your house, can't he?"

"Yes, indeed, sir. He can go on doing it, and come up to his work just
as well as not. I can see to him then, and he won't be a care to any
one," said Mrs. Moss, heartily.

"I'll make inquiries concerning your father, boy; meantime mind what you
are about, and have a good report to give when he comes for you,"
returned the Squire, with a warning wag of a stern fore-finger.

"Thanky', sir. I will, sir. Father'll come just as soon as he can, if
he isn't sick or lost," murmured Ben, inwardly thanking his stars that
he had not done any thing to make him quake before that awful finger,
and resolved that he never would.

Here a red-headed Irishman came to the door, and stood eying the boy
with small favor while the Squire gave his orders.

"Pat, this lad wants work. He's to take the cows and go for them. Give
him any light jobs you have, and let me know if he's good for any
thing."

"Yis, your honor. Come out o' this, b'y, till I show ye the bastes,"
responded Pat; and, with a hasty good-by to Mrs. Moss, Ben followed his
new leader, sorely tempted to play some naughty trick upon him in return
for his ungracious reception.

But in a moment he forgot that Pat existed, for in the yard stood the
Duke of Wellington, so named in honor of his Roman nose. If Ben had
known any thing about Shakespeare, he would have cried, "A horse, a