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"Lord Pertolepe fell out with his neighbour Sir Gilles of Brandonmere upon the matter of some wench, methinks it was wherefore came Sir Gilles' men by night and burned down Shallowford with twenty hunting dogs of Sir Pertolepe's that chanced to be there: whereupon my lord waxed mighty wroth and, gathering his company, came into the demesne of Sir Gilles and burned down divers manors and hung certain rogues and destroyed two villages in quittance."

But my lord came upon us and burned our village of Shallowford and lashed my father with whips and thereafter hanged him, and took my man and many others and cast them into the great dungeon at Belsaye and with the dawn they must hang upon the Duke's great gallows." So she ended and stood weeping as one that is hopeless and weary.

And when he had sworn, Black Roger rose bright-eyed and eager. "Lord," said he, "whither do we go?" "Now," quoth Beltane, "shew me where I may eat, for I have a mighty hunger." "Forsooth," quoth Roger, scratching his chin, "Shallowford village lieth but a bowshot through the brush yonder yet, forsooth, a man shall eat little there, methinks, these days." "Why so?"

There were already meeting-houses of the Baptist and Dutch Reformed congregations, the preachers spending the week-days in clearing and tilling the fields, splitting rails, and raising hogs; in 1783 a permanent Presbyterian minister arrived, and a log church was speedily built for him. The sport-loving Kentuckians this year laid out a race track at Shallowford Station.