m enough for him to be happy at home?

They were so much engrossed, that it needed a rough call from the farmer
to send Paul back to his work when the dinner-hour was over; whereupon
Harold came slowly to his digging again.

Hotter and hotter did it grow, and the grey dull clouds began to gain a
yellow lurid light in the distance; there were low growlings of thunder
far away, and Ellen left her work unfinished, and forgot how hot she was
herself in toiling to fan Alfred, so as to keep him in some little degree
cooler, while the more he strove with the heat, the more oppressed and
miserable he grew.

Poor fellow! his wretchedness was not so much the heat, as the dim
perception of Mr. Blunt's hasty words; he had not heard them fully--he
dared not inquire what they had been, and he could not endure to face
them--yet the echo of 'nothing will ever do him good,' seemed to ring
like a knell in his ears every time he turned his weary head. Nothing do
him good! Nothing! Always these four walls, that little bed, this
wasting weary lassitude, this gnawing, throbbing pain, no pony, no
running, no shouting, no sense of vigour and health ever again, and
perhaps--that terrible perhaps, which made Alfred's very flesh quail, he
would not think of; and to drive it away, he found some fresh toil to
require of the sister who could not content him, toil as she would.

Slowly the afternoon hours rolled on, one after the other, and Alfred had
just been in a pet with the clock for striking four when he wanted it to
be five, when the sky grew darker, and one or two heavy drops of rain
came plashing down on the thirsty earth.

'The storm is coming at last, and now it will be cooler,' said Ellen,
looking out from the window. 'Dear me!' she added, there stopping short.

'What?' asked Alfred. 'What are you gaping at?'

'I declare!' cried Ellen, 'it's the new clergyman! It is Mr. Cope, and
he is coming up to the wicket!'

Alfred turned his head with a peevish sound; he was in the dreary mood to
resent whatever took off attention from him for a moment.

'A very pleasant-looking gentleman,' commented Ellen, 'and so young! He
does not look older than Charles Lawrence! I wonder whether he is coming
in, or if it is only to post a letter. Oh! there he is, talking to
Mother! There!'

A vivid flash of lightning came over the room at that moment and made
them all pause till it was followed up by the deep rumble of the thunder,
and then