At the end of the village, a short way down a bye lane,



TUE POTTtETON LEGACY. 3

along which was such small traffic that the road was covered
with grass, stood The Grange. A long time ago, out of the
memory of everybody, aiid now only known by a damp, half-
legible tablet in the church, a good old Cavalier family had
lived there, whose fortunes it betokened as it became dila-
pidated or restored ; but hardly compensated, by the revelry
that reigned about it at the Restoration, for the sad, harrowing
days and Eights of suspense and terror that had followed on
the ligbte> jf Naseby and Worcester. But the land around
it had been bought, and juggled away, and encroached on,
from some uncertainty in the title — bit by bit — until scarcely
any was left. Then the house stood for years untenanted,
and was, of course, haunted. Boys knocked at the door and
rang the rusty court-yard bell for amusement, paying ima-
ginary visits to the phantom owners whenever they passed —
only in the broad daylight, though — until the knocker and
bell were both carried away. Next, the same boys broke the
windows, which was a fine excitement at a small risk; and
then the birds and bats got in and lived all about. But at
length the parish put the old building somewhat in order,
and parcelled it into a number of small tenements — half of
which were made into almshouses, and the others let to the
poorer villagers; the man at " the shop" renting the hall as
& warehouse. AVhat had been the terrace was divided into
slips of garden; the chimneys that had tumbled down through
the roof into the lofts were all set up again; the owls were
driven out, and the tiles replaced; and soon creepers hung to
the walls, up to the very eaves. And far worse objects
might have been looked at than the scarlet runners which
swung their bright blossoms from the blackened timbers and
rusty bits of iron, wherever they could contrive to twist
themselves round.
