eak.
"You couldn't have said that you would fetch her, if you didn't know
where to find her."

"I wouldn't stop till I did find her, if the old man would take her
back again. She's bad enough, no doubt, but there's others worse nor
her."

"When did you see her last?"

"Over at Pycroft."

"And whither did she go from Pycroft, Sam?"

"She went to Lon'on, I suppose, Mr. Fenwick."

"And what is her address in London?" In reply to this Sam again shook
his head. "Do you mean to seek her now?"

"What's the use of seeking her if I ain't got nowhere to put her
into. Father's got a house and plenty of room in it. Where could I
put her?"

"Sam, if you'll find her, and bring her to any place for me to see
her, I'll find a home for her somewhere. I will, indeed. Or, if I
knew where she was, I'd go up to London to her myself. She's not my
sister--!"

"No, sir, she ain't. The likes of you won't likely have a sister the
likes of her. She's a--"

"Sam, stop. Don't say a bitter word of her. You love her."

"Yes;--I do. That don't make her not a bad 'un."

"So do I love her. And as for being bad, which of us isn't bad? The
world is very hard on her offence."

"Down on it, like a dog on a rat."

"It is not for me to make light of her sin;--but her sin can be
washed away as well as other sin. I love her too. She was the
brightest, kindest, sauciest little lass in all the parish, when I
came here."

"Father was proud enough of her then, Mr. Fenwick."

"You find her and let me know where she is, and I will make out a
home for her somewhere;--that is, if she will be tractable. I'm
afraid your father won't take her at the mill."

"He'll never set eyes on her again, if he can help it. As for you,
Mr. Fenwick, if there was only a few more like you about, the world
wouldn't be so bad to get on in. Good-bye, Mr. Fenwick."

"Good-bye, Sam;--if it must be so."

"And don't you be afeared about me, Mr. Fenwick. If the hue-and-cry
is out anyways again me, I'll turn up. That I will,--though it was to
be hung afterwards,--sooner than you'd be hurt by anything I'd been a
doing."

So they parted, as friends rather than as enemies, though the Vicar
knew very well that the young man was wrong to go and leave his
father and mother, and that in all probability he would fall at
once into some bad mode of living. But the conversation about Carry
Brattle had so softened their hearts to each other, that Mr. Fenwick
found it impossible