ever
so much,' said Harold, 'for he's got a great spirit of his own, and
wouldn't be beholden to any one, he said, now he could keep himself--he'd
had quite enough of the parish and its keep; so he said he'd go on the
tramp till he got work; and they let him out of the Union with just the
clothes to his back, and a shilling in his pocket. 'Twas the first time
he had ever been let out of bounds since he was picked up under the tree;
and he said no one ever would guess the pleasure it was to have nobody to
order him here and there, and no bounds round him; and he quite hated the
notion of getting inside walls again, as if it was a prison.'

'Oh, I know! I can fancy that!' cried Alfred, raising himself and
panting; 'and where did he go first?'

'First, he only wanted to get as far from Upperscote as ever he could, so
he walked on; I can't say how he lived, but he didn't beg; he got a job
here and a job there; but there are not so many things he knows the knack
of, having been at school all his life. Once he took up with a man that
sold salt, to draw his cart for him, but the man swore at him so awfully
he could not bear it, and beat him too, so he left him, and he had lived
terrible hard for about a month before he came here! So you see, Mother,
there's not one bit of harm in him; he's a right good scholar, and never
says a bad word, nor has no love for drink; so you won't be like Ellen,
and be always at me for going near him?'

'You're getting a big boy, Harold, and it is lonely for you,' said Mrs.
King reluctantly; 'and if the lad is a good lad I'd not cast up his
misfortune against him; but I must say, I should think better of him if
he would keep himself a little bit cleaner and more decent, so as he
could go to church.'

Harold made a very queer face, and said, 'How is he to do it up in the
hay-loft, Mother? and he ha'n't got enough to pay for lodgings, nor for
washing, nor to change.'

'The river is cheap enough,' said Alfred. 'Do you remember when we used
to bathe together, Harold, and go after the minnows?'

'Ay, but he don't know how; and then they did plague him so in the Union,
that he's got to hate the very name of washing--scrubbing them over and
cutting their hair as if they were in gaol.'

'Poor boy! he is terribly forsaken,' said Mrs. King compassionately.

'You may say that!' returned Harold; 'why, he's never so much as seen how
folks live at home, and wanted to know if you were most like old