February morning, my father, contrary to his wont, explained to me
all his losses; and how, but for the timely warning he had received,
the flood might have nearly ruined him.

"So it was well John came," I said, half afraid to say more.

"Ay, and the lad has been useful, too: it is an old head on young
shoulders."

John looked very proud of this praise, though it was grimly given.
But directly after it some ill or suspicious thought seemed to come
into Abel Fletcher's mind.

"Lad," suddenly turning round on John Halifax, "thee told me thee saw
the river rising by the light of the moon. What wast THEE doing
then, out o' thy honest bed and thy quiet sleep, at eleven o'clock at
night?"

John coloured violently; the quick young blood was always ready
enough to rise in his face. It spoke ill for him with my father.

"Answer. I will not be hard upon thee--to-night, at least."

"As you like, Abel Fletcher," answered the boy, sturdily. "I was
doing no harm. I was in the tan-yard."

"Thy business there?"

"None at all. I was with the men--they were watching, and had a
candle; and I wanted to sit up, and had no light."