ing phrase and seven-leagued words at home."
SCOTT.

Another summer and winter had gone by and harvest time had come again,
when Steadfast with little Ben, now seven years old, for company, took
two sacks of corn to be ground at the mill, where the skirmish had been
fought in which Emlyn's father had been killed.

The sacks were laid across a packsaddle on a stout white horse, with
which, by diligent saving, Steadfast had contrived to replace Whitefoot,
Ben was promised a ride home when the sacks should have been emptied,
and trotted along in company with Growler by his brother's side,
talking more in an hour than Stead did in a week, and looking with great
interest to be shown the hawthorn bush where Emlyn had been found.
For Stead and Ben were alike in feeling the bright, merry, capricious,
laughing, teasing Emlyn the charm and delight of home. In trouble, or
for real aid, they went to Patience, but who was like Emlyn for drollery
and diversion? Who ever made Stead laugh as she could, or who so played
with Ben, and never, like Rusha, tried to be maidenly, discreet, nay,
dull?

It was very inconvenient that just as they reached the famous thorn
bush, the white horse began to demonstrate that his shoe was loose. They
were very near the mill, and after disposing of the sacks, the brothers
led the horse on to a forge, about a furlong beyond. It was not a place
of which Stead was fond, as the smith was known to be strong for the
Covenant, and he could not help wishing that the shoe had come off
nearer to his good friend Smith Blane.

Original-Sin Hopkins, which was the name of the blacksmith, was in great
excitement, as he talked of the crowning mercy vouchsafed at Worcester,
and how the son of the late man, Charles Stewart, had been utterly
defeated, and his people scattered like sheep without a shepherd. Three
or four neighbours were standing about, listening to the tidings he had
heard from a messenger on the way to Bristol. One was leaning on the
unglazed window frame, and a couple of old men basking, even in that
September day, in the glow of the fire, while a few women and children
loitered around, thinking it rather fine to hear Master Original-Sin
declaim on the backsliding of the Scots in upholding the son of the
oppressor.

The shoeing of Stead Kenton's horse seemed a trivial matter beneath the
attention of such an orator; but he vouchsafed to bid his