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 88 The Ancient Stone Crosses Resuming our walk along the old road in an easterly direction, we shall soon reach the ravine already observed, and here, near its head, our track crosses the Devon port leat at Older Bridge. Beyond the rising ground in front of us, the path will bring us once more very near to Siward's Cross, which, we shall now percieve, not only served as a mark to the northern branch of the Abbots' Way, but also to the path we are pursuing. The cart-track goes on to the White Works, an abandoned mine, where are several cottages, but we shall leave it on our left, as it is certain the old path did not run in that direction. Passing the cross we make our way down the valley to the eastward, keeping on the slope of the hill which forms its southern side, and shall thus avoid the extensive Fox Tor Mire. It is here we shall find the pillar near which Dr. Prowse discovered the stone hearing the cross in relief, as mentioned in the preceding chapter. On nearing F'ox Tor, a fairly hard tract of ground, free from heather, and which is known to the moormen as Sand Parks, will be seen stretching from its foot towards the bog. Our path lies across this, and when nearly opposite to the tor, and about a quarter of a mile to the northward of it, we shall discover an object which cannot fail to be regarded with interest by all who find an attraction in the legendary lore of Dartmoor. This is Childe's Tomb, and it is on this spot the hunter of the old tradition is supposed to have perished. We first meet with the story of Childe in the pages of Risdon, whose Survey was completed about 1630, and the tale is still frequently related by the dwellers on the moor. " And when the Christmas tale goes round By many a peat fireside, The children list, and shrink to hear How Childe of Plymstoke died I" * Risdon says, '' It is left us by tradition that one Childe, of Plimstoke, a man of fair possessions, having no issue, ordained, by his will, that wheresoever he should happen to be buried, to that church his lands should belong. It so fortuned, that
 * Carrington. Ballad of Childe the Hunter,