es here and there, to tell us that there still was light in
heaven--but of an earthly father not a sign; only pain, and long sighs,
and deep sinking of the heart.

But why should I dwell upon this? All women, being of a gentle and
loving kind,--unless they forego their nature,--know better than I at
this first trial knew, the misery often sent to us. I could not believe
it, and went about in a dreary haze of wonder, getting into dark places,
when all was dark, and expecting to be called out again and asked what
had made such a fool of me. And so the long night went at last, and no
comfort came in the morning. But I heard a great crying, sometime the
next day, and ran back from the wood to learn what it meant, for there
I had been searching up and down, not knowing whither I went or why. And
lo, it was little Dick Hutchings at our door, and Deborah Pring held him
by the coat-flap, and was beating him with one of my father's sticks.

"I tell 'ee, they Doo-uns has done for 'un," the boy was roaring betwixt
his sobs; "dree on 'em, dree on 'em, and he've a killed one. The squire
be layin' as dead as a sto-un."

Mrs. Pring smacked him on the mouth, for she saw that I had heard it.
What followed I know not, for down I fell, and the sense of life went
from me.

There was little chance of finding Thomas Pring, or any other man to
help us, for neighbours were none, and Thomas was gone everywhere he
could think of to look for them. Was I likely to wait for night again,
and then talk for hours about it? I recovered my strength when the sun
went low; and who was Deborah Pring, to stop me? She would have come,
but I would not have it; and the strength of my grief took command of
her.

Little Dick Hutchings whistled now, I remember that he whistled, as he
went through the wood in front of me. Who had given him the breeches on
his legs and the hat upon his shallow pate? And the poor little coward
had skiddered away, and slept in a furze rick, till famine drove him
home. But now he was set up again by gorging for an hour, and chattered
as if he had done a great thing.

There must have been miles of rough walking through woods, and tangles,
and craggy and black boggy hollows, until we arrived at a wide open
space where two streams ran into one another.

"Thic be Oare watter," said the boy, "and t'other over yonner be
Badgefry. Squire be dead up there; plaise, Miss Sillie, 'ee can goo
vorrard and vaind 'un."

He would go no furt