up his fine became a crime-serf of the plaintiff or the king.  Sometimes a father pressed by need sold children and wife into bondage.  In any case the slave became part of the live stock of his master’s estate, to be willed away at death with horse or ox, whose pedigree was kept as carefully as his own.  His children were bondsmen like himself; even a freeman’s children by a slave mother inherited the mother’s taint.  “Mine is the calf that is born of my cow,” ran an English proverb.  Slave cabins clustered round the homestead of every rich landowner; ploughman, shepherd, goatherd, swineherd, oxherd and cowherd, dairymaid, barnman, sower, hayward and woodward, were often slaves.  It was not indeed slavery such as we have known in modern times, for stripes and bonds were rare:  if the slave was slain it was by an angry blow, not by the lash.  But his master could slay him if he would; it was but a chattel the less.  The slave had no place in the justice court, no kinsmen to claim vengeance or guilt-fine for his wrong.  If a stranger slew him, his lord claimed the damages; if guilty of wrong-doing, “his skin paid for him” under his master’s lash.  If he fled he might be chased like a strayed beast, and when caught he might be flogged to death.  If the wrong-doer were a woman-slave she might be burned.

[Sidenote:  The Moot]

With the public life of the village however the slave had nothing, the last in early days little, to do.  In its Moot, the common meeting of its villagers for justice and government, a slave had no place or voice, while the last was originally represented by the lord whose land he tilled.  The life, the sovereignty of the settlement resided solely in the body of the freemen whose holdings lay round the moot-hill or the sacred tree where the community met from time to time to deal out its own justice and to make its own laws.  Here new settlers were admitted to the freedom of the township, and bye-laws framed and headman and tithing-man chosen for its governance.  Here plough-land and meadow-land were shared in due lot among the villagers, and field and homestead passed from man to man by the delivery of a turf cut from its soil.  Here strife of farmer with farmer was settled according to the “customs” of the township as its elder men stated them, and four men were chosen to follow headman or ealdorman to hundred-court or war.  It is with a reverence such as is stirred by the sight of the head-waters of some mighty river that one looks back to these village-moots of Friesland or Sleswick.  It was here that England learned to be a “mother of Parliaments.”  It was in these tiny knots of farmers that the men from whom Englishmen were to spring learned the worth of public opinion, of public discussion, the worth of the agreement, the “common sense,” the general conviction to which discussion leads, as of the laws which derive their force from being expressions of that general conviction.  A humourist of our own day has laughed at Parliaments