boy as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and
looked up; and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear
comforter, was struck with tender remorse that he had given way
and pained her, who looked so frail and thin herself.

He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the
evening, was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears;
chaffed stolid little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that
generally impassive man threatened to bash his snout for him.

Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he
turned down the slope for home.

James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge
over the Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared
into the summer night.

"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.

"Yes," the parson replied ; "I always thought there was good in the
boy, if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way
Owd Bob there follows him. There's not another soul outside
Kenmuir he'd do that for."

"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."

"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in
the village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that
so?"