as better than
rest. His road lay down a steep brow after he had passed along one
field which separated the village from a wooded gorge. Here all had
once been green and beautiful in spring and summertime; but now, for
many years past, thick clouds of smoke from coal-pit engines and iron
furnaces had given to trees and shrubs a sickly hue. Nature had striven
in vain against the hot black breath of reeking chimneys. Right down
among the stunted trees of this ravine went the foot-track which Johnson
followed. Darkness had now gathered all around, yet here and there were
wild lights struggling with the gloom. Just on the right, where the
path came out on to the dusty road, and a little way down a bank, a row
of blazing coke-ovens threw a ghastly glare over the scene, casting
fantastic shadows as their waves of fiery vapour flickered in the
breeze. A little farther on he passed a busy forge, from whose blinding
light and wild uproarious mirth, mingling with the banging of the
hammers, he was glad to escape into the darkness beyond--what would he
not have given could he have as easily escaped from the stingings of his
own keen remorse. On he went, but nothing could he see of his son. A
mile more of rapid walking, and he reached his brother-in-law's cottage.

"Eh, Thomas, is it you?" cried John's wife. "Don't stand on the door-
step, man, but come in."

"Have you seen our Sammul?" asked Johnson, in an agitated voice.

"Your Sammul? no, he hasn't been here. But what ails you, Thomas?" The
other could not speak, but sinking down into a chair, buried his face in
his hands.

"Summat ails you, I'm sure," said the kind woman.

"Oh, Jenny," replied the unhappy father, "our Sammul's gone off--gone
off for good and all. I black-guarded him last night about yon
teetottal chap as come a-lecturing and got our Sammul and Betty to sign
the pledge, so just about an hour since he slips out in his Sunday hat
and shoes, when Alice were down the yard, and when she comes back she
finds a bit of papper on the table with a five-shilling piece and a bit
of his hair lapped up in it, and there was writ on it, `From Sammul, for
dear mother.' Oh, Jenny, I'm afraid for my life he's gone off to
Americay; or, worse still, he may have drowned or hanged himself."

"Nay, nay; don't say so, Thomas," said Jenny; "he'll think better of it;
you'll see him back again in the morning. Don't fret, man; he's a good
lad, and he'll turn up again al