’Don’t lecture to-night, Datta, bach; you shall have an hour on purpose to-morrow, when I promise to listen to edification.  ’Pon my word it is pleasant to be at home again.  How I long to sleep in my comfortable bed once more.’

Poor Mrs Prothero’s countenance fell, and Netta looked malicious.

‘Not likely to sleep there to-night, boy,’ said the farmer; ’mother has got visitors.’

‘Visitors!’ exclaimed Owen, ’and gone to bed already! what sleepy people.’

‘Some of your friends of the cowld and hungry sort,’ said the farmer.

‘Not mother’s old friends, and my relations, the Irish beggars?’

‘Singular number, and a young lady!’ said the farmer with a sneer and a puff of the tobacco with which he was beginning to solace himself, at the sight of the bread and cheese that were appearing.

‘A poor girl, Owen, who was taken ill,’ said Mrs Prothero.

’I understand it all, mother; never mind, she’s welcome for once, provided I get a good bed, but to-morrow she must turn out.’

‘Very well, my dear,’ said Mrs Prothero submissively; for Owen, though a prodigal, was the eldest son, and generally had his own way.

‘Now don’t be frightened at my appetite,’ said Owen, sitting down to cold meat and strong ale.

‘Bless you and your appetite,’ said Mrs Prothero, kissing his forehead; upon which he jumped up again, and hugged her with all his heart.

‘Now, Netta, let us go and see about the sheets,’ said Mrs Prothero, smoothing her dress.

The mother and daughter left the room, and were not long in preparing the best bedroom for Owen.  This done, they hastened back to the hall, where they found diminished ham and increased smoke, Owen having lighted a short pipe, and taken to smoking with his father, over a large jug of ale.

‘We must have your adventures to-night, Owen,’ cried Netta, as she entered, ’and you must tell us why you came home so very shabby.  I suppose you have been wrecked on a desert island.’

‘To be sure,’ said Owen, laying down the pipe.  ’But I must go out and find my wardrobe, and all my valuables, that my hospitable Daddy there caused me to throw down, when he gave me such a warm welcome.’

Owen disappeared, but soon returned with a box in his hands, apparently of some weight, and a bundle slung across his shoulder, suspended on a walking stick.  Putting down the box he began to sing,—­

     ‘A handkerchief held all the treasure I had.’

whilst he flourished his walking-stick and bundle over his mother’s head.  When he had finished his song, he put down his bundle and went to the box.

’I have shown you the size of my wardrobe, now allow me to show off the rest of my fortune and stock in trade.  Father, you shall have the first peep.  Let me put my box on the table, and the light—­so.  Now, stoop, so—­look through that glass, so—­and—­have you got the right focus?  Yes!—­To the right, you beholds the gallant ’ero, Lord Nelson, him as lost his harm, a just fallin’ in the harms of Capen ’Ardy and Victory.—­To the left—­but first his lordship is a singin’ “England expects every man to do his dooty.”  To the left—­’