ars; but we
cannot help longing to see your father back to take the management and
give us that feeling of protection which we miss."

"I ought to have guessed it at once," muttered Nic.

"Is anything the matter, Nic?" said Hilda.

"Matter? No. Why?"

"You seem so dull, and you are not eating your breakfast."

"Oh yes, I am," cried the boy, with forced merriment; and he rapidly
attacked the meal and made mother and sisters more uneasy by eating
tremendously and talking rapidly at the same time about how glad he
would be to have the doctor back.

Soon after breakfast Nic went to the storehouse and filled a bag with
meal, carrying it afterwards to the stable.

"I suppose one of the horses is ill," said Hilda. "Nic has been to
fetch some flour to make it a mash."

"Then that's what made him so anxious and thoughtful at breakfast time,"
cried Mrs Braydon. "Poor boy! it worried him. He wants to get it well
again before your father's return."

Janet said nothing, but attributed it to the right reason--that her
brother was troubled about the convict--and she trembled in her longing
to ask him, but did not dare.

Meanwhile Hilda had her thoughts; and the consequence was that Nic grew
angry, as he busied himself about the place, going here and there
looking after the men, inspecting the cattle, and carefully watching
that no tasks were being left undone.

"I never saw anything like it," he said to himself: "go where I will
it's just as if some one was watching me. They surely cannot suspect
anything."

Then, too, four or five times, when he had made up his mind to start,
old Sam or Brookes or his mother wanted him about some matter. But
still it was yet good time in the morning, when, taking his gun, the
mounted Sorrel, slung the big bag of meal across the saddle-bow and rode
out.

"You will not be late, my dear?" cried Mrs Braydon. "Oh no, mother;
back in good time." Then to himself, "Don't--pray don't ask me which
way I'm going."

"It must be for some bullock at a distance," said Mrs Braydon, as she
thoughtfully noted the bag across the saddle-bow, the fine sacking
having now assumed an hour glass shape, at which Janet gazed curiously,
feeling puzzled, though she could not have told why.

"At last!" muttered Nic, as he pressed his horse's sides and rode off,
feeling very guilty, and yet bright and exhilarated, quite confident too
of having solved a problem, though he was doubtful still as to whethe