“O, no, papa. Indeed you wrong him. He was wild and headstrong, but never cold or cruel."

“I would give all I am worth to be sure of it, Mabel. Come, come, we must bear it as we may. Shall we walk out presently, dear? I want to go to the bailiff's cottage, and to call at old Jacob Eagleton's. His wife 's ill again; we can carry her some wine, and take the pond on the way home, and see the boys slide."

"In half an hour, dear?”

"Yes. You and Mabe will call for me, then, in my room."

John Kendrick went to his study, and sat down before his library table, and looked for five minutes absently across the room and out of the window; a most unwonted thing for him. Then he roused himself with a start and a sigh, and took a small bundle of letters and papers, chiefly bills, out of the drawer of his library table. The letters were in a school-boy hand. He read them through, tied up the packet, and put them back, and then went and unlocked a cupboard, and was looking at a cap, a riding-whip, and cricket-bat, and other articles of dress and sport which it contained, when he heard his wife's step. He shut and locked the door of the cupboard, and turned to meet her and Mabel.

"Here we are, dear, ready for our walk, and here's the post-bag."

John Kendrick took it and unlocked it, turning the contents on to his table. A couple of papers and a half a dozen letters fell out. He took up the first and was reading it, when his wife broke out, –

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"O John, look here! what is this?"

She held out to him a soiled letter, with a strange stamp on it. He took it, looked at it for a moment, tore it open with a trembling hand, and glanced through it, and then, handing it to his wife, leant forward on the table, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel read eagerly over her mother's shoulder, glancing rapidly from the page to the loved face, out of which the look of repressed sorrow which had haunted it for more than a year was passing, while tears ran down her cheeks, and hindered her from reading. But, as she finished, she stooped, and threw her arm round her husband's neck and said,

"John, God has been very good to us to-day. This day, too, of all others."

Mr. Kendrick squeezed his wife's hand, and then got up and took two or three turns about the room, while his wife and daughter still pored over the letter.

"He is alive, at any rate, and well, and earning his bread honestly. But why could n't he have written before? Why does n't he write himself now?"

"O John, I can quite understand. It was so natural that he should get this friend to write for him."

"What's the name?"

"The signature is H. Upton. What can we do to thank him?"

"What is the date of the letter? Let me see the envelope. Why, how can it have been so long? The postmark is July 22d."

"Is it longer than it should have been?"

"Yes, the regular mail comes in less than three months." "Three months, papa! what a dreadful distance!" said Mabel; 66 we may write to him at once, now that we know where he is, to tell him to come home, may n't we?”

"Well, we will think it over, Mabe. Perhaps he is better where he is."

"Poor boy! I wonder how he will spend this Christmas." Jacob Eagleton's wife got a double allowance of wine that morning when Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick and their daughter visited her.

"Wutever can be cum to the squire and missis?" the old

woman muttered, as they left her; "thaay hen't looked so cheerful, not scarce since 'em wur married.

Every one who met them in their walk made some remark of the same kind.

CHAPTER III.

"WHAT did that old fellow call this road of yours, Johnny?" asked the elder of our two travellers, giving his shoulders a shake, which sent an accumulation of an inch or so of snow off them.

"A unked road to kep in a vall," answered Johnny, imitating the carrier's accent.

I

"By Jove, he's right! How it does come down! had almost forgotten what snow was like, though I rather enjoy it."

"It must have been snowing up here for hours. Look how deep it is. Four or five inches at least, already."

"Whereabouts are we? We should be half-way, at any rate, by this time."

"That we must be, for we're on level ground. It is n't quite two miles now to the dip just above."

They walked on for a minute or two in silence. "What's the matter, Johnny? what are you sighing at?"

"I've half a mind to turn back. I almost wish I had stayed out on your run, instead of coming home."

Cheer up.

"Nonsense, man. Why, in an hour's time you'll be warming yourself by the Ashen Fagot, you've told me so much about. We could n't have hit a more

lucky day."

"But don't you remember? Ashen Fagot Night was the very time that it all began."

"And the properest night, then, for it all to end."

"They never answered your letter!"

"There was no time, man.

The answer could n't have

come out before we had started."

"And you think it will be all right, then? If they only knew how bitterly I have grieved over it all, and how I have longed to see home again! And now I'm here, I don't know how to face them. I almost wish I was back again."

"Cheer up, Johnny. Why, nothing would serve you but coming right off, the moment we landed, without giving me an hour in London, and now you want to be back again. Why, man, it will be the happiest minute of their lives, when they see you again."

"Do you think so?"

"I'm sure of it. But I'll be hanged if I know when it's likely to be, though. I can't see five yards ahead. All the snow in the heavens seems coming straight down on us. think we 're in the road?"

Do you

"Well, I hope so; but let's see." And Johnny stooped down and scratched a hole in the snow with his hand; the result of which was 66 Hullo!" and a long whistle.

"Eh, what is it?"

66

Grass, by Jove!

We're on the downs."

66 Well, that's jolly. several more places on better success.

"Here's a pretty go.

Let's try again." So the two tried each side of their track, with no

Confound your unked road! we

shall have to camp out, or walk all night."

"I hope not. If we go on, we must hit the Avenly dip somewhere."

"Come along, then. It's no good standing here."

They pushed on again, and soon began to be amused by their adventure, and laughed and chatted, in defiance of snow and downs. Their talk turned on home, and the elder was describing his feelings on coming back.

"By the way, Herbert, you've never told me why you left the old country."

"Because I could n't live in it, Johnny. At my father's

with accounts of the game of hockey they were going to have with the carter-boys, who were to break off work at twelve, and the rat-catching which was to come off in the big barn in the afternoon.

"And to-night is Ashen Fagot night, is n't it, mamma? and you 'll let us all go, and you and papa will come? You did n't go in last year; and I heard Joe, the head carter, say it was n't like Ashen Fagot if master and mistress did n't come in."

A shade passed over Mrs. Kendrick's face, but she said quietly, "Perhaps your papa will look in, dear; and, at any rate, you can all go for an hour or two."

"And O, mamma, shall we see the mummers?" asked a little bright-eyed girl of eight.

"Most likely, Maggy. "But where 's papa? fast?"

They are sure to come, I think."
Why does n't he come to break-

"He has ridden out. He will come down and see you sliding after breakfast, I'm sure."

"Do you think I might take his skates? Dick wants to begin, and I could lend him mine if I may have papa's."

"Yes, certainly, dear. I'm sure papa would wish you to have them."

"But, Willie," interrupted Dick, "there's that pair of smaller ones, hanging up by papa's; they would fit you better, you know. What's the matter? Why do you

kick me under the table?"

Willie answered by a frown at his brother, and then glanced up hastily at his mother, who had bent down over her teacup. Mabel, who had been watching her mother since the mention of the Ashen Fagot, got up quickly, saying,

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"O, there's papa; I'm sure I heard his horse. Let us go and bring him in."

The breakfast circle broke up at once.

Willie lingered,