'sip-files00038.txt'
db7307c784088c2733adbe0b26adeedc
ba4f15bfcc74ac5415caba4419122ffb39a5a71b
'2011-09-20T07:06:42-04:00'
describe
'47658' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLE' 'sip-files00039.pro'
b7caa0c5beba2284893fb3b86e5e0906
9a128597587f2bd800000b6c16dd127f1d16de7e
'2011-09-20T07:06:45-04:00'
describe
'4248464' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLF' 'sip-files00039.tif'
d7d92e2503d30d5e195ac920122d7208
0708e4e14760c0de75cfd67b8871f72246235c9f
'2011-09-20T07:05:14-04:00'
describe
'1920' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLG' 'sip-files00039.txt'
bdbed7d283701c02891fe16cac0951f5
d75d286510ddbd27c9ec7cc216bf7add9589438b
'2011-09-20T07:05:58-04:00'
describe
'44143' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLH' 'sip-files00040.pro'
9cd85f84f12a55e16878b1b667ddbc0e
57c7e38c9ec21f911fc358128673d798c7c0f343
'2011-09-20T07:05:49-04:00'
describe
'4304036' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLI' 'sip-files00040.tif'
dd88d8d81c8410a25d56a0da734ee0eb
0974a55df810656553c31b77a9c80db9f276db71
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLJ' 'sip-files00040.txt'
a0d76d9d9b9b68c8a53d30146c2d2048
2fc8a38455ecac347294c8a3f1a3992a6eccc50e
'2011-09-20T07:04:15-04:00'
describe
'46823' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLK' 'sip-files00041.pro'
9dd632f648871cd303e158cb8ba46e0b
f2ccd4671fad2341ac5b65f6615e0c4d8e65804e
describe
'4248716' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLL' 'sip-files00041.tif'
2a893f870c167f08a78f44999d1c3dbe
b22674a39ac6cb16ebaf042af58f58432e57e962
'2011-09-20T07:06:21-04:00'
describe
'1876' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLM' 'sip-files00041.txt'
5fd51e9ba850eb2fdd405d2eace87662
dcf36c8faa6a677c56edad5f98e34027456f7c14
'2011-09-20T07:07:42-04:00'
describe
'38522' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLN' 'sip-files00042.pro'
743233bda3e6dc4441715fbf7aeb6b79
66775102275bcc057017575e8a27ad6a9ca98c15
describe
'4303548' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLO' 'sip-files00042.tif'
2cf78fda9d28a6d77d05a3f3fd773477
e81c4aef07bf0c99e6d8033af524381bba970438
describe
'1527' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLP' 'sip-files00042.txt'
52bc629b908722d9a04b4d996817348d
ed73139f8901bbf2dc6bc24754298ed337f01463
describe
'32914' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLQ' 'sip-files00043.pro'
4efed0136ff0193c8753a172a77b25a5
8e3c183653903235fe66a68fa0cf2b1ba4c4033a
describe
'4248484' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLR' 'sip-files00043.tif'
a29148606d8bef72f912ef092f0de3e0
f9c474a986ac7b9c770be07b293e4028cd9342a4
'2011-09-20T07:06:46-04:00'
describe
'1338' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLS' 'sip-files00043.txt'
b8225fe70c4411f219ac63a1d8d59142
7893cbdcd16e26eea7b49a6c7bbd51005ae95cde
describe
'46075' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLT' 'sip-files00044.pro'
f7a501c85ce829148ef54f4ec55594d3
6897295f1d5f31fdc40c5c68d1bb58c66832759c
'2011-09-20T07:07:54-04:00'
describe
'4304404' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLU' 'sip-files00044.tif'
b2dbde7253105786079b3bdc1d64d693
ea7d76ef8abc9b6edc844c9dff3b563f54dd09b4
'2011-09-20T07:07:13-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLV' 'sip-files00044.txt'
1ed663e32db72b83e7d90ed2054def4d
df846891dff1f1739f89cb33773a04f4f242b9db
'2011-09-20T07:06:35-04:00'
describe
'47513' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLW' 'sip-files00045.pro'
40e416df009d0d616c2688e8bfed484f
056b0e5765fbc6386ebc39e8f0a2fdd089a46877
describe
'3930088' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLX' 'sip-files00045.tif'
558cf20e59e90bf938113bae0b767b20
1e3e04c02d5447b1ab9e630c526a3b24bab05d74
'2011-09-20T07:05:11-04:00'
describe
'1886' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLY' 'sip-files00045.txt'
017faf4e85da1ae54a8551bde870c4b1
d6fe3c1e433c22d76c59bf2c0421c57d78d60048
'2011-09-20T07:07:46-04:00'
describe
'48712' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKLZ' 'sip-files00046.pro'
48da3c6f8db7656fd67fdfc9edc67d7a
fad72c940d0ea02471fb6d20f720d763c3840ab1
'2011-09-20T07:04:36-04:00'
describe
'3845996' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMA' 'sip-files00046.tif'
2b6b4b8c33698dd81c86e34c46168f9a
a42408213c5fca26d91a7cf960548505b27e6c5a
'2011-09-20T07:04:37-04:00'
describe
'1915' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMB' 'sip-files00046.txt'
7c7d09781136041ce0cc4a3629884c56
16ac42d19312234d5e9f22fe8f8a698b05a0dce8
'2011-09-20T07:06:57-04:00'
describe
'50046' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMC' 'sip-files00047.pro'
7d36e4a4f0df44084f3e51c2d04d5667
102c27fbd739a059bd1535b396d1d976cda7b19b
'2011-09-20T07:04:46-04:00'
describe
'4165744' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMD' 'sip-files00047.tif'
441279e16bbc1fc163b42df3313da55d
b8cea28a01b049ef07cebdec480210524e791945
'2011-09-20T07:06:23-04:00'
describe
'1985' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKME' 'sip-files00047.txt'
23e8ad726a8bacd1d190329834bc1b46
94f7edc9aafba0886d639eb5ca1ea111c35cef5c
'2011-09-20T07:06:26-04:00'
describe
'42336' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMF' 'sip-files00048.pro'
a83534f5fd9c85035a320211fb61e092
04bc5257922626d93b936019cd1245c87e219a45
'2011-09-20T07:04:52-04:00'
describe
'3844904' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMG' 'sip-files00048.tif'
0bd7671c232a6155f89ca606029b0785
fc9d1ef65ef253e1cb7700f7203b2a7efa5d8b7a
describe
'1693' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMH' 'sip-files00048.txt'
6a468bb1b04ff61365330c5985f12c79
6724225ce10a74f91659d8bb3e1e1fc843f730b5
'2011-09-20T07:07:09-04:00'
describe
'41743' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMI' 'sip-files00049.pro'
6b1c582422adc874f697f62f8a4e1263
71ea40eed000f1f08c9f02dc256f3886d71fc4c3
'2011-09-20T07:04:18-04:00'
describe
'3885772' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMJ' 'sip-files00049.tif'
5c93d0f1481538561d2327bf2a9ade54
137c073e499b49bb303007c4a92c9d91ddde7e4a
describe
'1723' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMK' 'sip-files00049.txt'
669ee665e3c1ea2dbeac17045f322a88
a862e77c72c08f65a35e3cdddc388db711e6271d
'2011-09-20T07:04:53-04:00'
describe
'42810' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKML' 'sip-files00050.pro'
3b3a3df1fa7e9576a0cd83b609789769
8efb32d3d58c258f368391e3a535d9410372b367
describe
'3879572' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMM' 'sip-files00050.tif'
9c9ee44bcbc0c5955348fc306fdbc097
6c91e98863bcfb16902f2670df88b131b42ab2ca
describe
'1805' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMN' 'sip-files00050.txt'
fe6757006865d1357502fe4d201759fe
a6f3a867b9fea0bf0f2513856904a5d51d7970d6
'2011-09-20T07:06:47-04:00'
describe
'44187' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMO' 'sip-files00051.pro'
529bd7c38ce07c4cd223ee4e4b393f26
62cd17a94c33f8c3d78cedc14e2e211aee59728b
describe
'3840008' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMP' 'sip-files00051.tif'
862de3eafe9ccfdd56cf36a66cc7cc75
879d406eeaea33fdeaf5b4f520fdb92539880e5c
'2011-09-20T07:04:49-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMQ' 'sip-files00051.txt'
e0827c0ae23ec40fa6679f00920dc53d
ea73e8f17386665e2b81367a280819d57e945758
describe
'43764' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMR' 'sip-files00052.pro'
60c9a05678250af9a430c2f7035e8df9
00e845dc80b933fe2cdaeda8c625692dd29e5766
describe
'3827944' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMS' 'sip-files00052.tif'
c798c500d8727fb0394710a4257ef48c
f44af2a1366f3a76731822e4517e3eb4960a8bbe
describe
'1749' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMT' 'sip-files00052.txt'
ffc3bf1fd74266919d59d33e536a0b73
f335d46a162ef8169ed1e6a62bacdebc7681c862
'2011-09-20T07:05:13-04:00'
describe
'46261' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMU' 'sip-files00053.pro'
70dfff74b8a865518fcffee4232517bc
c9a67c013025865cd2e4cad8d84ba869879d29ab
describe
'3938580' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMV' 'sip-files00053.tif'
44bab179d36b90c8c3d6ec256123d798
55ccdb552161778a3c82b2bd20a9e736ad9248eb
describe
'1851' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMW' 'sip-files00053.txt'
8ac04b1e5358e1494ea933673a72c85c
66bb2487ea1d8ce4534ce5e03e1cd1f0834ce7ad
'2011-09-20T07:05:08-04:00'
describe
'40846' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMX' 'sip-files00054.pro'
89ab1f6e44fcd1265eed38fe8ec639aa
7867532fb974ebfd663ed5ee9dbd1ab80c381700
describe
'3818256' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMY' 'sip-files00054.tif'
1a2d09a78f40d2c5405cccbedbd8001e
23fa637b6d8da04d8a60d0e391664903bef00414
'2011-09-20T07:07:16-04:00'
describe
'1648' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKMZ' 'sip-files00054.txt'
d01b539adf43a96d13aba572d9f33e9e
2ee3964205a830460d022a6f763a613641bfdd11
describe
'40896' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNA' 'sip-files00055.pro'
6320a078f7ac91ea18ac0de6a0fe1cdd
fd1b499f64070a85563a90bc6e68317669f43968
describe
'4117376' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNB' 'sip-files00055.tif'
ab52ad781a16cc0d31727378d4e70b5b
1205e8e4b75ffbca063da40558e74cfc13f8a492
'2011-09-20T07:06:59-04:00'
describe
'1658' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNC' 'sip-files00055.txt'
2f5daf599968e66c6ab31c168e3b2628
b5c51c2b94c03047a5b0538af9d319220fae5e54
describe
'35202' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKND' 'sip-files00056.pro'
7029fdc84636c7d72ff635691ea1c78f
7a48321c4a648f3d97de1c3aed04ac0de998d0e5
'2011-09-20T07:05:10-04:00'
describe
'3820300' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNE' 'sip-files00056.tif'
bf21466f502eda15a4656f9e52ac688e
8fac9d93b45d4f9ec9ee4eaa8810c83e9c14349a
'2011-09-20T07:07:00-04:00'
describe
'1432' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNF' 'sip-files00056.txt'
feebe49f2227e521bfa501dc6c8bc8ff
b8bcf08a0c965eee701c5ec05765b384f166e800
describe
'48114' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNG' 'sip-files00057.pro'
6a275d91f72224fdd9301bb0c6592726
a562457407e5b101ee6a9ebe2e344829e500603d
'2011-09-20T07:06:50-04:00'
describe
'3958180' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNH' 'sip-files00057.tif'
bc47cae6e962cd43fc6061e3a1ea329b
b30d9edef7a2b2d00fbe7bfd424709d362354baf
describe
'1926' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNI' 'sip-files00057.txt'
190048b6837c83ed0fb9e6aa527864c0
e231dc2d1d83e0786b6cac48f0b584932fac25cf
'2011-09-20T07:04:32-04:00'
describe
'49175' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNJ' 'sip-files00058.pro'
84215e2c02a9dc30199da7a0c86ad2f3
a9e99e680f64f723ca91a4e4c15148a7a2793c65
describe
'3781028' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNK' 'sip-files00058.tif'
bcb0eeef24feb4cb4ee39ecf3ad36a40
d58da46a749b57f3338a44ccd40e90f81ecae2e5
describe
'1943' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNL' 'sip-files00058.txt'
60e052ecd82e231ecf51dac1e1003717
78cda23bb038c5d1f7a1515c10d012c79c369bb3
describe
'50161' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNM' 'sip-files00059.pro'
a12e42f18d8aefc7d0fe8d46ebb1115c
82f29ae1e28d2fee6138ceb5ca0dc00f355ea67c
describe
'3904492' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNN' 'sip-files00059.tif'
c0bd1c00d0ee21d58437d86e91b8c653
d7127dac5fdc3c787fefea13a7726ff06bf9db06
'2011-09-20T07:05:55-04:00'
describe
'1995' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNO' 'sip-files00059.txt'
5c396d903c62ea9ee5d477749832fe7a
e1169946f614466b466c402ad79ca40dd4d5b7a1
describe
'50438' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNP' 'sip-files00060.pro'
d6455e3490ecfd33dbc8feca67d8cae8
2ed4ccaf5a1562e3c445e33726f2ce8be691b0e8
'2011-09-20T07:05:05-04:00'
describe
'3948824' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNQ' 'sip-files00060.tif'
ed0afce88a8f33c661d985327c268438
f12c35a3d3d4d49d7e108e468db5dca5cb7bad2f
'2011-09-20T07:06:31-04:00'
describe
'1979' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNR' 'sip-files00060.txt'
01b2cc0623af9c2f5cc96a5b43b63b76
8903537d733d160d5c6d7b4cba928b487662ad00
'2011-09-20T07:07:51-04:00'
describe
'49186' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNS' 'sip-files00061.pro'
5d62acc2950bc13ce0201461c5cd0da4
c7d514c17ad85f76693d3f7e43617112b81e3a49
'2011-09-20T07:06:08-04:00'
describe
'3830832' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNT' 'sip-files00061.tif'
5883248c97057329b582208b32160990
7a12e1768d85f6368ad331848d8c6f6a01f36ee7
describe
'1959' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNU' 'sip-files00061.txt'
e90f7c6070c4d29272cab52de50c8428
ed152da3316e86effd831cdbf3ed83144d352c64
'2011-09-20T07:06:24-04:00'
describe
'46045' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNV' 'sip-files00062.pro'
eadc4d1dcc900a0df539ff5fa9ad8291
7b70e9eefd23251271c3250560eca474e9466b3c
'2011-09-20T07:06:11-04:00'
describe
'3876608' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNW' 'sip-files00062.tif'
8b89ed452901a97191d0dfaa58318a4d
25ec9e62584fe21f0d6c3b8ba87b7d92e5eb05ab
'2011-09-20T07:07:27-04:00'
describe
'1826' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNX' 'sip-files00062.txt'
0d010620c68dfae8265c3ff0fd3b1258
1820b535f7b282223c5cb1464d06178dacb380be
describe
'43074' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNY' 'sip-files00063.pro'
2e4d6c9b4b1b2363f6f9d3df802f8514
ddef46dd302a01ad535d5ea6cb586a5d6cb89109
'2011-09-20T07:04:38-04:00'
describe
'3866372' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKNZ' 'sip-files00063.tif'
92b91118637c761935f675a0ef8518be
b9b26a741de11d10238ab6fd4327efa1849c6398
'2011-09-20T07:07:26-04:00'
describe
'1756' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOA' 'sip-files00063.txt'
1011b68e4b19a4c0176e2fcdc994ece8
91d3af35c42879ad5b43a48d84a523cc046c01c8
describe
'47520' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOB' 'sip-files00064.pro'
569ea22c76d57d3224fbb283c492a575
d4e6090f9f61794ee5b06e0f4bae58649ada914b
describe
'3859620' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOC' 'sip-files00064.tif'
a35fad4a88ab658be3d3d9c065294fca
9f0a1c8b9c2dd37f487fee3991e02c0c95bb9ef5
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOD' 'sip-files00064.txt'
98dbecd9b67f4e6cc990a197b012e5ff
d7d8a12f1e905a4caaa49a8682073ec71db2902b
'2011-09-20T07:07:07-04:00'
describe
'45093' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOE' 'sip-files00065.pro'
3115f41587e787bf04c7310623c24b05
e9fa3cbe071bc790e97e684aa384d47de391ba61
'2011-09-20T07:06:34-04:00'
describe
'3859924' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOF' 'sip-files00065.tif'
05b41bc44965d06eb60800003a357430
27468d38d424df5a18dee7e1dfa4510906c7e917
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOG' 'sip-files00065.txt'
ad643e19c15d8e477f7122a1a191c841
5784b499696b48a8f23de297088ed5c5b9107b95
describe
'45687' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOH' 'sip-files00066.pro'
bafe161a45b41dd3e3ff7963368647f3
11af4a20830c898cd65d88ada7749ab2c33eedab
describe
'3818780' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOI' 'sip-files00066.tif'
84c0cbc321d52b61c5c32757054cb819
0594489d9e24dad855c6b5bfd1071a754d36e21a
'2011-09-20T07:07:35-04:00'
describe
'1806' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOJ' 'sip-files00066.txt'
baa72998968bf325453f50a9b7ac47a7
7b6fbc1771f7828c8420c5404602db025ab55ebc
describe
'47474' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOK' 'sip-files00067.pro'
b08fb364924d14c5b1302a15643af80a
175806777e471b947d6072d747ee846285d77329
describe
'3852836' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOL' 'sip-files00067.tif'
7e4b3a5a178c7b79e33f6037e86ec66c
cfac23109aa9d28691db96ec24a6db3ffca71283
'2011-09-20T07:04:25-04:00'
describe
'1903' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOM' 'sip-files00067.txt'
5e16a5396a77b296c08f64a8b47b662a
52029c14d6331d86d7685139241c4c092cd04b14
describe
'49472' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKON' 'sip-files00068.pro'
c6561a85c8a3e48f4774509dfb73cadd
b4ec88e3510edfed73c1460feb2557ad34fb251a
'2011-09-20T07:05:23-04:00'
describe
'3868328' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOO' 'sip-files00068.tif'
f53cb3c5dd845a2252c41403ba282fa6
08a1d5d7a30a53c8d8bbc3f708b67d4164c56646
'2011-09-20T07:07:45-04:00'
describe
'1954' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOP' 'sip-files00068.txt'
6070d0b46223209eaf8eb463a83878a0
3c26d061132430515c227856ca50f60c7be475c7
'2011-09-20T07:07:28-04:00'
describe
'41556' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOQ' 'sip-files00069.pro'
d948626818eea280fa29d464851a846d
08099299fceb9bb11f167ba7a64cabe41e6b16bd
'2011-09-20T07:06:52-04:00'
describe
'3894956' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOR' 'sip-files00069.tif'
3067f8d97392e9d07d0a57dbfec94911
56184fe613a3e6c0db5c84ad2282173f61367877
'2011-09-20T07:05:54-04:00'
describe
'1706' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOS' 'sip-files00069.txt'
842353bd8b1a464f0c3c39180229fdd6
cae9650e32dae72214b154fef9c9274e96dd1cfb
'2011-09-20T07:04:48-04:00'
describe
'46394' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOT' 'sip-files00070.pro'
cc12a444b3951bade809d267e06c81e3
8d58406ee08a595cd81e220728914c50ee71a94e
'2011-09-20T07:07:15-04:00'
describe
'3970348' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOU' 'sip-files00070.tif'
2d911089556cb065877e8782c57964b4
46766aa05102f45dd886d7c90c89cfc74ee8cf2e
'2011-09-20T07:07:47-04:00'
describe
'1841' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOV' 'sip-files00070.txt'
ce95848f74ba1069c9e38ea030527bfa
3982ad476f34b7509e879d28ae0230b5c8dd9351
describe
'49914' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOW' 'sip-files00071.pro'
602d18297b70a6323620e0583085c0c4
e891ec80b3d9bc21d1828fbb594b1f2e4e00cacd
describe
'3985876' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOX' 'sip-files00071.tif'
1e900ba150599853161d47836c3935d8
0de98826075e072f13613bd3a1e9a73dc91582b1
'2011-09-20T07:05:42-04:00'
describe
'2003' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOY' 'sip-files00071.txt'
f2861df4de4145207677da6ab3616dfc
b390cd175a1e3db48de345cf8d6ccac9a54a2e5c
'2011-09-20T07:07:34-04:00'
describe
'43579' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKOZ' 'sip-files00072.pro'
3823724fa7366f79ce70fe9f0c34fd31
d877d6ea2428862ed13a82860046d8e84c6f2a58
'2011-09-20T07:05:26-04:00'
describe
'4310468' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPA' 'sip-files00072.tif'
cf7251299d398dc9984a7081a599fe5d
d278b68278258287748ca2a1caa5216a5a0b0c97
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPB' 'sip-files00072.txt'
d164aea65571ed8ca402f58d5050ca10
5608642a2a32ed64f1164dfc588a93cd1bc6a71b
'2011-09-20T07:04:11-04:00'
describe
'45921' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPC' 'sip-files00073.pro'
eb3ae54fb285b409f865f395cc76cd4a
0d21d90d75d130a4c7c79a2922f737a54d1d8186
describe
'4067180' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPD' 'sip-files00073.tif'
5a770a30b00c08941aae51880f6f4553
9d16668152b55e169b11c121a00ba2c9adef4f3e
'2011-09-20T07:04:47-04:00'
describe
'1846' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPE' 'sip-files00073.txt'
5376c2a02ab441febd02200ef110b432
850d6d0c0aa38dd23d9be251d72b290628c4abd0
'2011-09-20T07:04:22-04:00'
describe
'33886' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPF' 'sip-files00074.pro'
e29959fea8e81560b410d4b37df25e6f
1ae58a12e2eae0cf762a6af66a7784b36367fc72
'2011-09-20T07:06:04-04:00'
describe
'4050964' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPG' 'sip-files00074.tif'
cae315eda0a1cc4c3234afc385ee44e7
228b026b61a4aac24a108d52555b9482cfe5aee3
describe
'1400' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPH' 'sip-files00074.txt'
b7506cebf034861579d412951ad43118
aade92015ddeec3320281aacfca13db8a712eaba
describe
'48263' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPI' 'sip-files00075.pro'
a9bbc5f079c7372727851bd706da3754
38de7d33cf3225f275371b53a7467fa1750eb3b7
describe
'4042900' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPJ' 'sip-files00075.tif'
5cd1e86cafb00019e775e34244cffa59
70eb1924f761ae5589ecdb31ce025df56440dfed
'2011-09-20T07:06:53-04:00'
describe
'1924' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPK' 'sip-files00075.txt'
669f9af091420def31083afae923fb5e
6ae591edc3ed38ffae79055f18cebc235e41518d
describe
'43145' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPL' 'sip-files00076.pro'
1ee7b51c91effd81d33657f70b71cfc0
21a4c142e615a31c40a852b9e7fd26588d6848bc
'2011-09-20T07:06:33-04:00'
describe
'4310384' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPM' 'sip-files00076.tif'
9e116b528f6e7aa1a27b6381337e2c77
d06092a230c8b6a36406091724505fb0cd7d5d5e
'2011-09-20T07:07:30-04:00'
describe
'1713' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPN' 'sip-files00076.txt'
b13bdda91a63d049b376c1fd4aa56d8a
fdb0430427e8fb8fdcb1caca355e3f8c3b719b57
describe
'1852' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPO' 'sip-files00077.pro'
248622713557103d3d4da7bf69127dec
61c08915a6d3a19e54bbb364116f67f917fa0062
'2011-09-20T07:04:34-04:00'
describe
'12099224' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPP' 'sip-files00077.tif'
61d10f2cc1c4e2111302975c95e59faa
a6f94aab7052ba6ffe5280c220a2676e0fd2c742
'2011-09-20T07:06:07-04:00'
describe
'150' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPQ' 'sip-files00077.txt'
125f5ee1917992d56c6760d37fc93761
acb086d2ce0868306cf4a808c6e4101416973e44
describe
'47216' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPR' 'sip-files00078.pro'
004b43492b9e9eb356939a18c917ce80
98782d675aad2b3d68d8888a4fb7b96d98c86008
describe
'4284272' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPS' 'sip-files00078.tif'
1a73979fa33551fe72722892e80f09d1
732065524e2a03a55b8962677f465f2a5f5987b6
'2011-09-20T07:08:00-04:00'
describe
'1879' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPT' 'sip-files00078.txt'
c6fcdc2a4b22b17856883d880876d58a
670f8f45dc95eb673a02f4e5776af7af89d800d9
describe
'45613' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPU' 'sip-files00079.pro'
263d22165bf99c985d64d9ca7087d827
00548665c8ba5541093b90264bfdf73375048c6c
'2011-09-20T07:07:19-04:00'
describe
'4056700' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPV' 'sip-files00079.tif'
3b84e1955d0eca5b2affc15c6269afc5
ee2992eadc1f6ad18930cc702bc48348e6e4d498
'2011-09-20T07:07:44-04:00'
describe
'1811' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPW' 'sip-files00079.txt'
a202d4e7896c7cab9c8a89dd7b36b7f3
e1a15381dd3510669d8d090ceff29df52a0707ed
describe
'49435' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPX' 'sip-files00080.pro'
41cafc7cb04ec9dafe9faf7135d505e5
b566243a3bce8434b565a48527f7099abf2c8374
describe
'3980108' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPY' 'sip-files00080.tif'
a458a4c45fbd8b62125a3e453e4c9c20
fa0ee00dad30bf3a6f283fa512331783b1fddaac
'2011-09-20T07:05:36-04:00'
describe
'1968' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKPZ' 'sip-files00080.txt'
e69c0068bc40a08ca55d0e3d5fde4cd8
fcb3c3ac44bb32e18964dd5b5b547e105e5bed52
'2011-09-20T07:06:14-04:00'
describe
'52825' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQA' 'sip-files00081.pro'
8e2835eefa0d84695ec607b73a8434be
3623b865da72a937dcbf5938384035157afc3607
describe
'4088404' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQB' 'sip-files00081.tif'
0dcf6fd0e3eb926a17cba296b0895bda
485bad376f0b03cddaaf1988bbf07fec6cabb192
'2011-09-20T07:05:34-04:00'
describe
'2085' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQC' 'sip-files00081.txt'
134b7d8f164dd576d4810f039b1a2ebd
8e4d453231ea0fc0fa6dafcfa820df2b075344f8
describe
'45527' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQD' 'sip-files00082.pro'
d69d8807360338dcc84cf53ff65ce179
473812c8f0fd83b0294fd0582d5704a02767f4d4
describe
'4284112' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQE' 'sip-files00082.tif'
c76004c2d3bd539a72ae9d3635aeba61
9a5ab7efa4c810fb96b18f84ad98c8a9da24dcc1
'2011-09-20T07:07:29-04:00'
describe
'1877' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQF' 'sip-files00082.txt'
63c8f8d29ce3369f523a1c0f9778dd3b
f1bb15b430b71e46eb681320ecf5d840159c90ae
'2011-09-20T07:06:16-04:00'
describe
'46209' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQG' 'sip-files00083.pro'
5c99acc0cf4f6803d73c6003e631f712
7f7574085161745d4385487ffcc93685895e7c9b
'2011-09-20T07:04:54-04:00'
describe
'3895624' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQH' 'sip-files00083.tif'
5f8401089c918ac062df2b469add2e9e
061c889bea9fe48c41d11d956a6257f701c93374
describe
'1838' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQI' 'sip-files00083.txt'
125023d4139d56ef8c5cef4c4652219b
0c60f40d9d729327e88ab632eea1f95ac0ca217b
'2011-09-20T07:06:06-04:00'
describe
'49858' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQJ' 'sip-files00084.pro'
3ba04670655ce2c8bcfadadfb08dec54
391d6da3272d5338698b0d79232b040119a9e9dd
describe
'3917472' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQK' 'sip-files00084.tif'
b039703e79afc3d043c4798bd7c254a0
764850d096c066259b129da03b99db14ff300ebb
'2011-09-20T07:07:43-04:00'
describe
'1976' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQL' 'sip-files00084.txt'
4a44b3bb07f652f81a626a90b1dbec8e
dadd0dc3bc2361fc9a82b7359fd1f9177641710d
describe
'50316' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQM' 'sip-files00085.pro'
a6d15c3fda2361734a24db329f51f04c
44013aa92936ce687b408c9f2c0114caad05fc67
'2011-09-20T07:05:15-04:00'
describe
'3932032' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQN' 'sip-files00085.tif'
a94c0af1aa9e842a874e209914fa5a35
1c845dc39a6d9b14553b1dc4647d87f3155ed27b
'2011-09-20T07:06:05-04:00'
describe
'1974' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQO' 'sip-files00085.txt'
fe0bd9aed243fc1f0c67775aa13e4c39
284c483f831dc6079eb34f26d36e7cda7fb7be14
'2011-09-20T07:04:27-04:00'
describe
'46940' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQP' 'sip-files00086.pro'
15b25653db684382ff1f831b8ff8c6ee
7cd4d01f28b3184aadf7bcb906f69b948256b7dc
describe
'3918324' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQQ' 'sip-files00086.tif'
9b35140dc7023015338b1da9f9d5c03b
2e68dbdf3296df2a101357554f88fd8db823e15d
describe
'1890' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQR' 'sip-files00086.txt'
5c5b30fcc2933a249f858bf91a594497
bac266d6874828510d3ca2c9d4f4d9065ace265f
describe
'48905' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQS' 'sip-files00087.pro'
af29be2d4905e5742079804223f71fbd
3636cf0e821bade9c6a316f4f95ecc36cbee392c
describe
'4284372' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQT' 'sip-files00087.tif'
494481bf0cfd96af72e087a73d555fc8
8628e71ec54708328cde6945890708f042ad4933
'2011-09-20T07:07:57-04:00'
describe
'1927' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQU' 'sip-files00087.txt'
d526d26ad9a0335240c50de779dbd16c
22d9f1bb976cf1b73834c9b1a64cfe0e7ae163bc
describe
'45130' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQV' 'sip-files00088.pro'
0856e6183b66c02e541d4406e70e2fe1
25444041857c47210442bf10dd8911e8c0048b06
'2011-09-20T07:06:28-04:00'
describe
'4433196' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQW' 'sip-files00088.tif'
fafab1512e376a536fdd55065142e667
461963d9dba3a9cb1d52be22956125df7c6c41a3
'2011-09-20T07:05:30-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQX' 'sip-files00088.txt'
32df9101928b5aec3c403d5306fc739e
77d4ea72116f4149a06acac71e59fb09fab44cf0
describe
'41425' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQY' 'sip-files00089.pro'
2973ea5f3b3eed4578e7718c6a8395f6
77419680957c6d3cf5fd602206a463a104cad3c2
describe
'3911748' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKQZ' 'sip-files00089.tif'
98652183f86c53372a23de6f80154d6c
c517ac2e3aab52fd8242796ded2ea0910f899a0c
describe
'1673' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRA' 'sip-files00089.txt'
15fcf780e35ee99c1dac441044df8759
c8966b63b02ccb40d647d41592a977bf3e122bce
describe
'47836' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRB' 'sip-files00090.pro'
35ce05483b5800c8d969363ff648f218
e40d966fcecdd7df8d1f1033b674f4ccac2d9654
describe
'4027844' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRC' 'sip-files00090.tif'
5a8e9980e3a8f4beed3efe2c6738abad
84a6b7f554f12b00ab0a5c7403e73f9b61fd28c2
'2011-09-20T07:05:37-04:00'
describe
'1910' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRD' 'sip-files00090.txt'
44b82dea014a94a4dabcb9c8aa9a89f9
a46455f74f94ab71eb25bc5b893eb5b1e503cb86
describe
'42520' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRE' 'sip-files00091.pro'
bcab97ad63d0a7486fe71ea6137ddaa0
29271f44198f24397688d0ac8268f92c10afc819
describe
'3981920' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRF' 'sip-files00091.tif'
6462f523f75b706b867a8972cb59da99
046f04dc5cdbd34d84278ec1939456aea13525a2
describe
'1732' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRG' 'sip-files00091.txt'
39d08dc31351b4239c5543d751cf240a
82996646c9bf81db2c952ce8407b23f3e39a73cf
'2011-09-20T07:07:56-04:00'
describe
'46036' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRH' 'sip-files00092.pro'
58a1d52b0e0b8f4a6a12fc9798339ce4
b36fc7e142ddb590de1ee9198538c6bed27b8e55
describe
'3960400' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRI' 'sip-files00092.tif'
bf8d23b8b2378fc5b158e7c825ce833e
167540d771815a829080334ee0bf9b98b3d1d6b2
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRJ' 'sip-files00092.txt'
8444de3cf4641022d1da16753f767466
bab7c8feffe4591ff3d4e37255459ea837402046
describe
'49019' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRK' 'sip-files00093.pro'
08787e623830ef673905c7fa3890a8ae
c3cf3c201862cca1a6ed41347882819ac442f983
describe
'4004696' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRL' 'sip-files00093.tif'
92c03d6a0f04e667a654438aaae18b1b
011620a0f4cfe6951e508ea820a18e9b93f0d9c9
describe
'1949' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRM' 'sip-files00093.txt'
e383f4580296658f158c896c164d1ca8
1d565cb2e2f4b5366a18f5792c0f016a77fc833d
describe
'51041' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRN' 'sip-files00094.pro'
96d4d344ebeadc7cc28fe5af24fc0d6f
4d0947031ea6c3cb289509aec0fccfc4e84e22e2
describe
'3920736' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRO' 'sip-files00094.tif'
da0ea5f2f9622dfb40c3432ddd69ef67
2a7836c8bd8874146c21c1fd5d008d66bfca3bfd
'2011-09-20T07:07:52-04:00'
describe
'2042' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRP' 'sip-files00094.txt'
9292cae0e5d30039e17baf308bac68db
6e75369fe9a1ad6d2fdbbc576242d4761fc89739
'2011-09-20T07:05:21-04:00'
describe
'35525' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRQ' 'sip-files00095.pro'
331eb18d4e021be7331c36781941ad36
91f2e789c06420b0edf41bd3b861b9ff91158ebd
describe
'3957784' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRR' 'sip-files00095.tif'
f6508d6378c47ae71083de9b96a0012a
2907d8cb6fff5f286e1ccd4501a0d2acf3ac725e
describe
'1469' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRS' 'sip-files00095.txt'
b245347b7e677ea8e287e25ab74a184f
379e88f868f19aa818d17bd14bb3d704c061276f
describe
Invalid character
'41533' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRT' 'sip-files00096.pro'
fef76b1ca9793b1b00153410ba209e88
b942ff3c6482e9e5bc1c4b2173fe40ccdf141441
'2011-09-20T07:04:44-04:00'
describe
'4058520' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRU' 'sip-files00096.tif'
29499832cbd5a008a97c995fc106cd80
7cf79a5a531d9c6d158ec01cd3fa69531e2677d8
describe
'1676' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRV' 'sip-files00096.txt'
f2e6e5b6e9a7c3df16d0591ab8655568
9ee34403043402713790d8187c9621d88673bdc8
describe
'48782' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRW' 'sip-files00097.pro'
5c6773864ddf4e63978b2e934bf906e7
01860b081623db7d0057c1715fe30cfab5b54d6c
describe
'4297408' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRX' 'sip-files00097.tif'
e53196da2b95c4ff9500e2871ad4e36f
b7535fa8317eb43c2ae80dd7384baf9cff777a47
describe
'1931' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRY' 'sip-files00097.txt'
c2ee3ceb1829e8709518e42640815bf7
5883f82dc079d576c99389d0f877aae6199cb8f0
describe
'43476' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKRZ' 'sip-files00098.pro'
05fb11ad231bcb6e6cc091e2e1be8c8f
14f3feb8c0246839c9d5478ef4e2524b7c43858c
describe
'3901988' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSA' 'sip-files00098.tif'
f2694ca4fe1b319defaf324894463ba6
6656629d2177328c7b89ae0a3d8115d7847eb019
describe
'1771' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSB' 'sip-files00098.txt'
5a7f7ec2bc138d77cde3d609fcdcab3a
b5e0273be88b4a8e5341e7501aa1300c90637723
'2011-09-20T07:06:30-04:00'
describe
'48718' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSC' 'sip-files00099.pro'
d8107f16c8dd739af6a64a7fbe10b04d
e4e8fd37f33b4157e76ffeaeda4157dbedc90abe
describe
'4297308' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSD' 'sip-files00099.tif'
9091dd0e7f70c71e903ab8746bb6b28e
2db44a35272bfd36b0c8bc9c249d463d239f368d
'2011-09-20T07:05:17-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSE' 'sip-files00099.txt'
4b78657b8b04b96bc9cd85b5e4c6831a
4efd66dabb44dc69f0c02aaaa388156d92751f4c
describe
'3600' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSF' 'sip-files00100.pro'
bc43a14aaad52a60295cd430b073765d
610fe09adf278f971473d2c2277e95d5f6123498
'2011-09-20T07:06:55-04:00'
describe
'11556896' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSG' 'sip-files00100.tif'
5a29776ef3d6962e959d30a122f27fbd
6f49c1b5dcc55f8e2dc342447c192af88e2607c7
describe
'513' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSH' 'sip-files00100.txt'
3007ecc6d9a6d86a39f03b763d20e851
d0fa3180924c148655e1d92e623a885668396b11
describe
Invalid character
'48514' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSI' 'sip-files00101.pro'
ddac61b40f66b7cdc1dfd8686ea99812
f17607aa143eb2692b74071c02d8143246939b32
describe
'3866680' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSJ' 'sip-files00101.tif'
14b2663efc7787021046e2d0168ecaab
a86658517173fefd7b98ea1ddb603787d22d9f2a
'2011-09-20T07:06:12-04:00'
describe
'1937' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSK' 'sip-files00101.txt'
be3b2b991c0f72ea7348cd51a4afc18f
c910e86eed827dfee3ff8d448bfe1de96e21ab4b
describe
'31852' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSL' 'sip-files00102.pro'
7ef9db398cfdbe552abd3db587580977
aa6bd10e87ab3409a5420d46f77801f468d12bcc
describe
'4100368' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSM' 'sip-files00102.tif'
b26f11de5f1b0676c596ed5a66e4d73a
217006f81aca87fb534906a8479da7e85ea9f811
'2011-09-20T07:04:31-04:00'
describe
'1262' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSN' 'sip-files00102.txt'
571520cf2e5509a07a066de1c715d6c4
29d682110876cf0518cc2c86f5e1539a62b45d72
describe
'34150' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSO' 'sip-files00103.pro'
d949b9d3a7c02f02d4e2dabec47c2098
855a2213dc170359e702a82dd8500d3f3e47029e
'2011-09-20T07:07:55-04:00'
describe
'4024932' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSP' 'sip-files00103.tif'
a5ced2900b0514508f3677f760add23a
826bfe456400dcfa3a6690300ada8a270b476ce3
describe
'1390' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSQ' 'sip-files00103.txt'
70f9dc7085c1592e2e80952a7c1d566f
7e35dbcc0c74885695d5126de0f0dde3b34d9333
describe
'45984' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSR' 'sip-files00104.pro'
ca79c52a84d288d28fab336723dfe2cc
926bbb6d38a31652b93e1fb4862782f605a4a378
describe
'4398960' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSS' 'sip-files00104.tif'
a095017f98113f1aa529cc027cceac06
f24fa294c7052331a1eabfaeb8a0906525755ce6
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKST' 'sip-files00104.txt'
bd144e013193ad9e960228659fa5a807
64f81d121a47518d69b6c9a733e28edb484c5900
'2011-09-20T07:04:51-04:00'
describe
'44011' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSU' 'sip-files00105.pro'
5323b3d5dd80ca01167ad354f2f8289c
15f42b7178c29ac17c3c61566e843daa158c292c
describe
'4013528' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSV' 'sip-files00105.tif'
c2eee471c3377183fac5a6082f5492d2
127ec065e747370ee972250bfc4605c88c7e5cf2
describe
'1794' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSW' 'sip-files00105.txt'
8d377dd097f34e07b87f632b5ffd63e0
0f175b12744b58becb140565f3cbf70cef9fa7ba
describe
'48578' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSX' 'sip-files00106.pro'
7d40c8d1191bceefbbfa3a68f1c0c504
bd09ae4b69782730820804b460e37bfa88c6483f
describe
'3936488' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSY' 'sip-files00106.tif'
e4d63920389507fac69144e98c44bfcf
18b875b09767ab265e3c9296b5fc15e40057c8cc
describe
'1917' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKSZ' 'sip-files00106.txt'
c13e4bb8bdf212b976874b95f420549c
52e93b671721a1d53907ff994ae9e21e9fa18f20
'2011-09-20T07:05:50-04:00'
describe
'37060' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTA' 'sip-files00107.pro'
209e6b0af420251e428f01fef197fa87
6c074f08e12d978d1fcb9d86dc748a0dae4f7707
'2011-09-20T07:04:30-04:00'
describe
'4043108' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTB' 'sip-files00107.tif'
d90cf89195a37f441025ab33bf20145a
52cc66b03c1752eee1ad9ef19384936e9302c9b3
'2011-09-20T07:05:51-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTC' 'sip-files00107.txt'
d87a93c46f8326799a472483493ed707
fcb99f49d935bdb332ae02e2b8a66b708e6a5fb0
describe
'50364' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTD' 'sip-files00108.pro'
68efcddf395dabd229136d3c2e9b617c
fc64b9df02ec1eabe6fb03b5bb2dad17b790add5
describe
'4023680' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTE' 'sip-files00108.tif'
7bc7c0ed1044d0f47183c421029a6d38
94845fc8c147e680a9acf1da408cf501a0ff96ae
describe
'1972' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTF' 'sip-files00108.txt'
8db59295cc9877900f2bdef0666c36d4
b657e38d86039b1d676247473ef6ed6c6cd48ec0
describe
'46708' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTG' 'sip-files00109.pro'
bd682d577bb1e22b39e9145116204d9a
0e833326a703887fcc74679e79b0cc7f916805b6
describe
'4055792' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTH' 'sip-files00109.tif'
5765453d8e9edbd8bdb52f4f912da0c1
a51b5a82f3ef1bb4824ef4139b9095ac5c25fea5
describe
'1873' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTI' 'sip-files00109.txt'
fa065cb43e9cc28cd2b0710b03e8f9eb
f78356503f4539cc6bfc9426e9060e5d643580f1
'2011-09-20T07:06:13-04:00'
describe
'45738' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTJ' 'sip-files00110.pro'
821161043d573563711dbfbf6e9529ff
eefbaafcfb8c9ea63aaedc287405da77694c7359
describe
'4003304' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTK' 'sip-files00110.tif'
8a9f583c3c9324465e9d8820574a61ec
5f32b0de50ac6b25b1899c8764f4250263b5ecd4
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTL' 'sip-files00110.txt'
ce8f3e557dca992cb023db5b7b08266e
0698f75dc36b355493bc51353478c79eab8f3af2
describe
'50525' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTM' 'sip-files00111.pro'
8154930cd30b2de488e07a2ebe3e3dd8
cd45a3efa5e363d0a5ba52e14c37e145b0ca0a9f
describe
'4040568' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTN' 'sip-files00111.tif'
b460aa3049712dcb1cc1d80a2cf4745f
db7b824f0fb4620b214edd45e4887d9fb8ebac1f
'2011-09-20T07:07:06-04:00'
describe
'2004' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTO' 'sip-files00111.txt'
a267c22969274642e4eee6db0c5763b4
6cba47eaabf93134a7cbce0d0765b5e9e6e14464
'2011-09-20T07:07:11-04:00'
describe
'47339' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTP' 'sip-files00112.pro'
cd19612ee61d8b23add1f68d32df0e23
937e431c670f3014ab29a6350fa2b8c1e3bf3112
describe
'3987580' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTQ' 'sip-files00112.tif'
d8dcd208b7cbe88f5681a2f6bd5cf52e
937b08db07083f3273b613fffd15724fe5b9ba74
describe
'1869' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTR' 'sip-files00112.txt'
1b96578b3f4bbf0733ef20c206f495c0
3ab5dbddb3dc1e18f5feaf3305558e24b314267f
'2011-09-20T07:04:42-04:00'
describe
'29999' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTS' 'sip-files00113.pro'
f36103893a48f1f148f902a1f51018f8
ce3604ce7d871074344b6426ad9db9006b065bdd
describe
'4148324' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTT' 'sip-files00113.tif'
f69e8b8e0c586956b3d168224382b7dc
1e72dac1e3fbf8c28d3d07f05c0970e4e8a29afd
describe
'1272' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTU' 'sip-files00113.txt'
ae38d337fd88fab92a35472d7844f430
e0daaca8729426d02bb547709152576127c234e1
describe
Invalid character
'35635' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTV' 'sip-files00114.pro'
f16a83f63ab8ddf45d72fddaf9fa6cf8
bb6780c6f5a462d59f8cdbb1ad8badf954c4bb2e
'2011-09-20T07:04:29-04:00'
describe
'3954164' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTW' 'sip-files00114.tif'
4376bc054a07a9a563d7a34fe06aca37
8b504db0135cbc77e39a5ce2e67f537fbe8afdd0
describe
'1470' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTX' 'sip-files00114.txt'
5acce2ad2eb6850c06c82b1b5943545b
4eecfdf013bf7df4a304fb184e2a798fa013cea7
'2011-09-20T07:05:39-04:00'
describe
'45154' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTY' 'sip-files00115.pro'
d6e84a4930c5c77509829fe79102cd1c
f1331669723547709a17004b75e6dd64d4aa6437
describe
'4130552' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKTZ' 'sip-files00115.tif'
04f46d5ff0eee5b2418b5d473da141f1
bdc922e953a8131f000d12d18e78c0f954b68a5e
describe
'1809' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUA' 'sip-files00115.txt'
e5c7b534c88feb56a623923468a9b66f
64164e6c6ea7d2c0a78b6e0e539cb013e6d3a5c1
'2011-09-20T07:06:49-04:00'
describe
'46231' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUB' 'sip-files00116.pro'
c57f1a466d7f344cdbe7c45424fc215d
825e25d4656eed007f44a9297301a18bed590eea
describe
'4112012' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUC' 'sip-files00116.tif'
056c3f09761faf0fef1804c0d0db3dac
6f7a23aa98d9a450162976b4957b773d60e3a116
'2011-09-20T07:05:18-04:00'
describe
'1830' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUD' 'sip-files00116.txt'
c41f792ce205a7fbbe469d3fcb23d515
64cdf6289b1a2b1a0a6c185122d8286bb4c7183b
describe
'46363' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUE' 'sip-files00117.pro'
c25d64f37e93b9fc7a4fbc8a8dbd1883
18d7d305922e180c42f74061901c25101a94e2c4
describe
'4091920' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUF' 'sip-files00117.tif'
5ab4188413a4626d7a6d01cc5c8af636
3c5446b9c910c93e7f4803ca1592e2babc37c7c6
'2011-09-20T07:08:01-04:00'
describe
'1867' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUG' 'sip-files00117.txt'
636aebdb785aec0318152efcdaf69640
1e480f45f5e0b98bf0b9a858c07e09208ac9e7cc
describe
'45024' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUH' 'sip-files00118.pro'
1fa584383bd98a0bbd665042c898b519
8a396f87d4382ccfaec2bda34dc17b38c43ace27
describe
'4129660' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUI' 'sip-files00118.tif'
61c357e9e8826162b599ce0a343fbc68
eaa5dca8b74c1bf43f54af07f3fe99f75ac720dc
describe
'1790' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUJ' 'sip-files00118.txt'
2dec7422b97bc214a214aa02bd55a2e0
993133f749bdff915bedd939f06a74388a0d1d01
'2011-09-20T07:04:24-04:00'
describe
'13472' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUK' 'sip-files00119.pro'
9b77c3fee54c1252f71100e236a0ab0f
6ccccc162975ed2766d2c6697fcb599372e8d0f1
describe
'4097680' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUL' 'sip-files00119.tif'
f9c47a1983418c6b1182c3a61e6ca042
f2bfe33b43b9ac16e6ef3f2341086506e0cd97fc
describe
'635' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUM' 'sip-files00119.txt'
8e690523349ceb03b664126fd4e288f8
58958b6235aa60a077084c13af55ea6fe73ecd6b
describe
'37457' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUN' 'sip-files00120.pro'
9d35fc2f22b3bdf48f460d9ef6df5a75
0d6048014ee8c9e4138cbca70ec56508a1f801e1
describe
'4293152' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUO' 'sip-files00120.tif'
2fb7b044281d368cf5a259dd1831eb68
82cb5caae58966e55e0f574a78eb6a394ff05817
describe
'1640' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUP' 'sip-files00120.txt'
0efebd3ac5e14110ca1828986ecaf0fc
16a7a7a0acd8db2fb34a690372368e9f8e546c41
describe
'39371' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUQ' 'sip-files00121.pro'
dc180faee8da5ae627e6041815db9e57
edb9ee6e1bb8c733643bb7ee821be9ed17ffb26d
describe
'4439736' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUR' 'sip-files00121.tif'
07957f1754bdc42b700ef7d3db874803
19ae1b7ba6357aaf232e4a0958cd5481e607fc41
describe
'1824' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUS' 'sip-files00121.txt'
e1384862aa94cd275fefd7a72d96e23e
0d7ce3db09d4294fef3b54992b7160382ffc9fe3
'2011-09-20T07:07:58-04:00'
describe
'47620' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUT' 'sip-files00122.pro'
5578a601cde0526259ae4493728563c4
75bac3f35d332c9d385ce0c7b9307d43a4d48d54
'2011-09-20T07:05:07-04:00'
describe
'4032004' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUU' 'sip-files00122.tif'
2c2815853b28190597df219fd0945d77
bea4a25de7039ba43bc6c1f3d1e781a4e9656109
'2011-09-20T07:05:43-04:00'
describe
'1875' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUV' 'sip-files00122.txt'
4a82bae15fb12a0f889598c1fa6c2297
11451c05a8ba1c3c7ade03aced68962705205d16
describe
'882' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUW' 'sip-files00123.pro'
0682d35231b8d0ea9c7516655a196d8d
4264bbf86cc8e352cf43dcaec43eafc2ce460568
describe
'12387072' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUX' 'sip-files00123.tif'
05fbe80d6e40723b3e7c7ce634ba510a
31b82f9ba7e09f2d9c6cf124180ba7be080c52b0
'2011-09-20T07:06:37-04:00'
describe
'117' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUY' 'sip-files00123.txt'
b09442ce66f082dafebc79d0b06f1245
a047c33a6c2528c834f848b1d03914006ca18e7d
describe
'49007' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKUZ' 'sip-files00124.pro'
d921269161f671b434a954c918c2207d
63c4891859ca3e42e85f20066d9c820e79be6582
describe
'3938124' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVA' 'sip-files00124.tif'
35a6c3b6619dad89df8c27e7b0c1992b
b0a2d4bb40bdfcd3e4ea961ccb34cd6feed82cbb
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVB' 'sip-files00124.txt'
af69647d9671c9a272d041316dd4e3cf
48f8af3253ebb7c44b2e2eebbace27242e7ef568
describe
'45343' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVC' 'sip-files00125.pro'
549c862afd721a7d8c6adcaa306371de
6ef6acd8255c8112c1293869c63d06a36b1f4c67
describe
'3954704' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVD' 'sip-files00125.tif'
cacdf3506b9d6b2ce84f08b6544d7c56
dd13bf880d58191e737b735b16488c922e73e346
describe
'1798' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVE' 'sip-files00125.txt'
9113978e13942b94806a903bd48b1272
684b3d81e06841d259fb0899e11458e1eeed1031
'2011-09-20T07:07:02-04:00'
describe
'47501' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVF' 'sip-files00126.pro'
4a7f0530f5f3bc552c0e2a2b9498aabb
be419d1586c9245587e382b08b6846b25a968969
describe
'3876872' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVG' 'sip-files00126.tif'
f9632827a0e1142c7e136d8f79115777
834d5b3c4cde1d25b9fda930351922e4897a3c82
'2011-09-20T07:04:23-04:00'
describe
'1901' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVH' 'sip-files00126.txt'
95b103ccfc44d7c10e6ea1721dcb1ecc
fea831829b1918113910d765c65b9b32eea286f0
describe
'47533' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVI' 'sip-files00127.pro'
3087fb7d7b76bf1b60f7e419bbc4ce82
72c3bc73bd5b7ef3399c53b94704bd3b6fe9a8a4
describe
'3924928' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVJ' 'sip-files00127.tif'
cd0b2dfee8c314c12432337fe9e6881d
273f287d2435c9c65fb554df43d8082ca46db6c6
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVK' 'sip-files00127.txt'
b1b774afbd3e2c0815aa4c4040d03361
560c3cc8f4372d1031114226bca69733b47bb80f
describe
'47446' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVL' 'sip-files00128.pro'
e28199fe55dc5fe1afc858ef3856206e
226f1b78cf7139a7f2b90e3ee63506afc8ce3a9f
describe
'3847316' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVM' 'sip-files00128.tif'
4751b12bbce7e06f7a0df27346a69006
ca3c74a280bf6cdea469ff9a112de3aaee8642a8
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVN' 'sip-files00128.txt'
ddf622dc388dae88159c983b5561b6b7
1bbeb7f56291b7fc245edfc2b553ad1e447b4abe
describe
'27675' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVO' 'sip-files00129.pro'
9cb37760ad67a91f4eb63cabd0a4eba7
2b1de5f560d74ca2828298959a11e16cf32f1298
describe
'4265736' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVP' 'sip-files00129.tif'
19186c725390364f488a1132a2034383
e379319493f73f961378737877e8c25a41f91fdf
describe
'1184' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVQ' 'sip-files00129.txt'
2b4efb3a13a94d624f32c81d9b6b1e71
64dbc52d03d598260b86d193efe7c5dc25d2e328
describe
Invalid character
'34211' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVR' 'sip-files00130.pro'
67799a647960815c98efe0f1d6a6c1bb
d25d381108b3e9b35e0f73f21aefb431398a85d9
describe
'3880928' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVS' 'sip-files00130.tif'
ec651868d50b3b052d40db56cfd088b3
91d264236c4d3e98eecc091c153bd2e21c415607
'2011-09-20T07:05:32-04:00'
describe
'1392' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVT' 'sip-files00130.txt'
11864955c911a2d9b9330d7571b465bb
6472e21a2e575f2e0b0cd09a820ac55e0ff91b8a
'2011-09-20T07:04:35-04:00'
describe
'43952' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVU' 'sip-files00131.pro'
8d8ddfb5e88c857bfc812e00cfc6d4c2
ca9a36a0f6238c09072748804ecb4a0bc9d0a9b6
describe
'4267120' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVV' 'sip-files00131.tif'
780ab8833a2c7746b4f9e3c7bb749013
8718fb5d04e8f73f161227f9b508ceee1ee6825e
describe
'1742' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVW' 'sip-files00131.txt'
52ea2ba33755b3fd2b1640281806fe10
f2b0d204008cabd7f1acfd0c4dbeb8e1b1e64f77
describe
'47374' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVX' 'sip-files00132.pro'
ed7cf32e782ee7bc58120745d6140ea4
a6927bd48bfdb00b92616b11d67e7958fad08cc4
describe
'3885012' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVY' 'sip-files00132.tif'
f8bbd8baff8e25778daaa7ed299266f7
b7ea323263dfcceafab054a5fec0ee9b75294fee
'2011-09-20T07:06:44-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKVZ' 'sip-files00132.txt'
bbdf409d9d16e63f2642ea22d4f3a0af
af350941b8dbcf7b90f97a9aaf5148e00c980f77
describe
'48807' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWA' 'sip-files00133.pro'
55481eec5ed49038a8334249576a1b9e
3970d7acff87b5b9795d98cc639579dfaa4af256
'2011-09-20T07:07:53-04:00'
describe
'4361116' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWB' 'sip-files00133.tif'
0fbf4407d222fc93b202cbbda3f6792e
9d58a3185c125f3899ec7e322513ae1b1708e041
'2011-09-20T07:05:09-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWC' 'sip-files00133.txt'
944bcc095c974663c2b06475e14d6875
630efaa0e653e56702bd5f75fca4e7d7d1a068ee
describe
'49309' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWD' 'sip-files00134.pro'
7619e689c8972a9e517e9e032142949e
27a2f38e70bc34f6decb2ca999f74063b43b4c5b
'2011-09-20T07:05:03-04:00'
describe
'4180624' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWE' 'sip-files00134.tif'
50cbbacad7e88e15546e7f1774b46fbb
da6cc934a98eb214c0ee5f127af3268e09dc0b58
describe
'1957' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWF' 'sip-files00134.txt'
fcd0c6b4a5c0e3935c0f19f4f77d9186
25096efdfe5d46bf50521b91d72154ce8c4b9336
describe
'45153' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWG' 'sip-files00135.pro'
3aa4e4c795392cde2988e271ed831b93
54d5ccdee9616c9b0d030174edb1776438e0538b
describe
'4361056' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWH' 'sip-files00135.tif'
bfbf295ce28d4c005ec100a7b20e5be9
73808e960e6bd8c0f696ecaaeeb90d96fd235e5e
describe
'1797' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWI' 'sip-files00135.txt'
f60cbf71a548cfd9ea23f3f40a24a6c4
f38967ab8d5ea1603554e6a570f7a5d697785a68
'2011-09-20T07:04:16-04:00'
describe
'34492' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWJ' 'sip-files00136.pro'
1a6a20b191d8c6992af801bdf9d7e2b8
5e507c668caecf3da7ea2f5faaf7fe32a04fc3b8
describe
'4177604' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWK' 'sip-files00136.tif'
c2909c9f3a029d55604be88151e260ee
f39be14937491482cac1d0217ee009aefae9e3a5
describe
'1401' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWL' 'sip-files00136.txt'
ddbd3d98631700f27447085500d0c460
b233374f582ec00906abfb7243671dfffbd5a896
describe
'48048' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWM' 'sip-files00137.pro'
61185511043da88ebe645477beddd8cc
24e7e721f6feb4e743628b873df87f064e56e11e
describe
'4114676' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWN' 'sip-files00137.tif'
1e4012a1ba0fb0057c33964b89962703
e1fb6b7cda1b6c05e64411b25cb424a56cdaad09
'2011-09-20T07:05:28-04:00'
describe
'1913' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWO' 'sip-files00137.txt'
a1745ac0d71b644cedab36686255dfe7
83c83a7d17bafcbe622dcc9f3452b38eb6c4b126
'2011-09-20T07:06:48-04:00'
describe
'45611' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWP' 'sip-files00138.pro'
81fa5038ee9309b662b304d929fdc944
1e518ef376eb031fed7c6125cef2f793aab980e1
describe
'4114544' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWQ' 'sip-files00138.tif'
0a290466918afeb7f46a7c79043bde8a
746f1fc754418f8346576e637dc729250ff3e4fe
describe
'1854' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWR' 'sip-files00138.txt'
78f3ae4884e253d1560ab1541c0b6180
ff321b693b24b2ed9f1c223f8621f72d6ccc74ac
describe
'51849' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWS' 'sip-files00139.pro'
e1c87f48b66318a621c36a873ef54e30
87f9f61ab5aac71d63eb466ef32244410d0f4904
'2011-09-20T07:06:22-04:00'
describe
'4067844' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWT' 'sip-files00139.tif'
a5121a61989ee4fa64ae1d931edcae37
c38c40d0a292776cf643db5b8cf4ce9761af8bb4
describe
'2030' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWU' 'sip-files00139.txt'
32cdedf2fc4723b3b9e930bc4cd442ba
1c9d1e82dbbc76aa8623b92a29b99b5681d4d36e
'2011-09-20T07:04:50-04:00'
describe
'51519' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWV' 'sip-files00140.pro'
51211e180f9a0b5ff74b032839e3a71b
f393065290d83fa58df152d02c53722484829237
'2011-09-20T07:07:33-04:00'
describe
'4107664' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWW' 'sip-files00140.tif'
e3ccd9bb038d71a4f16f2de12d3bb810
03cbc67f70cfad5b89eaaf11adefb92928560ca0
describe
'2037' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWX' 'sip-files00140.txt'
ee6e8ea0e4ca491ad0451c9cc9391dea
2341a9ec19e58a1672433996db27e0dded48643f
'2011-09-20T07:05:35-04:00'
describe
'51861' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWY' 'sip-files00141.pro'
141f70d05a86f59c8674e007b50565e6
48d87aa653048ea7f25288ba3d1cebf63ed0731b
describe
'4093912' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKWZ' 'sip-files00141.tif'
63e0d2cb16a01d4bf3b36a17bb7de585
ac2a499ac25c63886ac941d0dac9205ace5d733b
'2011-09-20T07:05:06-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXA' 'sip-files00141.txt'
85612395cd36707458264b611de3fed2
262104bef277fc8b56ff6801e53ad43d65dc21ed
describe
'49214' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXB' 'sip-files00142.pro'
7fa89a1d9e270f01206ffb7a3b5c0606
0e1342fd76a8b27ef7cac7e6e9f9df815f7e6985
describe
'4113092' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXC' 'sip-files00142.tif'
e284613356a1b33350b14ef3808c2d53
c4eb26dc621d138e2ce527c57d87ce79b03ba1f9
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXD' 'sip-files00142.txt'
f6b0c1480756f85125f06c9a07c743bf
4cc35b12381ef8b55ffd128adc990f4027ca2a2b
'2011-09-20T07:06:56-04:00'
describe
'44021' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXE' 'sip-files00143.pro'
9a4951673a5d2dd7eddc61669d524a34
29e1b9e13025e95cc58e1fb8c9a5709b41a51a92
describe
'4112856' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXF' 'sip-files00143.tif'
c42ad8f3482881c7853c3905ea6e7c71
260ad1beb7fb0aeaee85905c65c0be5a12ebc727
describe
'1767' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXG' 'sip-files00143.txt'
4fb374dc1c8747f3ef7832ac04a0c7cb
6d9198489f292739a43ade3c7e099cce64eb8968
describe
'42825' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXH' 'sip-files00144.pro'
7419ca313a8903763bffac2438edaaa3
eeeb0cb06bfd7822c574606c8eab6839cb093708
describe
'4148100' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXI' 'sip-files00144.tif'
ae9880a9f32224783dd91f93f2d59208
36d62d0f2ea703bc6d1db65d9dd6c9ea004a71c9
describe
'1716' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXJ' 'sip-files00144.txt'
d20f85fe89fe2fff053f16b62e0c0abc
192cad9c0aea0a6ef8e1a313984e49488dbd7408
'2011-09-20T07:07:50-04:00'
describe
'32390' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXK' 'sip-files00145.pro'
e231bb05f750b3bf60649df0e7d55a18
f00090a91f9f29acaa40607ba85404adc8ab9e4c
describe
'4173420' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXL' 'sip-files00145.tif'
5ce77977ad50be0bdc7bf42d98cb377b
0288e3a29c21d2c195e567e3117bf5370eed8a55
describe
'1322' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXM' 'sip-files00145.txt'
dab261479b3de8940054bb33bf51f3f7
0c4c926df80e970bb2ef760eff7a156c245fa85f
describe
'1302' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXN' 'sip-files00146.pro'
bc9e3497b1b72866956f0fb3085ad2e0
235dfb64eaebf4707e540e3b4a95b5d021c884e7
describe
'12370392' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXO' 'sip-files00146.tif'
085949b424732fc08780b26f07a872ba
3a6aa75cd5af37dfa13fbf96c4e767f2cc4b4320
describe
'172' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXP' 'sip-files00146.txt'
f43e6a56ecb29ec929f4283ce3d21932
cec64ddee134161921efb66ebfb7b3a1e295e947
describe
'46031' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXQ' 'sip-files00147.pro'
95ec3dab97f29fbbd0c6475181e40596
2b1dec42ccb552e75abb25de947291e899be9ef5
describe
'4025608' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXR' 'sip-files00147.tif'
9fd0b2c9fa64f83426ae9b2725d196b8
4bd5a87bf31487ba26b29d3f06ea4a73b12a1166
describe
'1844' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXS' 'sip-files00147.txt'
13ab744095e1365e478d8703110c49e2
e8b3784cc976e5f95395fad8a5288150bdcfaa04
describe
'51084' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXT' 'sip-files00148.pro'
6043c5f4f96b81e8f892b3a470508b1f
a3b493966a394b72ca2507358812100f4dde7d22
describe
'4108096' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXU' 'sip-files00148.tif'
bce37347e0141d94a6413bfcaeaf287d
fedbd9903e51328a7570e49eafcb5ef6750ac806
describe
'2008' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXV' 'sip-files00148.txt'
e282a6a7ddf0661b3bda1f293837e601
ba52fee8063d91d831ba3802ba69fb8b6d01f0b1
describe
'49993' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXW' 'sip-files00149.pro'
3c9cb4e1286da5ef3f3cc9efa1b1848f
28f7819082425b3dabbe27ab1b042c2562780a8d
describe
'4167844' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXX' 'sip-files00149.tif'
d71b8e50f8015cea071c02cde7a9d3be
9d078fe58e0119cdf9f1eb2437cad97085d7c8b8
describe
'1982' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXY' 'sip-files00149.txt'
359c474528c3e2047b6ada23571fd0b2
5c44c98f725ca8f110cdafa226b9bd9600aec9ae
describe
'47290' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKXZ' 'sip-files00150.pro'
439198bf8d21766aac96773f5b5295d3
2f176659e31aea004e1921c045ca2c648dc2b8a3
describe
'4109932' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYA' 'sip-files00150.tif'
2751076d9c2aa76cf7b6972a71537006
881e1102205e82b46023198c39e10d18c88f0a5e
describe
'1862' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYB' 'sip-files00150.txt'
c6fd7a77993c2a2846742cd9f9ea15b1
3b09891ad23ec5548acf0532e636f73a05a51849
describe
'44449' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYC' 'sip-files00151.pro'
e13704aa9272373521fd7bd32432a0c1
fb9ddd17d2bd2e5ce6d593e24c5cb37fd34ad314
describe
'4121372' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYD' 'sip-files00151.tif'
083582ef899ae5b529aecbe05d5e932d
d3384c11f3c36df0efbcb7e2f1cfc9a9bd08b723
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYE' 'sip-files00151.txt'
26d311360a73d0dba1986ce47f692d59
e5ce34d00778252a709a8cbf85de5a3cabfbb7fd
describe
'44616' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYF' 'sip-files00152.pro'
1d93596cf7593c8074aba6a9701f177f
e77158c461074e982a218be2ca1cc997904783d6
describe
'4171992' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYG' 'sip-files00152.tif'
5bb5919c765428d40a1babcd28fd1fcc
ed52bc800d164e55827386c2e804cc31a9aff4f6
describe
'1760' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYH' 'sip-files00152.txt'
fbc115363f5cbaa66b40ad86afefed32
1cc42f30df136625b785b1bebdfd7fac478c9d72
describe
'24455' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYI' 'sip-files00153.pro'
449ec2d7d2ab72c0a0adfa812bfd8d42
2ed2921495d077e21109df8d2fc1949d61dfdb51
describe
'4100288' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYJ' 'sip-files00153.tif'
b90bd5965517b13bccd486e26668b53d
c8e856a1d8789b497c61d2ca09c46f5fc257f0d3
describe
'1056' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYK' 'sip-files00153.txt'
c05035ae038d5089b120ee5578a89a4f
eb2ecea3df42ccc471f78296c03c5ea1bb9272e0
describe
'211' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYL' 'sip-files00157.pro'
dad23a931b558c1550e6893dc648e7b2
7bee9922c901e83b6f8653d0211fe922ebbdaf01
describe
'14803360' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYM' 'sip-files00157.tif'
a73b06a4f8101e786edb21ea0f803e9e
ef6e9b3fd62cba330ad37ff9a6f359901be4b07c
'2011-09-20T07:05:16-04:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYN' 'sip-files00158.pro'
eb92704836c82772d412590607fc7f47
10e24dac051e06a1a15dc8c381cc3b2efdc5452c
describe
'14901896' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYO' 'sip-files00158.tif'
4aa941c867e780add124abc1423c9555
b0564c10aa0a6d1a1ca44a868c896e8a01dd06b0
'2011-09-20T07:06:01-04:00'
describe
'291042' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYP' 'sip-files00002.jpg'
53996890743a0569cc2307f39419de24
bd3a6ac7fd49f0709429cae7391526ae07c38f72
describe
'68903' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYQ' 'sip-files00002.QC.jpg'
6a28b7302c5c0d06859dfbcc32042adf
92b709f8dc9f46e77592ecdf094c181aa2c3b490
describe
'605162' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYR' 'sip-files00002.jp2'
48693db6fc065d84a5980d1d8d495b4f
d347733512189a4d09cdfc6679fe0f2e1d63f6ff
describe
'215421' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYS' 'sip-files00004.jpg'
5581b9a778a817d1e924edab99efe341
cd02ff553a3e5b0d1262257b3715c48dd15c86b0
describe
'53364' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYT' 'sip-files00004.QC.jpg'
02355d3143730776e858727ffb5df1c2
d3cacca7624575a65fc2b0382c42c8f8cae1c272
describe
'518306' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYU' 'sip-files00004.jp2'
ab4702e31495b2e219f1877238ddbbc2
1feb7a2247a2baddd1ed5e99d13f6e9349ec26bd
describe
'236549' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYV' 'sip-files00006.jpg'
56b8e4c0072ae9a86076423652e616be
944c4ef333ef7bd8322fa63376b8ee36eea13cf4
describe
'65799' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYW' 'sip-files00006.QC.jpg'
c3c639d84da9126152eada42e345cfb1
75b8aa3463c7492c834d726a5a94e06c053a8192
describe
'1019185' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYX' 'sip-files00006.jp2'
c4400b9f5d4ffdf85d757f0cda66d1ac
b35237c420911b5af30cacb68c2a14671aab6bd6
'2011-09-20T07:05:45-04:00'
describe
'272442' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYY' 'sip-files00007.jpg'
518a54aaf16af42a11ffcb8e6f196eee
d735439b9b2658132471f5d1d0b5b73f81af06ae
describe
'74746' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKYZ' 'sip-files00007.QC.jpg'
96ac11c084ffe5d5429f05c0073c8afb
ed34dbb391d6781713e300fc8727ba56764826c0
describe
'539513' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZA' 'sip-files00007.jp2'
d6b16eefa5d191e47ade4c2a438ef0ff
d066a255d4a271277b5dccd77c670076af0a1e29
describe
'194264' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZB' 'sip-files00008.jpg'
6a549185ff3a50952d5c5df7b112a48d
ffb8acadd45bd3e5f633f9d6f062185b2b2fc769
'2011-09-20T07:07:31-04:00'
describe
'45313' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZC' 'sip-files00008.QC.jpg'
fed6305f81a1235d885f488e2031e5ca
eae3477f6400dd4be8bdf889f0312797da874550
describe
'530935' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZD' 'sip-files00008.jp2'
44fad879e0b9ef69abaa9eade5c3e213
cfaa016437f2cdeb717db2d59ee1915a09e8da7d
describe
'269220' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZE' 'sip-files00009.jpg'
085c3eef829e71688251daa601cf438a
b219ab4724b34280919e48432c27f6be962079a8
describe
'74409' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZF' 'sip-files00009.QC.jpg'
a67091a53a216c80a2483c91fa2dc435
d4a5f709be3a44a1c8ee570b83c460867ae93477
describe
'539497' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZG' 'sip-files00009.jp2'
1a7ff71b580a29eb48858c1db9b8f0c6
0077601e64eda19b5a6f6d429bf77bad089e6b7b
describe
'200288' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZH' 'sip-files00010.jpg'
1d355cd32081f4585164311900ae1909
ce6e00a5ae4126a0ac78800059359f14ecb4ea02
describe
'45697' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZI' 'sip-files00010.QC.jpg'
d3949f28f157b3f33b065d5537e022e9
6271c5db2ca7def6bb462d6b282e13c67f702b44
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZJ' 'sip-files00010.jp2'
1da26d0ea324f1c5a4a892100de8c5cf
fdc3836a22fb30c99c32dc594cbe1922b0cebacb
describe
'380314' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZK' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
6af762d62d19b0383740a06b919204fc
96145ae833c10f5c8880383266cff30bbfb4d7c1
describe
'106284' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZL' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
f22c4ddefb6dfc59ca83fb49b11f4488
4e04835d5074670c68b668583a6385e35c2e8526
describe
'500436' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZM' 'sip-files00011.jp2'
7e80060b9d7407681c87da8358b45464
0c2b7d56da3bcdcd2d808607092c553b7ab4d3ed
describe
'415478' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZN' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
b1535cb3e434e6f825a375f0380df006
402fc1ca3b852e29c7711469ff6af1576b9c48bb
describe
'118604' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZO' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
4865a3041303bac6878a6f07b7ac844b
b3bab6bf72fc5dd8019645441f395183e4ef2ab3
describe
'498391' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZP' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
a4fba6dbd65ba01174dc74a788d607c9
812d9605de1dd4e196a36de770e4dcc87ca7dd48
describe
'404147' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZQ' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
40185e79de9ad4ae5149da42ff4fef37
eb2d9ff30a0e05c89b4ba8231af482fb1b1d743d
describe
'114700' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZR' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
ed54dad3279121e62f0b8befbf1e2a20
ef9fe034e7d7814a86c82846af28c3bf2411c1fc
describe
'505543' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZS' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
8f34b590e947b089e037951d6395383b
8af38d0bc1fe6679cde5127b1e9b33a847234d8c
describe
'394231' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZT' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
4399da868780c5e0fdaacac395095ef7
e8061674adfebedb18b4f4d7beb707e003fbeaee
describe
'112083' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZU' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
af283226bcc078448398a400ca8c2c90
8f396ee0676e09ca7a0b0f6e608b02cca9cbe9db
describe
'509319' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZV' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
fbb7ea58572de64c2abb0ff00e545814
68c71210f4e1f482044af589a94a04e855dcc694
describe
'403981' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZW' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
833a5203df03bccdae511eb581ec021b
99794e0724c21b619d8a66525a9a138f13536183
describe
'115649' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZX' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
1d5263802e748bde5e018b01f8a65255
d89f08e88cbd80e31e8cbc921331ea7de71bd302
describe
'496082' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZY' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
9d02d322de89cd290238851eee695d66
0792aafeca4c12a0e0a1392e86a68f7af1e64f80
describe
'393607' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAAKZZ' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
e6d78b09358c71af4805095f2253f798
1f01e1f94cf24e47fb612c57c0308bba9039cc11
describe
'112756' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAA' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
18ec3b7e34c891160a84af60ee9458d3
372d22c480f9557fa56b0d2b3971249a9e47a52e
describe
'507832' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAB' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
016704496238082840799d5a7a6741d8
79e2987dd137c17b136ebcc4784d519b7d99baff
describe
'398944' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAC' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
e86c2b49c9c7bf4790d6db39523370a4
b1c9b26b0b8811676e6bfc3f3248898af493889f
describe
'114125' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAD' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
50bbf76219e209ee3d6dc3e3c41db40e
20ddb25aba34df8ca1303318ee1211b1b95f8035
describe
'502247' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAE' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
64b6c94e90ed796ba6f747d54d559d2a
cb88c13887aa60c0ece331ef972cf24d220dd99f
describe
'355562' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAF' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
d209af15622b1ab42fcf6999644aebef
072e20d9e1c0999134714114f540e91f330f0e99
describe
'99576' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAG' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
f90f6c7cbfdcb2fa93fa52a0b8e34ba0
53ed1728a07dddcf60c51e0d6e1ce78da5e71002
'2011-09-20T07:06:32-04:00'
describe
'503557' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAH' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
ca1a694a93988fa0ebbce37dec25c90a
baf54d412699a5cf0e1376e041769a76c5858feb
describe
'341536' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAI' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
06cdc12417b16f5a8212753b4a66a595
831fc9f5c7ee6a975e351c04618c974f928f0716
describe
'94283' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAJ' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
c071644545f8f98bbe384ea8fa04cab7
c61d3ba677b805208ab36b93ee855124b07746b0
'2011-09-20T07:07:36-04:00'
describe
'495745' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAK' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
d1c9d3ca611189469fa942df9b9fc871
0bb997008699163b606d9fe4923b9b7a8f8f409f
describe
'388246' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAL' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
ba6ad457801503945eee6376aba66fd4
d5c32e6cb2f0edca9b4e603f8aafd39ef6cd5818
describe
'108040' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAM' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
21b7f791731ea04226089a63220aae81
3375013326079e0984c00dec03c96c042504f681
describe
'509854' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAN' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
ad47d72ffbe8f05912ab544284d669cc
201454fad6c66476f2ed0e76c6ed663a889151b3
describe
'369811' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAO' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
ddd0790cc4f4c20fa8fce47728a15dc2
ce5cfe3ab5fbbc92aa9ee6c782ee37e97749758b
describe
'104732' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAP' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
530dc32fa6dc7df06c4a3eaa8798fed4
8e6b3d7a6ebccd00bb0eb46ba37b959260b02113
describe
'539598' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAQ' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
a3a6cbcb3509f05a10c9459a8000abba
617fac29c69baac745bab532097ffd1627b1e736
describe
'421897' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAR' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
e3df2f0732d57a08eee8b0ca09d92524
5a005bffd66d05af79ccc8cb10f710e143aed310
describe
'119765' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAS' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
539cb0fc1fd0322563e6c605c7545a9b
ec931ecc724a223edc75c46b23bfccc6ba1a6e8c
describe
'484441' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAT' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
c420e46a59040dc5bd9e5dcc1fb96ecf
c917e22f4ce370bacfba8b40cab493c11c9a1a1a
describe
'401462' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAU' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
2991f272cfb9e6a5d771e25bd3a0630e
68403b09a765f7ce7524d3e653eda23773a88562
describe
'114544' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAV' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
c4c89843422b8359292547c59b315289
3c8a706b222cd5054d651d31605eeef487528c77
describe
'492453' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAW' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
97bf213c2b303fca3d251f0b585093e8
d9bea080b52443036653a034b895c7f64570351d
describe
'394482' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAX' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
f677b5a32b8861681c2b0b987cba357d
ceed561e3da3ac13c0cc7f1e1883cbf18f043ecb
describe
'113268' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAY' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
14a29438e0dc48fecbda86af72302d85
7c3ff0e4c9ab10ed1bc723f3fb84d2ba89a9cb46
describe
'511158' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALAZ' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
5644cab37c3b423d51e189b4872bbded
21848163c8c8ba1b8a40eaad95c0756a08be301b
describe
'402790' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBA' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
e4a4251409eaf6e04dfe0a4ec600a7c6
8e0a06a5f0f30b4531640b4f41d0a7cb11b6a5fd
describe
'115697' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBB' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
6f710c1be43a1d120d749cb3d6b41b1a
fd8b6340719dc62f8240f107df247db35fdc0b9b
describe
'493864' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBC' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
dea977b16e4a04d80970272541348fbd
63d35b4178ef529f24aed1294bac4ad4d82370e0
describe
'398882' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBD' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
17ab279ffd21c2be8d8f3c8a9a96d683
b244778d61cda5d0f3682935e6f187ddfaa9224e
describe
'113566' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBE' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
75a5b43107a75e7aafcd2acc1d5aa3ac
0e983873002f118046b094d8369b24ce1440029a
describe
'498190' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBF' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
a23045f58d78e3a5e8dfe9e2c76ee715
3bd75d8bbf74866b0ac41995de2d868911cb9aeb
describe
'402881' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBG' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
9260a79f21a6a978eb536bcc6a2d6b41
0058d28973713418c72a1e67c6541974eb677c09
describe
'114664' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBH' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
d3136117309810bd9c44e996bd7555f0
3731024a4c7da0150318cedfbc52b1785fd2e577
describe
'503705' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBI' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
1f6f229fc26d972f325b1ce356ff8f42
3456e9a3db3476fdcc559f6360bd6360a667a069
describe
'394953' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBJ' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
c5790b3ca5bbe7385b8538ad72a8dc66
7c4aca366a43d9438c44f9254cb1388ed8f5c624
describe
'111949' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBK' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
f73b0c328f2e629210210a6ec41413c1
0bfc349e64afe211e1560effc172e0098a3201dc
describe
'536299' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBL' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
4b1144b1e0c58b642a148892ae1b67a3
b1652a377071db77aeabfb8055c2e03087ac89f3
describe
'386735' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBM' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
0e42aae92ad4e697c679523850ed6b6c
79df60824b978cfc8d5e1fcf02163cbc0872781f
describe
'111072' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBN' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
121508393cbd792db565f39f593f75a0
8c7116e4e64e55325a21f72174d749d124f402a0
describe
'494021' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBO' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
22c3df763e27bc72ca143ef4d3aa98f2
1957a68a976cf2a03ac5663a1668d405f9d20710
describe
'410870' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBP' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
04d80e348ce7555c3a2b3b16c18d0386
06b58f2c89faab5e2d4ca1c78d9afcabb3f48f1b
describe
'116974' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBQ' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
25ac8c005694d94c9e2a288cb0d994c8
2959cf1cffd4c96ea3eecc4bf68a0be7300742d8
describe
'502823' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBR' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
2f0e1722006ce54749290dbfe86a33b2
207f335809e1fc4c6a5f3d82ff94c578564bfca2
describe
'389652' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBS' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
ea66624a21348cd76e36bf37edb3e206
f34f0a68a217dd6615d8b072957411a1fa25e25d
describe
'110826' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBT' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
762c68b9e5ae732665d5026647a51726
61591f6c2510217e86e850b0ac5e0d48b8ccf69c
describe
'522521' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBU' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
36bc6f89b39a969db30dae866fe7631f
0a65ffbffad15d1dfda8e4484b5d83db559b5c69
describe
'394109' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBV' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
5c602c0f11700a02ace2671c82f4bbc9
2351ee106b383e686375ba92a3dce6b80f2a1808
describe
'114285' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBW' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
fcd33c811874d940b9f64dcb2f5f1abc
c595533f0ff7d36990b3ce7fdb6725dc5fad8a90
describe
'496870' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBX' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
bacf05e2b36bb13d549469259c54abee
21c23ec0cf2d50c8384d7c202891a44c720d0228
describe
'391041' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBY' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
3e51d891e04941a7c6246593572f2191
7ffd4d1ba69e8a6b32d566d3cbf2f8d969de3d55
describe
'111825' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALBZ' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
42107b9fa0ddd13a35c0a0021f522d69
6d5306db157bf5ec744717f8e1687139f8b3ba9c
describe
'499942' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCA' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
a753b7d8d8151bbf0b9f0f4e86b73d51
661d8c18760c959fc99ac7b7168e683fb1ddcb23
describe
'393960' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCB' 'sip-files00034.jpg'
c4244966ee30af778645cad1804c7547
6ac8b83bb4433e407ded512a6dbf270cc39dbb61
describe
'111062' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCC' 'sip-files00034.QC.jpg'
dbf98082465c1a2809da7414933f18e8
f16be070998c3f0a35694606610028d5a816963e
describe
'536293' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCD' 'sip-files00034.jp2'
e43544f9fb7a9d89b81a477c648829ff
0c24098b37597cd5f7d2959830d8e14d3d23290f
describe
'381979' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCE' 'sip-files00035.jpg'
d8c9e80b816198bf8971499a45f61da1
50a227a8d26335977dfe08c17790eb1fec67a1f7
describe
'108643' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCF' 'sip-files00035.QC.jpg'
b9a615d9157eeaad7843002659dc17be
9962cd692c9781f9b49120b419fe96c01bd0e439
describe
'505766' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCG' 'sip-files00035.jp2'
c043c80959118bf1fe9bcc8f6033a2b9
0f9cc34177299c3aa4a3be6ea0cc49e4949690a4
describe
'388092' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCH' 'sip-files00036.jpg'
1794f6163159824f211c691ccbe0e426
ead0c59160ebc6cca75116eaaa9c8bc1e73dbf40
describe
'111210' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCI' 'sip-files00036.QC.jpg'
bba3870cad49d7a87e15570687f525f0
a836946a6083b6cfd18c58e29f0b4413b060e37a
describe
'526748' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCJ' 'sip-files00036.jp2'
06413cefefb0a483011dc0260b4f7bca
8b735770541633d560461e0aea7758ab338e8b5d
describe
'417013' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCK' 'sip-files00037.jpg'
e376b9c746435a266edf0a0ede6cd88e
1a80e77401409476b26c06f24ed4899fb4902e16
describe
'119267' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCL' 'sip-files00037.QC.jpg'
41c5e3495941e27e5152861ec4b5d0ee
df4fb170526b5bb09be7295f6c7b1fc824df47bd
describe
'510620' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCM' 'sip-files00037.jp2'
500c8f8cde348a7bdb9d3a739d79b869
698c1d5d62ff54eb35b60cd20596e67348453658
describe
'428807' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCN' 'sip-files00038.jpg'
683c1241c47632358bbdca57befaf4c0
67b77afb04b327c2e98feb4ae7686b596996c1ef
describe
'121591' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCO' 'sip-files00038.QC.jpg'
b1cb7c2b37b3e283a4e4ff8e812c124d
9ceae2e6e4198db229c2054c372f6b6472f2fe35
describe
'479093' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCP' 'sip-files00038.jp2'
c09ca58a3e84331386f883d57fd24c98
c66112a7af121897ae9bd7265b4b3c7650dfb0b4
describe
'384561' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCQ' 'sip-files00039.jpg'
0aef581d4714f5d6d402a50868f3a886
31735c4b45da564b1d4107ea37ae7169091f60aa
describe
'109254' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCR' 'sip-files00039.QC.jpg'
ded953d3fd35840ffe76cde29949bd01
c1a1671731d2e83b152f69eda9f47d599cabf18b
describe
'529341' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCS' 'sip-files00039.jp2'
a6a792d02f3667df6f4d3770cf83a0d7
9ddc1b35e7d7db4b44534556074224a0375c735d
describe
'378979' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCT' 'sip-files00040.jpg'
9b77702eed2b79d0d4aed7f271759279
2e7bc279f90627a47cfac5e976f4139aa767db83
describe
'107091' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCU' 'sip-files00040.QC.jpg'
9725f86dfd5f2e188ee4507e13515edd
174f040bc033494c41ee996c5eda122481320b90
describe
'536331' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCV' 'sip-files00040.jp2'
0a31cf862dbbbda397634486d2f9a954
c9a6e8f21f891f04cc144960e634a39a8c5c1196
describe
'385670' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCW' 'sip-files00041.jpg'
ded876c3eaadb4ac2b72e73cca14264c
4b2cf6614c300cdf90e1a1a64441873124014905
describe
'109905' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCX' 'sip-files00041.QC.jpg'
8fb3c62a0b9f26755c23b1f5bdac4bdd
1a1e35cb931e560c6a41083d4d2e9051b608182b
describe
'529354' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCY' 'sip-files00041.jp2'
986a4f0114ac5da064c5a6d7c838b6b4
e41447e3b5ce942f6a51dcaae2f06c91357ed786
describe
'358803' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALCZ' 'sip-files00042.jpg'
43b15767100e8b9b07f1671c7edc8de9
5cef03388ca89a9bdbcc98065c0d9dc22e22d08e
describe
'101677' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDA' 'sip-files00042.QC.jpg'
989ebc7eaf8cec1b14a38d70895f7814
53fba71f8fa512c50b413ed0450965f25c844164
describe
'536316' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDB' 'sip-files00042.jp2'
cd82bed2e2b74ab1085d5a2fe9ec5207
9019c274ee2d2b7be7f38eec428afcb55573641c
describe
'375334' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDC' 'sip-files00043.jpg'
1d201bb368d4e2057e80679d2d04e60a
d3a0c6b1b356b9e5b6dc4e36693711542aaf5344
describe
'104680' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDD' 'sip-files00043.QC.jpg'
0f84887c04cbd157503392478da63cec
1f08fb6e3ba638f8496c4ffe4e8e6cc141da0937
'2011-09-20T07:07:49-04:00'
describe
'529349' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDE' 'sip-files00043.jp2'
9ce5e43f038e3387f5a8e9d72b56311b
05aaf45de1506e706d7140641d9d4def69565d71
describe
'386846' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDF' 'sip-files00044.jpg'
a16e6774de0b3d4a1ab448201ec178dd
35c850bb12df8ee9cdd451c56d7b7dd3a140adbf
describe
'110190' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDG' 'sip-files00044.QC.jpg'
8c73ad01f2b99ccf9432a6a147d378f3
4c7c53386cbbe1738f3223cab49db941c372a31a
describe
'536277' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDH' 'sip-files00044.jp2'
d24b5d8da783db73db355afd8048736d
331d8914a8ebe790fdef86198a9b2cc481d77fae
describe
'420601' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDI' 'sip-files00045.jpg'
1b3010700b81395dd49b7d41e44a3364
aa7b8f95a08c8de6fc4b9d5628163a42a8a349f0
describe
'121525' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDJ' 'sip-files00045.QC.jpg'
12429d79ad5f56a895388f336bbcba07
74f7eca8a358322ea559ab6a6e652ac83b49eee5
describe
'489422' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDK' 'sip-files00045.jp2'
cf39889adbe55f9aef672529c90d5a80
b3d4c975263d33ab0caaec65581e1cf5829cefd1
describe
'419548' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDL' 'sip-files00046.jpg'
71c5afd654484effb0bd33a3e2865f3a
9bdc935b8f0eb73b5bb15eb03a984e55d8bbebfe
describe
'121579' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDM' 'sip-files00046.QC.jpg'
7cde4ac9769d0b88716ea749813d7c4b
5d17d02c5a4643abfdf097a087720f2dff3909bb
describe
'478909' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDN' 'sip-files00046.jp2'
c96cc94d9470c4b54ee097dcb6bd6762
40ea5c6ea0f9e00248182c35addbf41ca122eabc
describe
'403267' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDO' 'sip-files00047.jpg'
f33798e9d72d7437809f4de59da7a88c
34afb68dc5340654d39d9e755b1621feaac5868c
describe
'115683' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDP' 'sip-files00047.QC.jpg'
22a041d3f6d2fe911d29a5c88780dadb
e2ee4458c4294c44d1a549261b9f56415fe33b36
'2011-09-20T07:06:03-04:00'
describe
'518941' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDQ' 'sip-files00047.jp2'
b1e8b6ddc83be94cb7eb2a244c88af23
21a2946dcc4dc563b342c675e32ea2ca98dcdc8c
'2011-09-20T07:05:01-04:00'
describe
'400580' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDR' 'sip-files00048.jpg'
e06d4101b11cf7fc05f2870a305920ef
5eeef14fe5afb974261b78a4144f24a36a3f17d9
describe
'115588' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDS' 'sip-files00048.QC.jpg'
f7daa5ab7757ace3791b940f1b92fd71
209abe34efcc5aef77f74b7986e79265436bebce
describe
'478826' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDT' 'sip-files00048.jp2'
4582628fe097032ce0976ee01bf29a29
3af1f18d5187496b137fb7123dd649513ee30a00
describe
'401534' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDU' 'sip-files00049.jpg'
89d4de1b74b66ad3b6f12fdc75e88f67
36df977f382e5649f75c8d88a367e839c28577cf
'2011-09-20T07:04:17-04:00'
describe
'116089' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDV' 'sip-files00049.QC.jpg'
f8c90799781d15e2088abf5a39969902
b73ff26d8d02863fbf8b60cf38a43b20372739d7
describe
'483957' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDW' 'sip-files00049.jp2'
ac79b8dfc2e44d500a44b44c356860b3
e18261c73e10cfd295014fecde0e4680ff3a2ac4
describe
'387808' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDX' 'sip-files00050.jpg'
c4909828f37ff5fbc01adb40c991d143
4fe7751f54315e2c803cf7d6da1377a8c9e1a18c
describe
'111701' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDY' 'sip-files00050.QC.jpg'
447ce0d66e25bf2ca3d562327beb9060
3ba1c74f5028445cca17a41aa54e408ea583b27c
'2011-09-20T07:07:48-04:00'
describe
'483181' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALDZ' 'sip-files00050.jp2'
ec094f8748f8aee1416047168a080b28
a941f8e9f0735cb0141adffab0fce10557e9e91c
describe
'388363' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEA' 'sip-files00051.jpg'
5f55f252f4c007b4021bf1117101e5a1
ec7a3bd5cbeb8ed7ef4997d5d83598ff84ee5f74
describe
'115988' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEB' 'sip-files00051.QC.jpg'
2c6eeb403c9dd406227f563a4d5314f1
1275a911622b943737bf7e48f5a85de82f7572f3
describe
'478231' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEC' 'sip-files00051.jp2'
5e86bdb3b90b52bd335e4474363ff808
f1d8738623b39e95bf485124fcc8cfa2de147efa
describe
'403468' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALED' 'sip-files00052.jpg'
8e95c591ebd1504623f24ebbbc546eed
bbe9c120fba4a7a30010f6fe59674bb3f7d85f5c
describe
'117436' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEE' 'sip-files00052.QC.jpg'
551755b10660e8b3aa32a14763500cbd
38c46e6962ef0a5301d7ee22fe30fd09c2928ed3
describe
'476737' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEF' 'sip-files00052.jp2'
c6dde5ced7c36d5153e3fd5c9ff23414
93d4143a1faa49cad4d7d7e02f808e54e6f0785e
describe
'407492' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEG' 'sip-files00053.jpg'
b550e34a338a4e3dd90323938c75bdd5
7a136ab0071d95184b39ae22a4eca0189add9680
describe
'117536' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEH' 'sip-files00053.QC.jpg'
175d193f7a1315d1c096c9ca86ca2fc3
3d18e83fe74d8494c66e62556e0cbd6e86ce46e9
describe
'490533' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEI' 'sip-files00053.jp2'
c9334b9b1f08fa224d08330081b7e8d3
cac11f563ddfc359f423296247929cffe2604c03
describe
'393709' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEJ' 'sip-files00054.jpg'
b02f60838fffeeefe9553e2aeac26520
e548a5a26928843d6a4f2504397a51708d42f232
describe
'113540' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEK' 'sip-files00054.QC.jpg'
f1a38073ca6a60d6d0f6db9c2376e135
7c70b96c621fad94d7768d1cd074d0ad643a2c8d
describe
'475542' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEL' 'sip-files00054.jp2'
3bba6989df1c7443c210bae261266795
b52a70fd9b8a2beda6fe989046889a035cc7e878
describe
'381240' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEM' 'sip-files00055.jpg'
daf190d58275e99ad8b5cf1c26dece27
22eab6be50839c4ccaf50a34f549b22b9230a533
describe
'108304' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEN' 'sip-files00055.QC.jpg'
d0ee1e9d9640a37472f541034d7f2410
de3d9aa59df0eb36d494c557b9c311b1b7e495a0
describe
'512996' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEO' 'sip-files00055.jp2'
43451400c2adbbf34fc2bc5ad05b2717
e1a7b2b0ddd12d3d7acdeadedbbe0ec3e2b115c6
describe
'408913' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEP' 'sip-files00056.jpg'
045644e26aaa9849dcb8ff53d6f39790
848ede45ad35ffca97c7ddb1fc8ae2c7ccb27cb5
describe
'113330' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEQ' 'sip-files00056.QC.jpg'
7d24ab7b22fa4119a65150a0edd381ba
d7abcc7d1fc2ed88d26f61beba0de373d3a8ed6b
describe
'475825' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALER' 'sip-files00056.jp2'
ffcbc49656f941625cd02392467b87f3
496a18ed8f04b2b98b3ebecd1f527ed85f5bace5
describe
'400427' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALES' 'sip-files00057.jpg'
fa02dd496885b391b30d4fb84f257503
03ddd4a3eb9ed25d4b74575371545d31d90bf1f2
describe
'114671' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALET' 'sip-files00057.QC.jpg'
a781deda0496dc456519e35f19cfeda4
8e2ff0277fb4e39ff2b81d2df7e54b195bc685b8
describe
'492997' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEU' 'sip-files00057.jp2'
3d9141accd7b1053d73834fb8af5374d
bbbc1769284ac93b97c3204ad1fae2066c95c90f
describe
'428456' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEV' 'sip-files00058.jpg'
ed705ac078998cdd38f3104927191507
5374cad3cdc37ec5c4700d1e8ba53527906a3137
describe
'121923' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEW' 'sip-files00058.QC.jpg'
8451bf370bcd98c8fc757dd659bb5042
3712c775b28dff8a526d3c3c598e62f4a39602b3
describe
'470754' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEX' 'sip-files00058.jp2'
7795583ec6aa380b32e44b033a362601
1aab45fd8372f022d11651816b6de73c6869ae67
describe
'424067' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEY' 'sip-files00059.jpg'
30a9a7c55285c8964774e08d57782d84
39d867f9c2be9902467bf7d6c0328088a27856d6
describe
'120861' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALEZ' 'sip-files00059.QC.jpg'
33b1adc3166634ccd390afb0c4b9d171
023a831b7606e1ed2efe37157eccf331c1064541
describe
'486254' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFA' 'sip-files00059.jp2'
e9c70649886c02d18fce70faf8f3e680
e9457ed2062fd1692ede55a42c98e1e08b4b8232
describe
'419994' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFB' 'sip-files00060.jpg'
312620d3c31fd682d0546ababe0a2bac
ea6505a93d3ed7109c24fe19fef76b14b3f62b88
describe
'120265' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFC' 'sip-files00060.QC.jpg'
4a0b1257de5fa7ad6451d5e258dacce8
4807cc4682e05dcdc89bc5a9d8f71f973c91bcbb
describe
'491820' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFD' 'sip-files00060.jp2'
94c4fc6afb3f34e180c9a751d49e174c
980995a3ab212647076d9a6ae4ba3d655344b731
describe
'426012' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFE' 'sip-files00061.jpg'
d40cabdfe98311bb9b762bb90bbcfd60
c1720e8b1d91c2668d10a99636825d12088d87cd
describe
'122363' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFF' 'sip-files00061.QC.jpg'
cce95158621d8fd1c5b56b3f652f203d
5ca65093f6aa10e20d307e7f7c37cf8d6e6cb069
describe
'477080' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFG' 'sip-files00061.jp2'
469788d547fd5c1f786fbda932a58fd4
be61c22b2d8e8ba0d5a3c768c16198ee22d66190
describe
'410902' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFH' 'sip-files00062.jpg'
ff570542ad39e641d95255b2112fa3a6
ff32a6b37391f79d1041d9f9987e23cd02aa5053
describe
'117499' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFI' 'sip-files00062.QC.jpg'
c715ecd7bf1b5067adaa32c9e83c2c28
de6123d4ce1659c4f1d088da997ffc5dfb0fe3e0
describe
'482761' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFJ' 'sip-files00062.jp2'
819ffea7ea517bbce5da67ab15f1ac68
0f0ab66ff8552c8989e436aff5c93093cb7a01b6
describe
'394159' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFK' 'sip-files00063.jpg'
f7ccc04e7d9b1f0dcf052906299e4094
a0db29c4c91dcf6a7965582be5aa90092224b27c
describe
'114090' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFL' 'sip-files00063.QC.jpg'
f2d801526eae76a5106dbb30db1df80b
93355e82612cd9896c006cd2ba4511d419f50e47
describe
'481514' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFM' 'sip-files00063.jp2'
f51a7673348135094cda7285a370417a
1f6ef8c0f73be24f31559680a26c0e97a3c2d3e5
describe
'408257' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFN' 'sip-files00064.jpg'
b3924d79b5bed6966cbb3e3277acccad
d11e8946bdfa45f408eba707987efadb8b5a0eff
describe
'118471' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFO' 'sip-files00064.QC.jpg'
353a957979a2a89907c902d25949a3ef
a352cfe64ad7a59a93002a1e8c31fc0f7a05817d
describe
'480624' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFP' 'sip-files00064.jp2'
73720e9f86896e37fd7a4b4507ef2397
30f2a3de5290615db74db92e7b72015515ace991
describe
'402601' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFQ' 'sip-files00065.jpg'
320e9a6cce6de5344ecb7fad19602290
37bc7db0c75fbfc9c2cf96d5486c86aa3cdb03bd
describe
'115535' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFR' 'sip-files00065.QC.jpg'
c3bf06ec657fbb2ab06996f9b84b1a5a
46fbf6b9d30e4cc536ccc55233b9375845a9b0ff
describe
'480749' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFS' 'sip-files00065.jp2'
e6647e86fa6bb35dd0c9e99297813558
627205b39ab9eb8c2928f34973867a2ffc446842
describe
'420340' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFT' 'sip-files00066.jpg'
cb0c572e185b9564db85f6a01e9cbdf2
2149091abe1b252075e70ad0d336aaf1664278db
describe
'119883' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFU' 'sip-files00066.QC.jpg'
4a2dd81f830350433d44182c57919b3a
4daf7473e4e1168d3b5dd82643051f5d640b6b79
describe
'475525' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFV' 'sip-files00066.jp2'
2968a0bdd45c2b627b27addb3b567b0f
b966353b0aed3663b132f6da916c723cf871d671
describe
'423462' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFW' 'sip-files00067.jpg'
4606c29f11937be135e90558f90b5a4a
1ee81f8ec8b11ef09d3881bbcd2f74e07243b21e
describe
'118888' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFX' 'sip-files00067.QC.jpg'
522aea382e0abf86e4b3d19216bf2bc6
0ec488e4b44556108078b373189008451750b5f4
describe
'479733' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFY' 'sip-files00067.jp2'
683e162201a6580f81ada27d96c77989
37b4509b17a68290cbd9cf3342394b1d193f9acf
'2011-09-20T07:05:52-04:00'
describe
'417530' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALFZ' 'sip-files00068.jpg'
8cb4b2bc16fb60f4a89c5e00d752358c
f254d51e396fee87cc437d878776fe9d98c49ca5
describe
'118988' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGA' 'sip-files00068.QC.jpg'
0cb0a9a89317019b97633f2f80fbdaa3
72937b6c59721d4c428d808c40c77ff739eddd9c
describe
'481746' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGB' 'sip-files00068.jp2'
bbf41c0723f3dec66b618a71591aa5e9
bf3aa5d1fed03f08fb3cffec5f5daf1026854864
describe
'386479' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGC' 'sip-files00069.jpg'
e7759ab8c25f1e64f4a7ae266979f2c3
e85a61953e7797459febec23615ed9798a43ae18
describe
'113416' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGD' 'sip-files00069.QC.jpg'
b39158a2ca4a2c6da2fa3635f531f9a1
9c64b29cc53f95826c682f3178c3c005807eb885
describe
'485156' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGE' 'sip-files00069.jp2'
137989039310d364019fcb1ad739aa71
755f1ebe927ebb6fc57c8376135cc1aaad9a5211
describe
'409252' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGF' 'sip-files00070.jpg'
1d94e9cca5bf904d83518ae1b1848b6b
14be80c42eaae8cc79e6f12f9c2e45820ab741ba
describe
'116680' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGG' 'sip-files00070.QC.jpg'
9e0a8866b6a47bf30f5121032b7bbc49
83c5de5e784c66809b1be257e609e160191e36c4
describe
'494544' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGH' 'sip-files00070.jp2'
dac141368128b37dad226aed728b32d7
d1e2a28aa986236568e1b6185bf93a8d3ecd81d2
describe
'420240' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGI' 'sip-files00071.jpg'
17e59f54e2eade0289175fdbb53455ee
3ee93110b57f5c9f966d1f9a46c5e5476957711f
describe
'119490' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGJ' 'sip-files00071.QC.jpg'
1b2b268dafbb249579c75f53841226ea
d0b931cdc9c84befda9ac0422ba46b6d59e4e2ca
describe
'496475' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGK' 'sip-files00071.jp2'
aea3a6dfda7c938f548104841889b0a4
a844c33192ef4caf745ed3540f9e16e59bbff870
describe
'377195' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGL' 'sip-files00072.jpg'
24de55d548dbea50be5edcd902e2a788
995a144fc3800ffaf6e46eeac217fb6751c929a1
describe
'106990' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGM' 'sip-files00072.QC.jpg'
77d597ef7c56a9400eb6525d10524789
23d8a4d9736d0667ecf8b338e5c2794aa9cb484f
describe
'537105' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGN' 'sip-files00072.jp2'
57762cf756f1bfc29cb6217b71af388b
84bb03825899ceac731fe740dc472ef64a5ed219
describe
'396037' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGO' 'sip-files00073.jpg'
36679d886291a3260ad752a7a70b4171
86368eeff539702a1e774d2b14a5802d648ed839
'2011-09-20T07:06:58-04:00'
describe
'112940' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGP' 'sip-files00073.QC.jpg'
0096c9388030a286f5a50c09852fa77d
090c90e04ea3fae1302b0d8d4569f4e271e63572
describe
'506614' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGQ' 'sip-files00073.jp2'
06fe556c7d11948b251dff7b6b422b86
46d3bb37aac0e555e8b394fffdcc76ebe6ca8449
describe
'386667' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGR' 'sip-files00074.jpg'
3b0216a217b21b34b1594f0a07d7f955
da686bfdf8e22a0a7cca93a4a9d9f01087f78a1a
describe
'108027' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGS' 'sip-files00074.QC.jpg'
3518300d71f07cfd543e2b17cdfc2150
93015a3fa8c632ad2c66f2b112f60e91d465585e
describe
'504608' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGT' 'sip-files00074.jp2'
f90eb0891b86d1c685cc39326f7e9ae9
de31f1feba01499425f24a171419335716d8489b
describe
'403721' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGU' 'sip-files00075.jpg'
efe44bc177f835bc92fee3528f1894cb
ca74dae529b08422e919ea84a8927343280766c6
describe
'114079' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGV' 'sip-files00075.QC.jpg'
d577be0410f48e3cb8df3d01a90ca249
1dc34e3734894487617bfc8ba9f46001cf574822
describe
'503555' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGW' 'sip-files00075.jp2'
509482ac3f51f988bba8c739f983a4bd
f98df58fca386cdbc76681303466aa7b7aafbc40
describe
'382018' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGX' 'sip-files00076.jpg'
2e5d103ae1d516f89b0e72c60eadcc92
361a055872e5e0916088d95e97db8e00f346623b
describe
'108014' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGY' 'sip-files00076.QC.jpg'
b7293e210450cd79c5c2050cf7ef4ff4
165dc09441941c578b281545185591da4341f925
describe
'537071' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALGZ' 'sip-files00076.jp2'
fb55723eb046c1607b284a105c46bf19
14e53e4172fa6f9dc2e8e7e31899968aeaa76516
describe
'248566' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHA' 'sip-files00077.jpg'
a540b51a8071cf51e5c22b46099fd375
5f8b452181bc22160f51ed400aee5c46f930a30b
describe
'69974' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHB' 'sip-files00077.QC.jpg'
e7a21ff0a6b4d870ec6ffc58663df721
b0ebcbbaeb4cf24d4fa2ed8804335f1f83e26a4c
describe
'503480' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHC' 'sip-files00077.jp2'
472872a87ac3699bbbf38bd7f029f5d6
b89f10fbafa3953f493b3c25c7851aedf0779745
describe
'389748' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHD' 'sip-files00078.jpg'
668face799aa4578959cf2d4a5c06069
9a53fbfab46c66635a467a4eb3f0aa07b9ff0154
describe
'110235' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHE' 'sip-files00078.QC.jpg'
4ecf742fce839a81016e7b5cf57f7fcc
c7f66288e188cc9ebc0f4dd4233746977259f7d7
describe
'533793' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHF' 'sip-files00078.jp2'
2679fa9091ea9371bdfa765596f20855
760b9f5796e388da755546b8660cc46763d85d27
describe
'396930' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHG' 'sip-files00079.jpg'
fe64cf2eadf165ef1013699a93a732a7
958b92e9514df4f3f7c25dc05481836ca2aabb78
describe
'112954' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHH' 'sip-files00079.QC.jpg'
4adedefc613c0493a808f7e2780f9019
736730a7aafbaea56f5ca82b8209368326f84eb5
describe
'505293' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHI' 'sip-files00079.jp2'
ac0ff605c6ebe3fead70346cbb1c37fa
7b49845c717cfd29657f66bfab9f5e9581697658
describe
'412087' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHJ' 'sip-files00080.jpg'
b5ba9ce3ad694dea6438d611e3a87d0b
9179076b5218fab4d8cf52872e8ebcdf74d8bb1c
describe
'117147' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHK' 'sip-files00080.QC.jpg'
ae15cdc1ce02d9bf7305f3f51fb75ea9
00e09905ea0479dd0104e5c929cbd469aed2e8b5
describe
'495718' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHL' 'sip-files00080.jp2'
05b04d0c285a9a48e67237cddca0c7b1
10afa6c1048e00349da0bcb31cebcbabda64c110
describe
'397281' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHM' 'sip-files00081.jpg'
7f5cde39dcfe31101b33f235dc572fbf
d723b218edca37950aa2832a996bd61f331dc984
describe
'111805' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHN' 'sip-files00081.QC.jpg'
4b9084c16dfb067c4bed1c78cebaf33b
aaee5f3bd2835a8abf3f86733079b56585b5823b
describe
'509272' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHO' 'sip-files00081.jp2'
98c085d193c121b338d4e122d88f84a5
1b6c42608e1007889ccb01cd5008cb119c4ab916
describe
'381364' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHP' 'sip-files00082.jpg'
3cca9f3187d9d2f38f3e8a538f06cfca
89394a151d383a93fc1d5219d831906347140199
describe
'108249' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHQ' 'sip-files00082.QC.jpg'
7817a77af6fbe806fb24ebd7174fd89a
4cd7e7dbaff68627a340f7ba19418564bc01ca3a
describe
'533808' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHR' 'sip-files00082.jp2'
3bc1986addf9139afa7ca3549f6534b7
d00b4d3c048c8e97aab8795e4a7d94bb3c2d4734
describe
'398546' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHS' 'sip-files00083.jpg'
938f753dd17de2d5bd0fa1795e48ba6f
cf135cf69ffbb3b52b21f821d6d06f832a1923e5
describe
'113047' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHT' 'sip-files00083.QC.jpg'
9e33a5cda6d361aacc8e9aa0faeece39
7be4065df405a650f6a83e71d1da9e61edb7e9dd
describe
'485164' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHU' 'sip-files00083.jp2'
6fb0ed1b911f9275349b5b53c3c0f623
0b6cfcd7ce485486665d5fd6829575e15538b9ff
describe
'422772' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHV' 'sip-files00084.jpg'
f8c50f52f0a331624b9795612a33ba93
b997e800c71488ac3f7d272f36d30674d49d92a7
describe
'122036' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHW' 'sip-files00084.QC.jpg'
7163cb4c44ad230d4a72fb908bf4c4de
7d903e99faad8353808034df5e191155d3ca3d1d
describe
'487867' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHX' 'sip-files00084.jp2'
b68565185c001898942cbedbea9b35ea
ef4534f18ba7458fc598f6c7f28df1f79b7e999c
describe
'436811' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHY' 'sip-files00085.jpg'
e0f5da971db1584b4e6335cb84c5ea5a
4ebd636520252958b65d70e0152aa08c3617552a
describe
'124560' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALHZ' 'sip-files00085.QC.jpg'
e1a066f789cea7590052d7dc11639f6a
b9909b678ef6cde1df5fbcc8e04b77d7094daeae
describe
'489608' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIA' 'sip-files00085.jp2'
18ebd216384f5c28db4c2d200a309b2d
4c60e8a6e9c7797613adf2603d845bec541004bb
describe
'434290' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIB' 'sip-files00086.jpg'
87491abfd4f48f095ea603d2d5e35d4b
c9746e1edb6e2e0842a9d7b0411f86ed4e166857
describe
'123480' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIC' 'sip-files00086.QC.jpg'
63fe54d5b4a837326173aa6ab9b9b275
98c45207e6dc713c945050395cf7e7a0c144eb33
describe
'488007' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALID' 'sip-files00086.jp2'
d7ef172569cc38d0d45c58d6d69769c4
04cca6983a83a535e4610900e20b142f04bfde1b
describe
'400328' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIE' 'sip-files00087.jpg'
f7f8802d861ff7afbf4deb6dad1eb769
faed874cfb544bb2f20a6130995607368ce220bb
describe
'112624' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIF' 'sip-files00087.QC.jpg'
485289f887fcbb27baef0950b466d466
217dcb03fb46dadc95711b8c755d6d33a3848c28
describe
'533807' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIG' 'sip-files00087.jp2'
6be6100429010322bb0208add3aec00d
ddb13680bded7b299dfbd6d7c0680f204cce246b
describe
'369485' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIH' 'sip-files00088.jpg'
fc7724934efbfb3a710ee82d3ef01d25
05cafcbb6cca00bd7e3b6e2bc4fc874010d7f093
'2011-09-20T07:06:29-04:00'
describe
'104060' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALII' 'sip-files00088.QC.jpg'
8017a565e82bb86cc98a5850a9b1e016
5bf474ef9254d955e80a0e35f121a6fb940c9db0
describe
'552362' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIJ' 'sip-files00088.jp2'
ca08141c83a052ea823d3d79c29fd6ba
205a7cbf7a1d4979999c7c64f281164f4e9ad7ee
describe
'396179' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIK' 'sip-files00089.jpg'
1587032610d80cf62e1b2e53df6b2301
8204a68cc41768ae4e7d9d8378d3c921bb2b4310
describe
'114419' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIL' 'sip-files00089.QC.jpg'
4a99b7d0ebf28b46b90f23a1985c988f
61350dd5271e9ba3d3a0c3b7527705983c64ea5b
describe
'487223' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIM' 'sip-files00089.jp2'
5be404f3c233c7a2f13470700045752b
62030f3abfa75a0008a5e749533466b4a429aeca
describe
'402825' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIN' 'sip-files00090.jpg'
c0d318a67f4549241644448d05de919b
bfc7594ef24fd664c91b0f99ce229e855a35ca73
describe
'115737' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIO' 'sip-files00090.QC.jpg'
6c304931e71f81f7b75da90df675e29f
4ea18f5b2ae439cba48cee49e76b64d5eeded06d
describe
'501671' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIP' 'sip-files00090.jp2'
e1636171c15d4f625c769adb66abf49b
39c22320bdd95495282b28934bfc1573e4be881e
describe
'400489' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIQ' 'sip-files00091.jpg'
6a243ebbe34bfd075915ee515dc67708
094e5dccec3a4508098d65961fcf1276b697abc7
describe
'114197' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIR' 'sip-files00091.QC.jpg'
3acf141c211b1d25379d5e3c6d10a0bb
f1c9593872ca06f08c8d0d89ca6e6acfb84ca406
describe
'496018' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIS' 'sip-files00091.jp2'
5245b1ec5f50480b13dd4d48909256dd
48c70d34f2a6e929d0cee84f6c1c5c4522c4f0fd
describe
'411144' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIT' 'sip-files00092.jpg'
b7bff2e4e3c9330f24ec6947eac71561
7866c428e807816d4eaf0efe528124667114c767
describe
'116318' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIU' 'sip-files00092.QC.jpg'
e8b28ca260bfc8588ca75ae6352dccc7
02f4884b16f9ac8f308b74d3ac8b6308926b2d1b
describe
'493303' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIV' 'sip-files00092.jp2'
cb75e1aa8a6e74e2a658749a47d787a0
08a84ccf912f38a3883514bbe4603a6c6a61625c
describe
'415119' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIW' 'sip-files00093.jpg'
f9f7976b9cf173bebe2a8f6b72123e74
759057a64daef5c3fcc2cf9dae928ff2b2d0aa15
describe
'118406' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIX' 'sip-files00093.QC.jpg'
85a0d6d4f877c4dfe2582d016c5e4dd6
516f4dc6099f750295f313a5638a06b3245e16d0
describe
'498796' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIY' 'sip-files00093.jp2'
f0340db811a5a3147230f09c3ed9ff24
c34a301a043ff3d24e0c91c6fc6dc37aa8dc7cec
describe
'425225' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALIZ' 'sip-files00094.jpg'
012b2035e3305f599da40b4afc68cf54
9ff9a79bd737663aaf0b1a7c1864d484d5d8b5f4
describe
'120244' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJA' 'sip-files00094.QC.jpg'
7ba95a4d14942bbdeb136e83a59ce055
4a70ac60fe1e580d2279f49f625a7cca1aec4a83
describe
'488250' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJB' 'sip-files00094.jp2'
c50b2f34add32690bb828b48095004b0
682ebf49190cead89f419fe8a50856160ce04036
describe
'398148' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJC' 'sip-files00095.jpg'
0e965e5a33703cdab651eb1e893cf0ef
adf75c2411b4f84a04024a327d2794d6ec80251c
describe
'110492' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJD' 'sip-files00095.QC.jpg'
8e0e957952be534fa388b788b320cec6
f9ff734165529b9cc8f164b714213ca3fd44aed1
describe
'492972' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJE' 'sip-files00095.jp2'
7218ed4adcfef6dced7fb1895a83272e
791683b56c44c1b61d20631c65737b1119831537
describe
'385160' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJF' 'sip-files00096.jpg'
ed3330036c3d3dd0940870ec307f1669
1f3c0e6fce4f6fb8e3ab9f5bcde523f68dab6b64
describe
'109945' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJG' 'sip-files00096.QC.jpg'
b38a79c14b3bc6e7f7010b6915738e54
13b009ea14a1cc9b92f879e27bbbe5e2da25a950
describe
'505589' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJH' 'sip-files00096.jp2'
bf616299957b2e74156b7d8742311056
e87bfa91b0c1819798314bf11a2415fdc056a682
describe
'396097' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJI' 'sip-files00097.jpg'
00b8872d0d73faa5b2dca7c4aca178e3
1703f5fb814af5124fddf36827dbddc792e4c06b
describe
'111756' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJJ' 'sip-files00097.QC.jpg'
60e5fe475fb71e8b5171848290c16ce8
3e5f57d0391aa37c2ba4509593f4df3c49669a16
describe
'535443' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJK' 'sip-files00097.jp2'
08e040b41ba4e088a7b96b810237cca1
7ba831c5df405d7f3236ae7c4d4e7d6bd107dcd4
describe
'402471' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJL' 'sip-files00098.jpg'
385d950f66596ad9fccb5db53e4bd707
da74a26b638237d47915a75139040496d8b4191b
describe
'115876' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJM' 'sip-files00098.QC.jpg'
edd0ccdbcc720c25d00609e79d09c5e9
b0a44d3753b52f56b13926dbfd56f84516b725c2
describe
'485958' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJN' 'sip-files00098.jp2'
0b5fdd41e7ce844431ad3160bd4ecc7c
7dac1375634ad260bd162806b29d5e4801fd086a
describe
'403195' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJO' 'sip-files00099.jpg'
830005b35e6c9b378a68717f8933c08f
5c0ce234c3bd12ebf656b0153debeb2920b10656
describe
'112262' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJP' 'sip-files00099.QC.jpg'
162896641a5c6ae8e73bd47b38b1638e
fbefc09a3a00e130c44c8420955f8bd178421c83
describe
'535449' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJQ' 'sip-files00099.jp2'
b211b2f177c027e8524a1bb9fbc2f895
eeeff13778338c3bd10e5493aedc7239ea39fc1e
describe
'264057' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJR' 'sip-files00100.jpg'
b6711ec49a7597cf14b0e88ee42dd8af
737434d33e97a1243f9acec409f12e9507a50f8f
describe
'73663' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJS' 'sip-files00100.QC.jpg'
9245e816fdb36da1ed4859317b0d55a8
126fa589dbee94614235d8d3e18420821e3063ff
describe
'480921' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJT' 'sip-files00100.jp2'
326bbe072507cc33e2918df7484a44b8
612492a6144c9dfbca2e7ad075ce43b086099b21
describe
'423505' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJU' 'sip-files00101.jpg'
f4d4540bdbe7490b8406971402a95203
428021603d5a6b10fe54ec5f71626eca79040f8f
describe
'120773' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJV' 'sip-files00101.QC.jpg'
755bbd1e8f29cdf3d15b5dcf72b1db04
a0f7f1eae34fd22aea4d337870421c1e09b3bc12
describe
'481508' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJW' 'sip-files00101.jp2'
fe74f9960a83e5dd42dca2db85a47cb1
cb580abcde95b074ef249f3c2d1a8a99fbd8efd5
describe
'345913' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJX' 'sip-files00102.jpg'
43691ca3aeaaeb1abe7fb478ae15cf2d
7f77933307be1ee2d72977f240b988566b857ce8
describe
'97766' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJY' 'sip-files00102.QC.jpg'
511bfcb8096b030904fd0cd107417fc4
64fe0384a444506a1c142269b604d71bd7244d58
describe
'510984' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALJZ' 'sip-files00102.jp2'
573b5c0a0e8c25630fe69413b05dcdaa
8dabe0f65c73483397706927a48301eefba95d25
describe
'394532' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKA' 'sip-files00103.jpg'
bb106116fbd8e8fa4c26974ceff48285
838962d5f1ea2f43babe1149fe08548d225d3f30
describe
'109986' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKB' 'sip-files00103.QC.jpg'
655802360eedb68b501b3d5ff977fcfe
d9eba0f154a3efd690ae3703c9cefc0ecc4886cc
describe
'107878' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKC' 'sip-files00104.QC.jpg'
254ee493f30ced0fc14bc1aa4c869ad4
24f6adeebe2bb5e3736a94f39f3a318e36993bf6
describe
'548158' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKD' 'sip-files00104.jp2'
789fd32c40c062f84ff9eeb6a0f5bf05
c122e88b49ba1ea21f2b798ebf943ed4a6e5fccc
describe
'396556' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKE' 'sip-files00105.jpg'
99b564eeed0a8f8445cd1634ac132d82
c3089fa88891dcaa5a0885c53c029ff1371758e4
describe
'114226' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKF' 'sip-files00105.QC.jpg'
30b0c02e1261c80e2a49579fb1e4b1ad
bfc8c2ddb797d3f2d2575682896a9a7389b7d780
describe
'499941' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKG' 'sip-files00105.jp2'
8065e8dc8390b3d5eb0c6706339a552d
aba29e39235668dd3d040326de5ea35290e552ea
describe
'425959' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKH' 'sip-files00106.jpg'
e2feb63d0ea226cc22e301004938e644
d1dc036afe0dc09ddba3fe1473c021a5a24fe4ad
describe
'120607' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKI' 'sip-files00106.QC.jpg'
b4067036e6c9ecac53136dfe36b92cfb
47f0308467b464b35aad273c65bb1573626984d3
describe
'490277' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKJ' 'sip-files00106.jp2'
e841652ba8b65c37d3e595e8d355597d
0d0dd04bd771b816ef893c4ee7d24fc32ad1eac7
describe
'356559' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKK' 'sip-files00107.jpg'
3a19ce6ce0b1b9f8ecb7541a25bc22bd
47a88826e6c02d14913c733eddcf707adcc25f7b
describe
'99903' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKL' 'sip-files00107.QC.jpg'
ba4941bfffbf5eef8fbd26de562f5155
d3f112dfaac19fd1d571032b1171cc03f8239652
describe
'503799' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKM' 'sip-files00107.jp2'
76ddeec070220931c2c35edddcdfadae
e72b48f4da64d72c26e063bd22ad5ec199f5143f
describe
'419114' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKN' 'sip-files00108.jpg'
7aa8772553ead01a16f4d38d0307daab
ceb42036d7605710ba19b9ffaa1268aa20bbb8f1
describe
'119310' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKO' 'sip-files00108.QC.jpg'
9e2add4c7132629e2a8b171650c88aa9
44500b40dd226be4d41b592c7c2f505ba673ae49
describe
'501174' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKP' 'sip-files00108.jp2'
5de4f4d17cd640fe5f201b8b7046c5ef
7f04ac54c6c67843e1ae48a96e684d4a053eb590
describe
'398019' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKQ' 'sip-files00109.jpg'
27394a6e846ad0999169f957189d62f0
4cb8da0dacdc36098ec44d89d088b138db750ad7
describe
'113266' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKR' 'sip-files00109.QC.jpg'
b94549b0b3af089f01d0192aa5d32b46
c9a59e2744bbfd77e761cff149b97c46b5cd67e6
describe
'505167' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKS' 'sip-files00109.jp2'
e816af4cda93ff0b0aded24972b58725
39de3089f2eb803f6cb711a7a04856d5f32d85cb
describe
'406945' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKT' 'sip-files00110.jpg'
21782afd2cf02063b60670440157fc6b
5345cd98ecc8859103a1f4fd61a6d449fdb23261
describe
'117045' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKU' 'sip-files00110.QC.jpg'
58127fb78f3ac3355dc710291c0840ad
c4482645a29cc32f19b1152be07b9f76771b820d
describe
'498657' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKV' 'sip-files00110.jp2'
d4f21f5bc4e13598b9aeee5c0152c5c2
d8964115c0df1e571ca99622df5e9e8a23142f9d
describe
'434284' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKW' 'sip-files00111.jpg'
47fcb007a713d0229052776998517b25
3fbd3f0fea17aa3afee1d1cb38d0103671757fba
describe
'122478' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKX' 'sip-files00111.QC.jpg'
07238c2ebb9b8eb8a7eb801ebc3cf360
5183f90113c876c793064338b4166c67e79746b6
describe
'503302' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKY' 'sip-files00111.jp2'
9bae08f68b1f14574494ae1f93c650b8
9659cbaea05a872fc887ae31d2440eaf5598b2c1
describe
'416469' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALKZ' 'sip-files00112.jpg'
888fd3493e16aa30e68c12f661d09b26
19cac7eb8845db4df3c48a829e6b6649c0424f09
describe
'117910' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLA' 'sip-files00112.QC.jpg'
e1206d1dfb8f82895cd352f0ec2fc46d
ea97fbc5ad766a536d207662d0e157e4f396fa02
describe
'496671' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLB' 'sip-files00112.jp2'
60915caf78ee1abe738cad43319c5093
bd58e6c98229b9d922f42fe8445a9ff45744ea7d
describe
'357873' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLC' 'sip-files00113.jpg'
ca797fe4080a123fb5f2f4caeb02d627
2b105a4a4814c83e688dd26f54212fa927dea717
describe
'97863' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLD' 'sip-files00113.QC.jpg'
ac2c7734c0a692334fa2030df3a65994
aec0449d3b554eabf4a9443c1605bc9ff9d43e7c
describe
'516963' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLE' 'sip-files00113.jp2'
1378d41fb7e824c9655423097a5971c7
ab833e416172d9b87c9f0d76b41e5833eae38c61
describe
'391230' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLF' 'sip-files00114.jpg'
d063aa1ff4cce73c76fba98a36acb5a4
44a7f9f8e22f088056e98c2b6c96e4e4f6b8495b
describe
'109192' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLG' 'sip-files00114.QC.jpg'
4a6ccc6ba5a1856a12e3ece0081c7766
422d67b465789993c29ba786e8f4b2295e3c2d53
describe
'492498' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLH' 'sip-files00114.jp2'
86f7f3ad6effbe66e8687eb4c11542cd
5f4b87f892fb682cf54b49dc96443ca170429c9f
describe
'394045' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLI' 'sip-files00115.jpg'
cb5d59ff9803da8092c75f1d4eafe2d6
2fa4866767841d546d007af7c63db24f14f5af9e
describe
'111553' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLJ' 'sip-files00115.QC.jpg'
caeef00a29dfa89b0d1a2510d0401040
bfa74ca36aacb1f475599d2d3d1936b9e8d034d2
describe
'514565' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLK' 'sip-files00115.jp2'
8157158dffa31b75191b11989f4dcf2b
b2c53121111344cd14075bcf21ce53ea484a6b01
describe
'392914' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLL' 'sip-files00116.jpg'
d3e4a8418a78a657bff5b290d55d5ca8
73364c1acd9e6124f5ccc62d719792a002f27686
describe
'111276' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLM' 'sip-files00116.QC.jpg'
8a35aef68794a7264321206af15b80dc
4b95bfb7f611d69f15c0ce9edce311a1be894959
describe
'512265' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLN' 'sip-files00116.jp2'
4a307cba4df0b87a4b18db784f492520
e24fdffd3e0f47b5db5518314d75a103d2544722
describe
'398772' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLO' 'sip-files00117.jpg'
4677299ef7a913be5ac7be71fe287b3e
77a4d8e287d92203d89a4f43925425d59850f8df
describe
'112987' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLP' 'sip-files00117.QC.jpg'
c033f4fec9c0e70d48f07384369c7545
7a0da11c7d1304c6def0f0e5db26ca1865d28f2d
describe
'509738' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLQ' 'sip-files00117.jp2'
aae1c867a681630560c197520bd5c6ac
982c0ad5709e626ae7431310252a177efb24ab88
describe
'386066' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLR' 'sip-files00118.jpg'
6acdc379312ee198ae671903c8134e0a
587115bca4ed623035d87bbb88acf127493f1161
describe
'109684' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLS' 'sip-files00118.QC.jpg'
e6849b83894a2fbddd9f697e1ee4bcb9
d71250d00535c3510f31b9c5571d1538b4e5c7c6
describe
'514444' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLT' 'sip-files00118.jp2'
a66ab1c7a160a9ad11539d803941a169
ff29d3c5115e85a8cc9dbb29967c3cb571ab685d
describe
'292754' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLU' 'sip-files00119.jpg'
4583d382b00e2a0e7918728366340788
495c723a0c910b603aeca1c2c3fbebe22eaaae57
describe
'78593' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLV' 'sip-files00119.QC.jpg'
4464d701ee42005ebe669dc983ceb7f4
da21284e284484f2ec622a06a453513dc4af1e90
describe
'510772' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLW' 'sip-files00119.jp2'
5b4970fb54c9f03cbb3f138712f1bc6a
ea1e69136386458c0b89e5944cdaf5ab689b1067
describe
'378076' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLX' 'sip-files00120.jpg'
f3e1ae8cf1d5f3bd067b8447d0f135da
d29ebf44e85ae9a284cb8e731082e594ee655540
describe
'104385' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLY' 'sip-files00120.QC.jpg'
417c01f2b20b0fa950ed2b483b61e96d
1dff6be68521282123b7b8a3203c553fbaef06e8
describe
'534874' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALLZ' 'sip-files00120.jp2'
99af6e3109ecc365aa4c68798e1e2094
5eaf3b7ad641176fb01fed3ad278aeb84af887f9
describe
'351067' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMA' 'sip-files00121.jpg'
4057c8bade5c18e6e207bb891f1e2e47
3a8ebdedad11ca5f90c4940abf12554e3b6a5a4c
describe
'96848' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMB' 'sip-files00121.QC.jpg'
88a38e67a3626decd4ee8f8c9554c30b
596004b31d20339f7222d7607b1b65f169e4f2a3
describe
'553352' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMC' 'sip-files00121.jp2'
769ac5afb9cdafd157a74e88962404c4
d9b832bfe1e9af45946b7ec20fbbb97cba988783
describe
'398747' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMD' 'sip-files00122.jpg'
3338f92dcaf94956911ddb2ece55ad62
ebce20c093e0ce5158db5466c8e356d430a1dc09
describe
'113108' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALME' 'sip-files00122.QC.jpg'
ea45ae8113025b764740cac96cbf0cdc
1a1cfb5ccefd5e735db5fa0eac5ecbfd10edccb4
describe
'502208' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMF' 'sip-files00122.jp2'
9c04057daa3a083d676d8b5f04a50d33
3a3613104534b8882bd3d6f6422d6f7398f9639a
describe
'253528' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMG' 'sip-files00123.jpg'
0bfefed638e76b49fb1f34fba16576f7
21bc5649648acb9341c7bd68d81cfdf269226828
describe
'69540' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMH' 'sip-files00123.QC.jpg'
02fd527e6542078ddf6765cd417e304e
52578841eb4c466152bce1596e45515c8e52e9c2
describe
'515556' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMI' 'sip-files00123.jp2'
68a544caf44ce398ea194bd4232b0f3c
5d81faf4b661f5eb2667d390fe78dc19613159ac
describe
'428200' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMJ' 'sip-files00124.jpg'
ed45d6a413068e7b2eb2038d67a583e8
881b2c8cb834fb4276377152ffbf0c51107e561e
describe
'122187' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMK' 'sip-files00124.QC.jpg'
50b461999aa188a6bd60fa085b8478d5
d91504a0354a5eef3cda509ea8010efb45714ea0
describe
'490503' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALML' 'sip-files00124.jp2'
2a5ff9996d4b8f518b98c246f33197d7
0101955e61832bc9f61c16aeac81a0955952eaa4
describe
'424565' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMM' 'sip-files00125.jpg'
3f211da9e100c9b7296f7dfa163b3f16
425d823f6081e7bec2d4a96062403c23b9788955
describe
'121143' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMN' 'sip-files00125.QC.jpg'
aece0ab5eb3a127ae9ff304848cb5ab7
0bf187a8e98ac3a7bd0dde604bf9c1b18aa2789b
describe
'492512' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMO' 'sip-files00125.jp2'
9d4f5bf2de0310dfed7ae1c187c97758
bbd62cb5f06639369867440b2fd06861ef63dd03
describe
'432794' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMP' 'sip-files00126.jpg'
88a44a3cdcce2772e03d7fdc51f6fbef
2caf1fa374121ad3894bf90b4b1a1a1ed6c6ede6
describe
'124762' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMQ' 'sip-files00126.QC.jpg'
e6800b6f5fbf1e8f0d5ef9e77229c959
a55acb93a57588281ec12541cae2cdc8b359e8f7
describe
'482806' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMR' 'sip-files00126.jp2'
1c177e5169aadbdf3df9cdc20a3c417c
2d6e6c5898b28a1295af691b39241a4a797ce18f
describe
'409091' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMS' 'sip-files00127.jpg'
5e78acc29ccc6e9bb031ed0ce2911106
b593ee0bf39b1606f52ef96fca0aab4189df5ad1
describe
'117793' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMT' 'sip-files00127.QC.jpg'
b62146e1d9eb0654be7e329db8df2632
9182aaaa94a9e7ff209824590372aa36b67460fe
describe
'488785' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMU' 'sip-files00127.jp2'
553e7e4362f1be51d19b7ff483d74914
e15c242bd483a19d4245e42ec95dd4e70402846a
describe
'428165' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMV' 'sip-files00128.jpg'
be774f65def4f94702ece2bbc2039cad
a087b75228697002763c93c9b9c3132dc1092d1f
describe
'123495' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMW' 'sip-files00128.QC.jpg'
0101148db8756aafed2c1e264fd2a72f
e5626c843f87972a323a90caf7d8533b7651be98
describe
'479120' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMX' 'sip-files00128.jp2'
ec23df61d29e4a4b4ae1c0af338842ef
4198c463921b85c3847dcf042d7625f64a92bf77
describe
'336367' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMY' 'sip-files00129.jpg'
106b7a31d28d29c93fde579efec0bd0f
a385edf0b0b4f86fb0e5b8d35c934fdb23c3f58c
describe
'93488' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALMZ' 'sip-files00129.QC.jpg'
f2879f79164ed491bbe6684054f9d096
8bf90c95727cd3cd28f9fdb42695f49126a6bd9d
describe
'531633' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNA' 'sip-files00129.jp2'
21b1531a5de85b535b070ec69420c294
6b2443ed00d359b5d59eb0b44ef20b58fe7f6997
describe
'428233' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNB' 'sip-files00130.jpg'
ae25ec715be8912f031905288f9970f0
34a521953b54b94b48a5723944a2b1f426e155d8
describe
'119580' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNC' 'sip-files00130.QC.jpg'
5f502988746849f6c9ce8aeeec24b120
10d045f8d1c5f42b6155b61c0ff378ab883bc423
describe
'483347' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALND' 'sip-files00130.jp2'
9bd25261b705d58b23b2b4c04c403ffb
c42fd0ee85d0ac1fa867fb1cf28508017aa4a325
describe
'377378' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNE' 'sip-files00131.jpg'
c8a99afe70a18a577c77be8acca1d489
dbc020fc39268922005b06a34ca8095593e62f28
describe
'107376' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNF' 'sip-files00131.QC.jpg'
b5454179819d4b8e301efbc4ef5e964b
216db4ffb6045ec3a4099644805959ed5acca365
describe
'531666' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNG' 'sip-files00131.jp2'
792068dd517c6144a99954ce8ab3482d
6211944c0657535208cf7b352a2f739b1a32827b
describe
'418977' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNH' 'sip-files00132.jpg'
4099420806cb9eaacfccbfb33f31dc14
d61c75f668c162f028245294367302d0b131236d
describe
'121396' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNI' 'sip-files00132.QC.jpg'
639a31e9133b6f0f234626921bead395
b85060b400051aa75766d1fc8c2a604bfb3beecc
describe
'483873' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNJ' 'sip-files00132.jp2'
30f1781dc75c168537410f292745e497
446e13192e00bcd2e560158cb2853353572bb99b
describe
'390164' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNK' 'sip-files00133.jpg'
f45a9e4886a7c3d1f22579d4e159ccef
fb381e41b4cd40ccaddf5c78829309ce07ee1f62
describe
'108702' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNL' 'sip-files00133.QC.jpg'
4e7a33a9da7f9825f6974146da20aac2
b370d57361f5c151713c4d774c5c37ec26fad715
describe
'543342' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNM' 'sip-files00133.jp2'
59ceebfdbf0e77dbd79c4e661d2f4eeb
4e01e83cdeb3ed2a22594683126fcd3e9e97a101
describe
'404878' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNN' 'sip-files00134.jpg'
2ea18a026217f86a9d4cfec872da9218
d3ebf4e16d588754842d674c230f995a33a12531
describe
'113941' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNO' 'sip-files00134.QC.jpg'
9c6c22e045638f1cefbb6248c06931a9
1762736b21890644b779915ec6f92499ceb5f97a
describe
'520833' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNP' 'sip-files00134.jp2'
668e4653de86635940a81c1b7c0c838f
01c67302ec686178305f1311c5b74e3b2f602fa2
describe
'373859' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNQ' 'sip-files00135.jpg'
11c0cb06b2c72b320261076fdb334fc9
419bb31579a8b84625a25a293fcff0dee48ccb45
describe
'105950' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNR' 'sip-files00135.QC.jpg'
f8c314f7523a1d95019cf4de0157d67c
f6f511b121b5b30d6a889d921745f32bd795b8d9
describe
'543380' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNS' 'sip-files00135.jp2'
cc507a9bc26f06fec085e0cc601ed148
6881f8685b176410307dee5fd53036760f7ff4a5
describe
'387197' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNT' 'sip-files00136.jpg'
e613db9fd9f8aabff0b5453676dac7e3
f3c6c3307ecdd0b9af5bbfa41bef605c2c48b427
describe
'107856' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNU' 'sip-files00136.QC.jpg'
4ac4478dd67b2d2a96713075b733f3a6
678bd3a21cbf4549dde0c6ff9080a129a824ddb1
describe
'520479' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNV' 'sip-files00136.jp2'
a624efcb8e16cadaec16936a8f56a2f1
2ad16cb1cdc86688ae75d016d9c0e759c219a426
describe
'399754' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNW' 'sip-files00137.jpg'
c2225b356f38b2df7082fe04fe0a0ffb
cd83d8aeff83f63e8e048f576ac23995af5ef6a0
describe
'113067' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNX' 'sip-files00137.QC.jpg'
248e72b7f3ffe5d0878bd31686605156
d124771ae9e9c1a7cce4d06cf634cc683e4b5167
describe
'512564' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNY' 'sip-files00137.jp2'
9c6ead2952368a87802b35feddd2cc39
271d9e439b3ff8e2e49bfe466463c3588abe027f
describe
'388951' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALNZ' 'sip-files00138.jpg'
43d5ae9626a2173e959a90506eee3ae1
a7027fae30f7208f43b419496a6d0cbc35d12ff4
describe
'110357' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOA' 'sip-files00138.QC.jpg'
12fd7edd05c968abfffeb972f3b36c04
da4be9dbdd6f964226db044b5e220f434ce6153d
describe
'512557' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOB' 'sip-files00138.jp2'
dab7b054c936ce8d5d20f6390f1c9f7f
cfd958567b30ab5517073c166c2ec9403721b4e5
describe
'422882' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOC' 'sip-files00139.jpg'
b20308058a00a39953d48b2625e95a40
b92523923e01fabf89786c12122af89ee4aa3359
describe
'119327' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOD' 'sip-files00139.QC.jpg'
50cb1daa1d42c4bd06c85a489d8ee920
af1cbd77a80e327d7dd6d8d8342868814dad5478
describe
'506744' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOE' 'sip-files00139.jp2'
3e9591f204c1bf99d36f7260caff210f
836af601e7160c92decfe4861b313324610c9ade
describe
'407826' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOF' 'sip-files00140.jpg'
a07823e5d06a53ee3ac6ad7edbcfcdb6
7197734b4597c1b99aa0a948871ad61baaf9caeb
describe
'114876' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOG' 'sip-files00140.QC.jpg'
e4b88472d8ea2e81ad21e0949104595a
aee317f457713f69b3fe8033ce9107278a0b19d9
describe
'511635' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOH' 'sip-files00140.jp2'
c9342f419dcbf9abe5538f16646dd22f
90ce0f9af7ba85fef4ce5b045d976e9ba6360053
describe
'423966' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOI' 'sip-files00141.jpg'
1179a8887f33d2e710fe721ccb54cfda
e1896a9355c9ffb87535eb422ab648f6e8215b68
describe
'119449' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOJ' 'sip-files00141.QC.jpg'
2832a16023a8f7399a22129545864080
47566ecb9b00420f2b6cc211b856ed80a1dfeac8
describe
'509940' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOK' 'sip-files00141.jp2'
09a9101b00ffa44d1da9556bf6728642
ab62d4625704c80725dc9f1373b2d1c546769a0c
describe
'412065' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOL' 'sip-files00142.jpg'
ffaf4d094b9ba64b54fb3c2145f80863
8eefa8abf6bfa767bd45130f2c58ec40f0dbaed1
describe
'115243' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOM' 'sip-files00142.QC.jpg'
5b081938a6f8e8e9628e3ed7513eebde
3d660dd12e548396708c4afe083f5e158d5b2f55
describe
'512407' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALON' 'sip-files00142.jp2'
4cb591f905461c574d2d5f2c8c2f9768
32eb79d833cca5401155cc57cebf332f8c7230d9
describe
'391009' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOO' 'sip-files00143.jpg'
d9b251762c9167826ec45ebdf0ee2a4c
70bfe95205bd23ce5495d33f7083cb4f7d99dc2d
describe
'112174' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOP' 'sip-files00143.QC.jpg'
66712de8140efd03873286efb45c2c32
80064a4331a94ad3f2175ea26f3db7ccbceb3ed9
describe
'512360' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOQ' 'sip-files00143.jp2'
228f0c54686d3d80a7c0f6c5c57157eb
e0b6c3ae17f5fe277e6af847c181cb8308ad65c0
describe
'381838' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOR' 'sip-files00144.jpg'
45b54ed7aa6b659dff27528e043268cb
4f608203ac05333cdf90d95256208799bcb75445
describe
'108022' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOS' 'sip-files00144.QC.jpg'
9b62677f0735b99bb627a440381e1008
b640f0cb271e963d74d0dfc68ca10dc71cd9146d
describe
'516814' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOT' 'sip-files00144.jp2'
e5d4b02ee5a500c43ab8e3d772286a43
3cd50385a46b9eaded8de31b461c7f1225e10253
describe
'388327' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOU' 'sip-files00145.jpg'
42000f2c0fd5e35810b5ddc9fb4026e8
b0722795ba5d665a4e53f0490896328fcf91148b
describe
'107932' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOV' 'sip-files00145.QC.jpg'
d0926bd3ffdfb05cf265267802e4bbec
49f67925649b97cc3f41a7e9c85de5c8250893af
describe
'519943' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOW' 'sip-files00145.jp2'
f68b7e7265039cb815789dd50b7ce464
3cce7fd65b902a8d069ee47aaba932e916fbf803
describe
'252398' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOX' 'sip-files00146.jpg'
f351367cc6d7367809cdbceb52aa3823
7573858b7d36df9bd8250749ffaa4aab362c22e2
describe
'70848' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOY' 'sip-files00146.QC.jpg'
ea420f6e4bf010016bb09b6f90713b4f
692295839a6c6103b3fe54dcd498b0297a5e119f
describe
'514758' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALOZ' 'sip-files00146.jp2'
29d1eaae35528db89ed697afca8853b3
884c0fa0c6b08d595d96917f1eeb396f18ae3723
describe
'431281' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPA' 'sip-files00147.jpg'
88e06d15735207599cbadedff7fd055b
a39cd76a9f34cebcd3071889e348ef59614ecc38
describe
'121038' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPB' 'sip-files00147.QC.jpg'
13dccc92241fbdbca01105d4ff84ce28
4c335d548939af531990190e8ab7194d1b53e7af
describe
'501473' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPC' 'sip-files00147.jp2'
dad8c67f3507c8e318f2a7937a358b53
2aa39ea2a8d80592eaca02c77e7b328773a37289
describe
'416805' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPD' 'sip-files00148.jpg'
583f6c2b950c945788b16ba67dc4a821
0e7f841166254c09550d35344bdf83e48cf620cd
describe
'118388' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPE' 'sip-files00148.QC.jpg'
136f482353a20fdcafefa2060d703137
ff710441a109fee7134e7ab728ac57d817afc7c6
describe
'511729' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPF' 'sip-files00148.jp2'
44e4f6594f4507821d535e43b2b1bbcd
83c038b3e29fbec8fa2c63460c0464b45db890ea
describe
'412522' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPG' 'sip-files00149.jpg'
20061e4e2e2b7c13802da05cc61bad72
f71529bcecc8e5ed672d3bf524b9282ed95dc21c
describe
'116118' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPH' 'sip-files00149.QC.jpg'
6c3cb0508a6c130c67d46caa9da2f52c
10611b879c212ccb1ef86f63cb040c32b496aa10
describe
'519209' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPI' 'sip-files00149.jp2'
495be824f09750e622dd5fa6fc569de3
cf8fff4e3ea7821603e05e348d0d2cf0a2b024f1
describe
'406055' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPJ' 'sip-files00150.jpg'
f717e4a263645e94f99dafef86c5c7a4
8743a984c95833fb8b81c299c2283f4f781c84f7
describe
'115156' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPK' 'sip-files00150.QC.jpg'
d8d67e07daf0af2fc2574c283925a9c7
b2a2c10c39ee68cc388f66bdbf96fd22bf8b7cec
describe
'511988' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPL' 'sip-files00150.jp2'
46635c2d1401338ab018f93dc044d9c3
0017bd7ca94b2fa46f3ba5adfe19ce2338be3fb6
describe
'396788' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPM' 'sip-files00151.jpg'
44818e0f292f46675a6f6c232b1c9e12
b6582aa8dabe640a1445ffffd05093c7b62c6a38
describe
'111936' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPN' 'sip-files00151.QC.jpg'
69b9ce4205382e1f9fff1a9d3a86f3cd
fb4fe0c22b707bc70f3d2db4d2ee443eeeae7e16
describe
'513431' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPO' 'sip-files00151.jp2'
8b89bb68190ec43af62d8d1fe8aa9d2a
ac16f009881c786406702dafc658586f7294c11b
describe
'387681' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPP' 'sip-files00152.jpg'
3310da259a06093e9897051ce0e15ab3
8747764591d6d825cfd501012f0eef45a87f173e
describe
'110479' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPQ' 'sip-files00152.QC.jpg'
4c046959124bcf0c88f72510a379b996
8b3f4b5f22d23158548aa5067ccec90f61eb2c82
describe
'519761' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPR' 'sip-files00152.jp2'
8a64a5dabc5d031ad357feb70e123bda
88d957703717543b82f8b68a7afbdc287446b91b
describe
'324501' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPS' 'sip-files00153.jpg'
d5642a22511c884e4fa6988097291efd
a855c9a5a157ff1c2453e6345a7f4078b7073952
describe
'90253' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPT' 'sip-files00153.QC.jpg'
e0fdae94463faa1654865fb74b20bf53
0afc7a1c4573db049eb04502fcbe884fbdbb3809
describe
'510903' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPU' 'sip-files00153.jp2'
9f09bfb431ed6de28c60a4a175ede40e
2e365557ebda18194e3a6a82e0bcfcd510f15aac
describe
'304021' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPV' 'sip-files00157.jpg'
0ae1052ce911f22d020535056f14b231
8d896e8ca9281927fc1bb73fea949ea43ca010b6
describe
'72670' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPW' 'sip-files00157.QC.jpg'
40f524e87c0db87190215f90b7da73f7
834ebd35db6c7efe538b8f29c352d259f844f1d2
describe
'616380' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPX' 'sip-files00157.jp2'
dc7a7d392cc746d206de605c97128f80
dfc7160ba14772128cda5b05c5ab44e644efb7f4
describe
'423155' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPY' 'sip-files00158.jpg'
05597cdb2d713157f79430fc9319abfd
f04a044f1d788617ba300b87902f76ab2ee92f11
describe
'96342' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALPZ' 'sip-files00158.QC.jpg'
5cd0cca81b084757ef847eba7dfb5749
24d1c26d83641bb5740fc9a9360a6811d9efc546
describe
'620195' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQA' 'sip-files00158.jp2'
39f8a1edf0b4ca794eb4ecff798c883f
ea3613193a1a2c43fddd4a32fc02825c3d94f56b
describe
'56' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQB' 'sip-filesprocessing.instr'
f085efa4391ffe077723c3bb464d23bf
9a0626df4099df6f9c401d0f17ad91040f7f7601
describe
'4257948' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQC' 'sip-files00003.tif'
f636081b301fca425990959615a25887
074f987100dd4537e89782b878101b7a4b0facc9
describe
'4257956' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQD' 'sip-files00005.tif'
16f30d9b57f705bd0e5e8d84edb66fae
4d720454ab85d7e2c635cc0327f35a49714027e3
describe
'325552' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQE' 'sip-files00001.jpg'
38e710caaeefac53459ba7aa96115d5a
8c984b6105cf7961f573a5a16bf2d9f6d62c00c0
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'95079' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQF' 'sip-files00001.QC.jpg'
1cacb801dae019e6c2515a5451dc5967
4edc9fc4784a4960586edc5f8d2bbf4832b8bdeb
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'40274' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQG' 'sip-files00001thm.jpg'
a399766ec916260e738af7f5ee9761aa
ea6ce9aee1862947b9595ba1de2e928c310cfb4d
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'615547' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQH' 'sip-files00001.jp2'
741b4a03db2bf1f3d4004445f6e181ab
90c36c5ed3106f59dc515a51ca004fe9db5ce5b7
describe
'18131' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQI' 'sip-files00003.jpg'
4cb1583d0c3813c4f5f18f2fe7d401a2
85bb9015f1c1f870c822740c8905731654383bf2
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'12460' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQJ' 'sip-files00003.QC.jpg'
879f0f752bae395b55a0b5443268d88a
33aaa73da6277a2043a66b2db9af275e66c55e03
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'10924' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQK' 'sip-files00003thm.jpg'
4b0d9be6c8adc60762e7ee1ed705cd11
b799d29067ea4411922050aefcfaebb5d6666233
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQL' 'sip-files00003.jp2'
607c47f47a41ead4834d7b124f1bfcb6
6d1f9e0c00ecf6e523a93772f018a430b1fa86a9
describe
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQM' 'sip-files00005.jpg'
a2afda66aa59c9f87955e50788d29a8d
596fba0814fb6735a65a74325e502db6ba9a8622
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'12475' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQN' 'sip-files00005.QC.jpg'
4734c2bcbb51e07a2d9f9d45198957e1
c952ed8359ec1ff17356daf43e6ea47159c3aca6
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQO' 'sip-files00005thm.jpg'
b56606f2ff61c9af871a840ea7089a14
dca915c58cf4c7e70f58414b228e1e52f0c4c530
describe
Value offset not word-aligned: 141
Value offset not word-aligned
Value offset not word-aligned
'1114' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQP' 'sip-files00001.pro'
6ec712846d3789ec396e3837b3001e8c
a26fac388203d4701c7604af3ed4fcb7d8b08170
describe
'109' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQQ' 'sip-files00001.txt'
8a4852c63c20a2a1b3511ec805636e2d
02f1c3543fbac6cc9874cc9644f5319633c9d7cf
describe
'262358' 'info:fdaE20080728_AAABDXfileF20080730_AAALQR' 'sip-filesUF00028343_00001.mets'
859dff7be2a2fc5b74da2d6aba40db12
31ab1a321de8a478e100d09c8f3d6df3829d5103
describe
TargetNamespace.1: Expecting namespace 'http://www.uflib.ufl.edu/digital/metadata/ufdc2/', but the target namespace of the schema document is 'http://digital.uflib.ufl.edu/metadata/ufdc2/'.
'2013-12-16T23:16:07-05:00' 'mixed'
xml resolution
http://www.uflib.ufl.edu/digital/metadata/ufdc2/ufdc2.xsdhttp://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema
BROKEN_LINK http://www.uflib.ufl.edu/digital/metadata/ufdc2/ufdc2.xsd
http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema
The element type "div" must be terminated by the matching end-tag "