CHAPTER I

In the far-off days when Henry VII was king of England, there lived in a remote Yorkshire village an ancient gentleman, whose sole worldly wealth was a humble dwelling, a croft of land and orchard garden, a chair or two whereon to sit, a bed whereon to lie, a table to eat at, a shelf of old books, and enough money to keep himself in comfort. Also, ever since he had come into that village—which was a little time after the great battle of Bosworth—he had kept, first at his knee and later at his elbow, a handsome lad …