Miss Hepsy then whisked out of the room, and clattered down the stairs in haste.

Lucy moved to the window recess, and stood looking upon the peace and beauty without, until her eyes were brimming with tears.  Then she knelt down by the side of the bed, sobbing pitifully, “Mamma, mamma! come back, O dear mamma! we have nobody on earth but you!”

IV.

The new home.

Meanwhile Tom had gone on an exploring expedition.  He investigated every outhouse and shed, frightened the geese and turkeys into fits by rushing through their paddock shouting at the pitch of his voice, caught the superannuated mule by the tail, and made her fly off like a four-year old, made friends with the savage watch-dog on the chain, coaxed the pigeons to fly to him, and finally went off to the fields in search of his uncle.  On the road outside the farmyard gate he met a team, driven by a big uncouth-looking man, dressed in coarse trowsers, a red shirt, and a battered straw hat.

“You’ll be one of the men, I guess,” said Tom, stopping in front of him.  “Can you tell me where my Uncle Joshua is?”

The man grinned.  “Air you Hetty’s boy, youngster?”

“I’m Mrs. Hurst’s son,” corrected Tom proudly.  “Who are you?”

“If I’m not yer Uncle Josh, I reckon he ain’t be home terday,” returned the man.—­“Hi! up, Sally; you and me’s not fit company, I guess, for a city gent.”

“If you are Uncle Joshua, I beg your pardon I’m sure,” said Tom with his usual frankness.  “Won’t you shake hands, Uncle Joshua?”

Uncle Joshua took the thin, delicate hand in his own brown palm, and looked at it curiously.

“Jes’ as Hepsy said—­Hetty’s boy’s more for ornament than use.  Well, youngster, now you’re here ye’ll work for yer bread, I hope.  We’re poor folks here, an’ can’t keep idle hands.  Ye’ll hev to learn to mind a team like this.”

“I wouldn’t mind if I’d a better horse, Uncle Josh,” said Tom, walking alongside of his uncle, and eying the hungry-looking steed critically.  “See his ribs.  Don’t you feed him ever, Uncle Josh?”

The man’s face flushed angrily.  “Shut up, younker!” he said savagely.  “Don’t speak about things ye know nothing about.”

Tom walked on a minute or two in silence, but in no way disconcerted.

“This is a very nice place, Uncle Josh,” he said.  “Mamma often told us about it, but it’s prettier than I thought it would be.”

“The place’ll do, I reckon,” admitted Uncle Josh.  “But farmin’ ain’t what it was.  It’s a hard job gettin’ meat an’ drink out o’d now-a-days.”

“Mamma told us you were rich,” said Tom in surprise.  “But you can’t be, because—­because—­”

“Wal?” said Uncle Josh, with a slow, stupid smile.

“Because your horses are all thin, and you wear these clothes; and Aunt Hepsy doesn’t dress like a lady.  Rich people don’t live so.”