thine, Stephen.'

'I'll never give it up, father,' said Stephen, in his steady voice.

'Stephen,' continued his father, 'the master has set his heart upon it to
make it a hill-farm; and thou'lt have hard work to hold thy own against
him. Thou must frame thy words well when he speaks to thee about it, for
he's a cunning man. And there's another paper, which the parson at
Danesford has in his keeping, to certify that mother built this house and
dwelt in it all the days of her life, more than thirty years; if there's
any mischief worked against thee, go to him for it. And now, Stephen,
wash thyself, and get thy supper, and then let's hear thee read thy
chapter.'

Stephen carried his basin of potatoes to the door-sill and sat there,
with his back turned to the dismal hut and his dying father, and his face
looking out upon the green hills. He had always been a grave and
thoughtful boy; and he had much to think of now. The deep sense of new
duties and obligations that had come upon him with his father's words,
made him feel that his boyhood had passed away. He looked round upon the
garden, and the field, and the hut, with the keen eye of an owner; and he
wondered at the neglected state into which they had fallen since his
father's illness. There could be no more play-time for him; no
bird's-nesting among the gorse-bushes; no rabbit-bunting with Snip, the
little white terrier that was sharing his supper. If little Nan and his
grandfather were to be provided for, he must be a man, with a man's
thoughtfulness, doing man's work. There seemed enough work for him to do
in the field and garden alone, without his twelve hours' toil in the
coal-pit; but his weekly wages would now be more necessary than ever. He
must get up early, and go to bed late, and labour without a moment's