father’s shoulder to the great hall, he was set in the midst of the squires and dames,—more particularly the dames, since the squires for the most part were that day following their lord over Exmoor in pursuit of the wild red deer.

They saw in him a pretty enough plaything; found, for a time at least, greater novelty in his solemn silences and rare smiles than in his father’s jests. The Lady Clare de Belisle entering with her own child, a girl babe of two summers, touched the tiny jester’s cheek with one jewelled finger, commended him for a bonny boy. The two children gazed at each other solemn-eyed, till Isabel, the girl, putting forth her hand was for taking the young jester’s bauble from him. Thereat Peregrine clutched it jealously to his breast, having no mind to part with his toy.

“I want,” said Isabel, one fat finger pointed towards the treasure clutched by the scowling boy. That was the way with Isabel in childhood as in later years, knowing what she desired she hesitated not to demand it, and obtain it by whatever means came best to hand.

It is not becoming that the son of a Jester should deny the desire of his Lady’s daughter. Nichol, the dames, my Lady even, were prepared for insistence, a ruthless seizing of the treasure from the baby grasp; when suddenly and without compulsion, the child’s mien changed. Of his own accord he tendered the bauble to Isabel.

She took it, smiling. Even babes can be gracious when their wish is granted. For a moment she held it examining it with curiosity, a curiosity soon satiated, since after a brief space she held it in a listless hand, tendered it again.

“I don’t like it.”

Peregrine backed away from her. Perhaps—in fact I am sure—there was reproach in his blue eyes. So for a moment they stood. Then Isabel cast the bauble upon the ground. And herein some may read an omen. The squires and dames laughed; my Lady murmured a gentle word of chiding; Nichol picked up the bauble; but Peregrine still looked at Isabel.

This, then, was Peregrine’s introduction to that society wherein later he was to wear the cap and bells as no mere pastime but in very truth. Nor was it at this time his last appearance therein. For the first few years of his life he played, in a manner, the rôle of zany to his father, gaining thereby much favour. Candour, a virtue allowed both children and fools, was a marked characteristic of Peregrine’s. If at moments the recipients of his frank speeches felt a trifle of 

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