Of course, Godfrey Fairfax is not my real name; it is just the name I take
as a writer, because people prefer that books should be written by a man
rather than by a woman. I am really Miss Redstone. Why I called you in was
to ask if you would be so very kind as to sit down and have some cake and
milk while I read you my last story--quite a short one--and you can tell me
what you think of it. There are so few children that I know here, and it
makes such a difference to get some real criticism. Do you mind?"
They all said they didn't mind at all, and after the cake and milk had been
brought in by the little servant, Godfrey Fairfax cleared her throat and
began.
"It is a story," she said, "of Roundheads and Cavaliers--a very suitable
story to write here, so close to the battlefields of Tewkesbury and Marston
Moor. It is called 'Barbara's Fugitive.' Now listen, my dears."
BARBARA S FUGITIVE
On a bright June morning, early in the Protectorate, Colonel Myddelton,
followed by a groom, rode through the gates of the old Hall and turned his
horse's head towards London. At the bend in the road, halfway up Sheringham
Hill, he stopped a moment and waved his hand in the direction of the house.
A white handkerchief fluttered at an upper window in reply.
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