fainted for real joy. After all, we weren't much happier when we were
settled down like. Grandfather had learned to tend sheep out yonder, and
I worked at Botfield; but we never laid by money to build a brick house,
as poor mother always wanted us. She died a month or so afore I was
married to your mother.'

James Fern was silent again for some minutes, leaning back upon his
pillow, with his eyes closed, and his thoughts gone back to the old
times.

'If I'd only been like mother, you'd have been a hill-farmer now, Steve,'
he continued, in a tone of regret; 'she plotted out in her own mind to
take in the green before us, for rearing young lambs, and ducks, and
goslings. But I was like that poor lad that wasted all his substance in
riotous living; and I've let thee and thy sister grow up without even the
learning I could have given thee; and learning is light carriage. But,
lad, remember this house is thy own, and never part with it; never give
it up, for it is thy right. Maybe they'll want to turn thee out, because
thee art a boy; but I've lived in it nigh upon forty years, and I've
written it all down upon this piece of paper, and that the place is
thine, Stephen.'

'I'll never give it up, father,' said Stephen, in his steady voice.

'Stephen,' continued his father, 'the master has set his heart upon it to
make it a hill-farm; and thou'lt have hard work to hold thy own against
him. Thou must frame thy words well when he speaks to thee about it, for
he's a cunning man. And there's another paper, which the parson at
Danesford has in his keeping, to certify that mother built this house and
dwelt in it all the days of her life, more than thirty years; if there's
any mischief worked against thee, go to him for it. And now, Stephen,
wash thyself, and get thy supper, and then let's hear thee read thy
chapter.'

Stephen carried his basin of potatoes to the door-sill and sat there,
with his back turned to the dismal hut and his dying father, and his face
looking out upon the green hills. He had always been a grave and
thoughtful boy; and he had much to think of now. The deep sense of new
duties and obligations that had come upon him with his father's words,
made him feel that his boyhood had passed away. He looked round upon the
garden, and the field, and the hut, with the keen eye of an owner; and he
wondered at the neglected state into which they had fallen since his
father's illness. There could be no more play-time for