compelled to give up Fern's Hollow in right of the lord of the manor; and then if you come to the House for relief, mark my words, I'll send your grandfather off to Bristol, for that's his parish, and you'll never see him again; and I'll give orders for you never to see little Nan; and I'll apprentice you and your other sister in different places. So you had better be reasonable, and take our advice while you can be made comfortable.'

'Please, sir, I can't go against my promise,' answered Stephen, with a sob.

'What's the use of wasting one's breath?' said the master; 'this place I want, and this place I'll have; and we'll see if this young jail-bird will stand in my way. Ah, my fine fellow, it's no such secret where your grandfather spent twenty-one years of his life; and you'll have a sup of the same broth some day. You don't keep a dog like that yelping cur for nothing; and I'll tell the gamekeeper to have his eye upon you.'

Stephen stood motionless, watching them down the narrow path which led to Botfield, until a rabbit started from beneath the hedge, and Snip, with a sharp, short bark of excitement, gave it chase in the direction of the two men. The master paused, and, looking back, shook his stick threateningly at the motionless figure of the boy; while Thomas Wyley threw a stone at the dog, which sent him back, yelping piteously, to his young master's feet. Stephen clenched his hands, and bit his lips till the blood started, but he did not move till the last glimpse of his foes had passed away from the hillside. Martha had hidden herself in the hut while they were present, for she had never spoken to the dreaded master; but she could overhear their loud and angry speeches, and now she came out and joined Stephen.

'Well, I'd have more spirit than to cry,' she said, as Stephen brushed his eyes with his sleeve; 'I'd never have spoken so gingerly to them, the wizen-faced old rascals. The place is ours, and they can't turn us out. It's no use to be cowed by them, Stephen.'

'They can turn me off the works,' answered Stephen sadly.

'And whatever shall we do then?' asked Martha, in alarm. 'Still I reckon you'll say we are to love those old wretches.'

'The Book says so,' replied Stephen.

'Well, I won't set up to try to do it for one,' continued Martha decisively; 'it's not nature; it's being over good by half. I'm willing to do my duty by you and grandfather and little Nan; but that goes beyond me. If you'd just give way, Stevie, and give them a good rating, you'd feel better after it.'

'I don't know that,' he answered, walking gloomily towards the door. He felt so much passion and anger within him, that it did seem as if it would be a relief to utter some of the terrible oaths which he heard frequently in the pit, and which had been familiar enough in his own mouth a few months ago. But now other words, familiar from daily reading, the words that he had repeated to Tim so short a time before, were being whispered, as it seemed, close by his ear: 'Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate you; pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you.' There was a deadly conflict going on in the boy's soul; and Martha's angry words were helping the tempter. He sat down despondently on the door-sill, and hid his face in his hands, while he listened to his sister's taunts against his want of spirit, and her fears that he would give up their home for his new notions.

He was about to answer her at last with the passion she was trying to provoke, when a soft little cheek was pressed against his downcast head, and little Nan lisped in her broken words, 'Me sleepy, Stevie; me say "Our Father," and go to bed.'

The child knelt down before him, and laid her folded hands upon his knee, as she had done every evening since his father died, while he said the prayer, and she repeated it slowly after him. He felt as though he was praying for himself. A feeling of deep earnestness came over him; and, though his voice faltered as he said softly, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us,' it seemed as if there was a spirit in his heart agreeing to the words, and giving him power to say them. He did not know then that 'the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered;' but while he prayed with little Nan, he received great comfort and strength, though he was ignorant of the source from whence they came. When the child's prayers were ended, he roused himself cheerfully to action; and as long as the lingering twilight lasted, both Stephen and Martha were busily at work in the garden.

CHAPTER V.

MISS ANNE.

'So thee's the only master here,' said Tim when he came up the hill next evening, according to his promise, to help Stephen in his garden.

'And I'm the missis,' chimed in Martha, 'but I can't say how long it may be afore we have to pack off;' and she gave Tim a very long account of the master's visit the day before, finishing her description of Stephen's conduct in a tone of mingled reproach and admiration: 'And he never said a single curse at them!'

'Not when they were out of hearing?' exclaimed Tim.

'I couldn't,' answered Stephen; 'I knew what I ought to do then, if I wasn't quite sure about fighting thee, Tim. My chapter says, "Swear not at all;" and "Let your communication be Yea, yea; Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil."'

'What's the meaning of that?' asked Tim, opening his eyes widely.

'Father said it meant I was to stand to my word like a man, but not swear about it. If I said Ay, to mean ay; and if I said No, to mean no, and stick to it.'

'There'd be no room for telling lies, I reckon,' said Tim reflectively.

'Of course not,' replied Stephen.

'That 'ud never answer down yonder,' said Tim, nodding towards the distant village. 'I tell thee what, lad, I'll come and quarter with thee, and help thee to be master. It 'ud be prime. Only maybe the victuals wouldn't suit me. Last Sunday, afore thy father's buryin', we'd a dinner of duck and green peas, and leg of lamb, and custard pudden, and ale. Martha doesn't get a dinner like that for thee, I reckon.'

'No,' answered Stephen shortly.

'Maybe it wouldn't suit. But what more is there in thy book?' asked Tim, whose curiosity was aroused; and Stephen, proud of his new accomplishment,—a rare one in those days among his own class,—would not lose the opportunity given him by Tim's inquiry for the display of his learning. He brought out his Bible with alacrity, and read his chapter in a loud, clear, sing-song tone, while Tim overlooked him, with his red face growing redder, and his eyebrows arched in amazement; and Martha, leaning against the door-post, glanced triumphantly at his wonder. Already, though his father had been dead only a week, Stephen began to miscall many of the harder words; but his hearers were not critical, and the performance gave unbounded satisfaction.

'That beats me!' cried Tim. 'What a headpiece thee must have, Stephen! But what does it all mean, lad? Is it all English like?'

'How can I know?' answered Stephen, somewhat sadly; 'there's nobody to learn me now; and it's very hard. There's the Pharisees, Tim, and Raca; I don't know who they are.'

The conversation was stopped by Martha suddenly starting bolt upright, and dropping two or three hurried curtseys. The boys looked up from their book quickly, and saw a young lady passing through the wicket and coming up the garden walk, with a smile upon her pleasant face as she met their gaze.

'My boys,' she said, in a soft, kindly voice, 'I've been sitting on the bank yonder, behind your cottage; and I heard one of you reading a chapter in the Bible. Which of you was it?'

'It was him,' cried Tim and Martha together, pointing at Stephen.

'And you said you had no one to teach you,' continued the lady. 'Now would you learn well, if I promised to