ifty in all, and mostly young men,
and they seemed undecided what to do when they saw Mr Howroyd standing
upon the bank by the roadside, with his niece beside him.

William Howroyd's pleasant, cheery face was graver than most present had
ever seen it, as he stood and watched the men come up and stand,
half-sheepishly and half-defiantly, in a kind of irregular semicircle
round them.

As none of them spoke, except in murmurs to each other, Mr Howroyd
decided to break the ice, and began, in his brisk, ringing voice, which
had a very stern tone in it to-night: 'Well, men, what do you want of me?
I've made way for you to go forward. Why don't you go?'

'We want a word with you first, Mr Howroyd,' said one of the foremost,
who had already shown himself to be antagonistic.

'I want no words with men who break the laws of the land,' replied
William Howroyd sternly, and as he said this some of the men remembered
that he was a Justice of the Peace.

'We've broken no laws, Mr William. We never set the barn afire, and you
can't prove that we did,' said one rather anxiously.

'You stood by and let it burn; and you forget that it was my brother's
property,' he replied.

'Mark Clay's no blood-brother of yours. We've nought again' you, Mr
William.--Let 'im be, lad; he've allus right on his side, and he's a
good master, is Mr William,' said an older man, walking on.

'Noa; but we've summat again' Mr Clay, and I say let the Clays stop in
their park--they want it to themselves, and let 'em have it; but we won't
have 'em in Ousebank,' said the first speaker in a surly voice.

'The park's private property, and you've no right there, and my brother
had a right to turn you out to-night. I'd have done the same if you'd
come into my house; but we're all equal on the public road, and if you
molest us here you'll answer for it to me in another place,' said Mr
Howroyd with determination.

All this time Sarah had stood beside her uncle, her eyes flashing, but
giving no other sign that she was moved by the discussion; but she now
said, 'The men are right, Uncle Howroyd. I will go back to Balmoral;' and
she turned to go up the hill.

Poor Mr Howroyd might well say he did not understand women, for this was
the last thing he had expected Sarah to do, and it embarrassed him very
much, for he wanted to get to the town as soon as he could and stop
possible disturbances; but it was impossible to let Sarah return to her
home alone on an evening