When Charles the First was King by J.S. Fletcher

It was in the middle of spring when I was first taken to school, and my life till the end of the following summer was comparatively uneventful. On Saturdays I went home, to tell Jacob Trusty of my doings during the week, and to receive his counsel and admonition on various matters. Those weekend visits home were great events. On the Saturday I visited all my old haunts, took out my dog, saw to my garden, and went round the farmstead renewing acquaintance with man and beast. On the Sunday we went to church as usual. Then came Monday morning again, and I wended my way to school once more, generally catching up Jack Drumbleforth on the road. Having fought and beaten Dennis Watson, there was little else left me to do in that line, for no lad of my own age and size cared to fight with me, and the elder lads were, of course, above battling with their junior. So I went on with my tasks in a steady and laborious fashion, not being over-ready of perception, but still determined to do what lay in me. In this manner of life the months passed on quietly. But just as summer was over, and we had brought home the last load of the corn-harvest, there came matters which changed the whole course of my life.

I have already told you that between the Watsons of Castle Hill and the Dales of Dale's Field there was an ancient root of contention in the shape of a piece of land lying between our respective estates. The ownership of this, which was but a strip of meadow, had been disputed 'twixt Dale and Watson for many a generation, though neither side had ever sought the aid of the law in order to settle matters once and for all. Formerly, if one house had sent flocks to graze on the debatable ground, the other had forthwith driven the offending animals away. Sometimes blows had arisen from this proceeding, and the servants from each farmstead had turned out with quarterstaff or cudgel, and fought fiercely one with another. But for nearly fifty years previous to my time neither side had claimed the land, though both were equally careful that no right of way should be established across it by third parties. Yet although matters had been quiet, the red spirit of dislike and resentment ran strong as ever, and of all men in that neighbourhood, Rupert Watson of Castle Hill was the only one that my father never held speech with.