orrence. And to my mind it was not
clear whether it would be fair-play at all to follow a visitor even at a
distance from home and clear of our premises; except for the purpose of
fetching him back, and giving him more to go on with. Nevertheless we
could not but think, the times being wild and disjointed, that Uncle
Ben was not using fairly the part of a guest in our house, to make long
expeditions we knew not whither, and involve us in trouble we knew not
what.

For his mode was directly after breakfast to pray to the Lord a little
(which used not to be his practice), and then to go forth upon Dolly,
the which was our Annie's pony, very quiet and respectful, with a bag of
good victuals hung behind him, and two great cavalry pistols in front.
And he always wore his meanest clothes as if expecting to be robbed,
or to disarm the temptation thereto; and he never took his golden
chronometer neither his bag of money. So much the girls found out and
told me (for I was never at home myself by day); and they very craftily
spurred me on, having less noble ideas perhaps, to hit upon Uncle
Reuben's track, and follow, and see what became of him. For he never
returned until dark or more, just in time to be in before us, who were
coming home from the harvest. And then Dolly always seemed very weary,
and stained with a muck from beyond our parish.

But I refused to follow him, not only for the loss of a day's work to
myself, and at least half a day to the other men, but chiefly because I
could not think that it would be upright and manly. It was all very
well to creep warily into the valley of the Doones, and heed everything
around me, both because they were public enemies, and also because I
risked my life at every step I took there. But as to tracking a feeble
old man (however subtle he might be), a guest moreover of our own, and
a relative through my mother.--"Once for all," I said, "it is below me,
and I won't do it."

Thereupon, the girls, knowing my way, ceased to torment me about it: but
what was my astonishment the very next day to perceive that instead of
fourteen reapers, we were only thirteen left, directly our breakfast
was done with--or mowers rather I should say, for we were gone into the
barley now.

"Who has been and left his scythe?" I asked; "and here's a tin cup never
been handled!"

"Whoy, dudn't ee knaw, Maister Jan," said Bill Dadds, looking at me
queerly, "as Jan Vry wur gane avore braxvass."

"Oh, very