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Evelyn Everett-Green was a 20th century American novelist whose most famous works are kids books. She also wrote historical romances and other historical fiction.

Evelyn Everett-Green was a 20th century American novelist whose most famous works are kids books. She also wrote historical romances and other historical fiction.

"Where is Miss Esther, Genefer?" "I think she\'s at the linen-press, marm, putting away the things from the wash." "Tell her to come to me when she has done that. I want to speak to her." "Yes, marm, I will. Can I do anything else for you?" "No, thank you. I have all I want. But send Miss Esther to me quickly."

"The chance resemblance of Prince Edward of Wales, son of Margaret of Anjou and Henry VI,, to the son of a Staffordshire knight, leads to a case of mistaken identity, and causes Paul Stukely to substitute himself for the heir-apparent to the English throne. On this incident of England\'s history is founded a story which deals with events that succeed the restoration of Henry VI., and introduces the struggle of the House of York and Lancaster with the succession of Edward IV." -Publishers Weekly "An interesting story of hairbreadth escapes and effusive loyalty in the midst of the rapine and treason which stalked through the land about 1470. The book ends with the foul murder of the young Lancastrian prince after the battle of Tewkesbury....Mrs. Green\'s careful study of the turbulent period in which she places her characters is much to be commended." -The Academy "Miss Everett-Green\'s little books are, we think, of a valuable kind...utilizing some of the dramatic incidents in English history as the thread whereon to hang an avowedly fictitious story...and may direct the young reader\'s attention in a pleasant way to those fields of more serious reading which, rightly entered upon, are of all others the most interesting to intelligent children. \'In the Wars of the Roses,\' which culminates in the tragedy of Tewkesbury, tells of a certain Paul Stukely, who becomes the follower and companion of the ill-starred Prince Edward of Lancaster. There are plenty of adventures with robbers in Epping Forest and other places...There is a good deal of verisimilitude in the descriptions of the young chiefs of Dynesvor and their surroundings, and boys will have their preferences between the two pairs of brothers, the fiercer Llewelyn and Howel, and the more cultured and modern Wendot and Griffeth." -The Athenaeum "A stirring Essex story by a popular historical writer. The scene is chiefly laid in the neighbourhood of Much Witham and Black Notley." -The East Anglian "Miss Everett-Green has laid the scenes of this story in the closing years of Henry VI\'s reign. The hero is for time the companion of the unfortunate Prince Edward....Well written and distinctly realistic. The life in Epping Forest at the old farm-house is particularly good, and the characters of the Devenish family are very lifelike. There is adventure, and fighting too, and we have Twekesbury and the murder of Prince Edward, though the author has not expanded history, but simply related the facts. It is history which cannot be remolded much, and naturally forbids a happy ending....Miss Everett-Green achieves a very fair success." -The Spectator Contents Prologue. Chapter 1: A Brush With The Robbers. Chapter 2: A Hospitable Shelter. Chapter 3: A Strange Encounter. Chapter 4: Paul\'s Kinsman. Chapter 5: In Peril. Chapter 6: In The Hands Of The Robbers. Chapter 7: The Protection Of The Protected. Chapter 8: The Rally Of The Red Rose. Chapter 9: The Tragedy Of Tewkesbury. Chapter 10: The Prince Avenged. Notes

Chapter I: A Mysterious Visitor. The great house at Chad was wrapped in sleep. The brilliant beams of a June moon illuminated the fine pile of gray masonry with a strong white light. Every castellated turret and twisted chimney stood out in bold relief from the heavy background of the pine wood behind, and the great courtyard lay white and still, lined by a dark rim of ebon shadow. Chad, without being exactly a baronial hall of the first magnitude, was nevertheless a very fine old house. It had been somewhat shorn of its pristine glories during the Wars of the Roses. One out of its original two quadrangles had then been laid in ruins, and had never been rebuilt. But the old inner quadrangle still remained standing, and made an ample and commodious dwelling house for the family of the Chadgroves who inhabited it; whilst the ground which had once been occupied by the larger outer quadrangle, with its fortifications and battlements, was now laid out in terraces and garden walks, which made a pleasant addition to the family residence. The seventh Henry was on the throne. The battle of Bosworth Field had put an end to the long-drawn strife betwixt the houses of York and Lancaster. The exhausted country was beginning to look forward to a long period of prosperity and peace; and the household at Chad was one of the many that were rejoicing in the change which had come upon the public outlook, and was making the most of the peaceful years which all trusted lay before the nation. Several changes of some importance had passed over Chad during the previous century. The wars had made gaps in the ranks of the family to whom it had always belonged. There had been sundry edicts of confiscation--as speedily repealed by the next change in the fate of the day; and more than once the head had been struck down by death, and the house and lands had passed either to a minor or to some other branch of the family. There had been the confusion and strife betwixt the various branches of the family which was a characteristic of that age of upheaval and strife; but the present owner of the estate, Sir Oliver Chadgrove, seemed firmly settled in his place. He had fought on Henry\'s side at Bosworth, and had been confirmed by that monarch in the possession of the estate of Chad; and since that day none had tried to dispute his claim; nor, indeed, would it have been very easy to do so, as he was undoubtedly the rightful representative of the older branch of the family. A just and kindly man, he was beloved of those about him, and would have been staunchly supported by his retainers had any adversary arisen against him. His only enemy was the Lord of Mortimer, who owned Mortimer\'s Keep, the adjoining property, and had cast covetous eyes on Chad during the stormy days of the late wars, more than once trying unsuccessfully to step in between the disputing parties and claim it as his own, not by the power of right, but by that of might alone. However, he had not been successful in this attempt; and for the past few years there had been a semblance of friendliness between Sir Oliver and his proud and powerful neighbour....

The speaker had just pushed his horse over the brow of a slope which he and his servant had for some time been mounting, through the steamy warmth of a foggy May morning. The thick haze which lay heavy in this region of marshy ground had hidden the surrounding country from them hitherto; but as they reached the summit of the gradual rise they had been ascending, the cloud wreaths suddenly drifted away, and the sun began to shine out upon the undulating plain stretched before their eyes; and lo, the plain was alive with squadrons of soldiers—infantry, cavalry, artillery—drawn up in battle array; and the note of the bugle rang through the air, whilst away in the distance, on the opposite side of the plain, there was a movement which told that already the battle had begun. A sullen roar from the guns boomed forth, and the whole plain shook with the reverberation. Great masses of smoke rolled along and slowly dispersed after each salvo; but it was upon the evolutions of the bodies of horsemen and footmen that the keen eyes of the youthful traveller were intently fixed. "Dicon," he cried, "this is in all sooth a battle; and where the battle rages, there will the great victor of Blenheim be. We have not chanced upon this route in vain. Men warned us of the perils of seeking passage through a country which has become the theatre of war; but fortune\'s star has befriended us thus far, and now, if I mistake me not, we stand within sight of the greatest warrior of the age. For greatly shall I be astonished if the Duke of Marlborough himself be not conducting the evolutions of yonder squadrons." The brilliant dark eyes of the young man lighted with a great glow of excitement and admiration. He shaded them with his hand, and intently followed the evolutions of the moving masses in the plain stretched before his eyes. He was looking upon the village of Tavières and the mound of Ottomond, and the waters of the Mehaign rolled below at his feet. The right wing of the French army rested here, as he quickly saw; but for the moment the main activity lay over in the distance beyond Ramillies and Offuz, in the direction of Anderkirk. Yet as the traveller stood intently gazing, he saw a movement in the line of the allied army on this nearer side, and he exclaimed aloud in his excitement,— "See, Dicon, see! That attack yonder is but a feint. The key of the position lies here beneath us at Tavières, with its Tomb of Ottomond. See yonder those regiments of marching soldiers creeping round beneath the shelter of that rising ground! They will fling themselves upon the enemy\'s right, whilst the French general is diverting his available forces to protect his left. Villeroi, my friend, you did not well to dispose your forces in concave lines. You lose time in passing from place to place; and with such a general as our English Duke pitted against you, you cannot afford to lose any point in the game. Ha! See that? The Dutch and English soldiers are charging down upon Tavières! Watch how they come on—a great resistless tide of well-drilled veterans. See how they sweep all before them! See how the French fly forth! Ha, Villeroi, what think you now? Yes, you see your error; fain would you hurry back your reserves from left to right. But the time has gone by. They are miles away, and here are the Allies carrying all before them! Hurrah for old England! hurrah for the great Duke! Dicon, have you stomach for the fight? Do you remember Barcelona and Mountjuich? If we were men enough to help there, why not here too?"

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Evelyn Everett-Green was a 20th century American novelist whose most famous works are kids books. She also wrote historical romances and other historical fiction.

"My son," spoke a gentle voice from behind the low, moss-grown wall, "we must not mourn and weep for those taken from us, as if we had no hope."Face downwards upon the newly-made mound of earth lay a youth of some fifteen or sixteen summers. His slight frame was convulsed by the paroxysm of his grief; from time to time a strangled sob broke from his lips. The kindly-faced monk from the Priory hard by had been watching him for some time before he thus addressed him. Probably he now saw that the violence of the outburst was spent.The youth started upon hearing himself addressed, and as he sprang to his feet he revealed a singularly attractive face. The brow was broad and massive, indicating intellectual power. The blue eyes beneath the pencilled arch of the delicate eyebrows looked out upon the world with a singular directness and purity of expression. The features were finely cut, and there were strength and sweetness both in the curved, thoughtful lips, and in the square outline of the jaw. The fair hair clustered in curling luxuriance about his head, and fell in sunny waves to his shoulders. His hands were long and white, and looked rather as though they had wielded pen than weapon or tool of craftsman. Yet the lad\'s habit was that of one occupying a humble rank in life, and the shoes on his feet were worn and patched, as though by his own apprentice hands. Beside him lay a wallet and staff, upon which the glance of the monk rested questioningly. The youth appeared to note the glance, yet it was the words addressed to him that he answered."I think it is rather for myself I weep, my father. I know that they who die in faith rest in peace and are blessed. But for those who are left—left quite alone—the world is a hard place for them."Father Ambrose looked with kindly solicitude at the lad. He noted his pale face, his sunken eyes, the look of weary depression that seemed to weigh him down, and he asked gently,—"What ails thee, Leofric, my son?""Everything," answered the youth, with sudden passion in his tones. "I have lost everything in the world that I prized. My father is dead. I have no home. I have no fortune. All that we had is swallowed up in paying for such things as were needful for him while he lay ill. Even that which he saved for masses for his soul had to go at the last. See here, my father, I have but these few silver pieces left in all the world. Take them, and say one mass for him, and let me kneel at the door of the chapel the while. Then will I go forth into the wide world alone, and whether I live or die matters nothing. I have no one in the wide world who will know or care."But the monk gently put back the extended hand, and laid his own kindly upon the head of the youth."Keep thy money, my son. The mass shall be said—ay, and more than one—for the repose of thy father\'s soul. He was a good man and true, and I loved him well. That pious office I will willingly perform in memory of our friendship. But now, as to thyself. Whither goest thou, and what wilt thou do? I had thought that thou wouldst have come to me ere thou didst sally forth into the wide world alone."There was a faint accent of reproach in the monk\'s voice, and Leofric\'s sensitive face coloured instantly."Think it not ingratitude on my part, my father," he said quickly. "I was coming to say good-bye. But that seems now the only word left to me to speak in this world."CONTENTSTHE DIE CASTA RIVER JOURNEYOLD OXFORDTHE FIRST DAYTHE NEW LIFEA "MAD" PARLIAMENTTHE CONSTABLE\'S CHILDRENSTORMY SCENESA STUDENTS\' HOLIDAYTHE FAIR OF ST. FRIDESWYDETHE MAGICIAN\'S TOWERWINTER DAYS WITHIN THE CASTLEKENILWORTH CASTLETHE GREAT EARLPRINCE EDWARDBACK AT OXFORDTHE BELL OF ST. MARTIN\'STHE NEW CHANCELLORTHE CHANCELLOR\'S AWARDTURBULENT TIMESKING AND STUDENTSIN ARMSON THE FIELD OF LEWESAFTER THE BATTLECHRISTMAS AT KENILWORTHPLOTSTHE CAPTIVE A CONQUERORTHE FATAL FIGHTLEOFRIC\'S REWARDON THE STILL ISIS