to James. "I don't think those clouds
will touch us yet a while."

"I can help you just as well as not, if you think there is any danger,"
rejoined Mark.

"Very well," said Mr. Royden. "It's always safe to be beforehand. If
you're a mind to take hold, and help the boys get the hay that's down
into shape, I'll do as much for you, some time."

"I owe you work, I believe," replied Mark, throwing off his vest. "Are
you going to pitch on to the load out of the win'row?"

"Yes; unless there comes up a shower. If it looks like it, you'll have
to get the hay into cocks the quickest way you can."

Mark found a rake by the stack; but still he lingered. He had not seen
the clergyman since Monday, and he appeared desirous, yet somewhat
ashamed, to speak with him.

"How do you do to-day, friend Mark?" Father Brighthopes said, reading
his mind.

The jockey came up to him, where he lay under the stack, and gave him
his hand.

"I am well, I thank you," he replied, in a low tone. "I was afraid to
speak to you."

"Afraid!"

"Yes, Father. I know you must despise me and hate me."

"No, my son; you misjudge me," answered the old man, with a kindly
smile, sitting up, and pressing Mark's hand, as the latter stooped down
to him. "On the contrary I am drawn toward you, Mark. There is much in
you to love; only overcome these besetting faults, which are your worst
enemies."

"I shall try--thank you,"--Mark's voice quivered with emotion. "I
haven't forgot what you said to me t'other day. I shall not forget it."

"Do not!" exclaimed the clergyman, earnestly, smiling through the mist
that gathered in his eyes. "Go; and God bless you!" he added, tenderly.

The jockey turned away, humble, and much affected. When he came up to
where Chester was at work, he spoke to him in a friendly tone, and asked
where he should commence.

"Follow after me, if you please," said the young man, with real kindness
in his tones.

The quarrel seemed forgotten.

In a little while, Sam came limping to the field with a jug of fresh
water. He was beginning to use his sprained ankle again, but he made
awkward work of it. Mr. Royden called him, and drank from the jug,
having first offered it to Father Brighthopes.

"Any mice, Jim?" asked Sam, slyly.

"We have no time to think of mice, my son," said the clergyman.

At that moment one of the little animals in question ran away from his
rake, and took refuge under the wagon.

"I'll ketch him!" said Sam