Then there was the river to bathe in; there were the
hills and valleys to roam over, and the wold and woodland, with their
wealth of nuts and birds'-nests and what not of boyhood's treasures.
Once he gained a triumph that for many a day was very sweet under the
tongue of his memory. As was said before, he had been three times to the
market-town at fair-time, and upon the last of these occasions he had
fought a bout of quarterstaff with a young fellow of twenty, and had
been the conqueror. He was then only a little over fourteen years old.
Old Diccon, who had gone with him to the fair, had met some cronies of
his own, with whom he had sat gossiping in the ale-booth, leaving Myles
for the nonce to shift for himself. By-and-by the old man had noticed
a crowd gathered at one part of the fair-ground, and, snuffing a fight,
had gone running, ale-pot in hand. Then, peering over the shoulders of
the crowd, he had seen his young master, stripped to the waist, fighting
like a gladiator with a fellow a head taller than himself. Diccon was
about to force his way through the crowd and drag them asunder, but a
second look had showed his practised eye that Myles was not only holding
his own, but was in the way of winning the victory. So he had stood with
the others looking on, withholding himself from any interference and
whatever upbraiding might be necessary until the fight had been brought
to a triumphant close.
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