Hast thee any money?"

"The groat you gave, that is, paid me; I never take what I don't earn,"
said the lad, sticking a hand in either poor empty pocket.

"Don't be afraid--I was not going to give thee anything--except,
maybe--Would thee like some work?"

"O sir!"

"O father!"

I hardly know which was the most grateful cry.

Abel Fletcher looked surprised, but on the whole not ill-pleased.
Putting on and pulling down his broad-brimmed hat, he sat meditatively
for a minute or so; making circles in the gravel walk with the end of
his stick. People said--nay, Jael herself, once, in a passion, had
thrown the fact at me--that the wealthy Friend himself had come to
Norton Bury without a shilling in his pocket.

"Well, what work canst thee do, lad?"

"Anything," was the eager answer.

"Anything generally means nothing," sharply said my father; "what hast
thee been at all this year?--The truth, mind!"

John's eyes flashed, but a look from mine seemed to set him right
again. He said quietly and respectfully, "Let me think a minute, and
I'll tell you. All spring I was at a farmer's, riding the
plough-horses, hoeing turnips; then I went up the hills with some
sheep: in June I tried hay-making, and caught a fever--you needn't
start, sir, I've been well these six weeks, or I wouldn't have come
near your son--then--"

"That will do, lad--I'm satisfied."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thee need not say 'sir'--it is folly. I am Abel Fletcher." For my
father retained scrupulously the Friend's mode of speech, though he was
practically but a lax member of the Society, and had married out of its
pale. In this announcement of his plain name appeared, I fancy, more
pride than humility.

"Very well, I will remember," answered the boy fearlessly, though with
an amused twist of his mouth, speedily restrained. "And now, Abel
Fletcher, I shall be willing and thankful for any work you can give me."

"We'll see about it."

I looked gratefully and hopefully at my father--but his next words
rather modified my pleasure.

"Phineas, one of my men at the tan-yard has gone and 'listed this
day--left an honest livelihood to be a paid cut-throat. Now, if I
could get a lad--one too young to be caught hold of at every pot-house
by that man of blood, the recruiting sergeant--Dost thee think this lad
is fit to take the place?"

"Whose place, father?"

"Bill Watkins'."

I was dumb-foundered! I had occasionally seen the said Bill Wat