"But you know I have nothing to do with them, mother," James said
indignantly. "They spend half their time about the public house, and
they do say that when Peterson has been out with that lurcher of his,
he has been seen coming back with his coat bulged out, and there is
often a smell of hare round his father's cottage at supper time. You
know I wouldn't have anything to do with them."

"No, Jim, I am sure you would not; but if people mix up your name with
theirs it is almost as bad for you as if you had. Unfortunately, people
are too apt not to distinguish between tricks which are really only the
outcome of high spirit, and a lack of something better to do, and real
vice. Therefore, Jim, I say, keep yourself from mischief. I know that,
though you are out of doors so many hours of the day, you really do get
through a good deal of work; but other people do not give you credit
for this. Remember how your father was respected here. Try to act
always as you would have done had he been alive, and you cannot go far
wrong."

James had done his best, but he found it hard to get rid of his
reputation for getting into mischief, and more than once, when falsely
suspected, he grumbled that he might just as well have the fun of the
thing, for he was sure to have the blame.

As Jim Walsham and his companions were chatting in the shade of a boat,
their conversation was abruptly broken off by the sight of a figure
coming along the road. It was a tall figure, with a stiff military
bearing. He was pushing before him a large box, mounted on a framework
supported by four wheels. Low down, close to the ground, swung a large
flat basket. In this, on a shawl spread over a thick bed of hay, sat a
little girl some five years old.