over, for it was past the middle of March; but the house at Fern's
Hollow remained in precisely the same state as when little Nan died; not
a stroke of work had been done at it, and a profound silence brooded
over the place. Perhaps the master had lost all pleasure in his
ill-gotten possession!

So changed was Stephen, though Danesford looked exactly the same, so
tall had he grown during his illness, and so white was his formerly
brown face, that the big boy who had shown him the way to the rectory
did not know him again in the least. Probably Mr. Lockwood and his
daughter would not have recognised him; but they were still lingering in
a warmer climate, until the east winds had quite finished their course.
The strange clergyman, however, was exceedingly kind to both the boys,
and promised to send a full and faithful account to Mr. Lockwood of all
the circumstances they narrated to him; for Tim told of many things
which Stephen passed over. They had done right in coming to him, he
said; and he gave Stephen enough money to supply the immediate
necessities of his family, at the same time bidding him apply for more
if he needed any; for he knew that a boy of his principle and character
would never live upon other people's charity whenever he could work for
himself.

How refreshing and strengthening it was upon the tableland that spring
afternoon! The red leaf-buds of the bilberry-wires were just bursting
forth, and the clumps of gorse were tinged with the first golden
flowers. Every kind of moss was there carpeting the ground with a bright
fresh green from the moisture of the spring showers. As for the birds,
they seemed absolutely in a frenzy of enjoyment, and seemed to forget
that they had their nests to build as they flew from bush to bush,
singing merrily in the sunshine.

Tim wrapped a cloak round Stephen; and then they faced the breeze gaily,
as it swept to meet them with a pure breath over miles of heath and
budding flowers. No wonder that Stephen's heart rose within him with a
rekindled gladness and gratitude; while Tim became almost as wild as the
birds. But Stephen began to feel a little tired as they neared Fern's
Hollow, though they were still two miles from the cinder-hill cabin.

'Home, home!' he said, rather mournfully, pointing to the new house.
'Tim, I remember I used to feel in myself as if that was to be my own
home for ever. I didn't think that God only meant it to be mine for a
little while, even