"What were you about? Did you want to get through?"

"I wanted just to see if it were possible."

I shook my head. "What would you do, John, if you were shut up here,
and had to get over the yew-hedge? You could not climb it?"

"I know that, and, therefore, should not waste time in trying."

"Would you give up, then?"

He smiled--there was no "giving up" in that smile of his. "I'll tell
you what I'd do--I'd begin and break it, twig by twig, till I forced
my way through, and got out safe at the other side."

"Well done, lad!--but if it's all the same to thee, I would rather
thee did not try that experiment upon MY hedge at present."

My father had come behind, and overheard us, unobserved. We were
both somewhat confounded, though a grim kindliness of aspect showed
that he was not displeased--nay, even amused.

"Is that thy usual fashion of getting over a difficulty, friend--
what's thy name?"

I supplied the answer. The minute Abel Fletcher appeared, John
seemed to lose all his boyish fun, and go back to that premature
gravity and hardness of demeanour which I supposed his harsh
experience of the world and of men had necessarily taught him; but
which was very sad to see in a lad so young.