liament have
fallen out; well, if I had my way, I'd make the king and Parliament
shake hands, just as Scar Markham and I will make you and Nat shake
yours."
"Nay, Master Fred, never!"
"I'm going to meet him this afternoon, and we'll talk it over."
Samson shook his head.
Home studies were over for the day, and by a natural attraction, Fred
started by a short cut to the high point of the moor, just at the same
time as Scar Markham left the Hall for the same spot.
"He'll be in some mischief or another before he gets back," said Samson
Dee, as he ceased digging, and rested one foot upon the top of his
spade, watching his young master contemplatively as he went along the
road for a short distance before leaping up the bank, and beginning to
tramp among heath, brake, and furze, over the springy turf.
Samson shook his head sadly, and sighed as he watched Fred's progress,
the figure growing smaller and smaller, sometimes disappearing
altogether in a hollow, and then bounding into sight again like one of
the moorland sheep.
"Yes; some mischief!" sighed Samson again, and he watched the lad with
the sorrowful expression on the increase, till the object of his
consideration was out of sight, when he once more sighed, and
recommenced digging. "You don't catch me, though, making it up."
Oddly enough--perhaps it would be more correct to say naturally enough--
Nat Dee ceased digging up in the Hall garden to watch Scarlett Markham,
who, after sending his sister Lil back into the house in tears, because
he refused to take her with him, started off at a rapid pace.
"Wonder what mischief he's going to be at," said Nat, half aloud; and
he, too, rested a foot on the top of his spade, and contemplated the
retiring form.
Perhaps, after all, digging is exceedingly hard work, and a break is
very welcome; but whether it be so or no, the fact is always evident
that a gardener is ready to cease lifting the fat mellow earth of a
garden, and stand and think upon the slightest excuse.
Nat Dee waited till Scar had disappeared, and then he slowly and
sorrowfully resumed his task, and sighed with a feeling of regret for
the time when he too was a boy, and indulged in unlimited idleness and
endless quarrels with his brother Samson.
Fred Forrester whistled as he slowly climbed the hill, which was shaped
like a level surfaced mound, and stood right up above the ordinary
undulations of the moor, and Scarlett Markham whistled as he
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