‘Good evening, my lad,’ said James Wyley, smiling a slow, reluctant smile, as Stephen drew near to them with his cap in his hand.  ’So you buried your father yesterday, I hear.  Poor fellow! there was not a better collier at Botfield than James Fern.’

‘Never troubled his parish for a sixpence,’ added Thomas Wyley.

‘Thank you, master,’ said Stephen, the tears starting to his eyes, so unexpected was this gentle greeting to him; ‘I’ll try to be like father.’

‘Well, my boy,’ said Thomas Wyley, ’we are come up here on purpose to give you our advice, as you are such a mere lad.  I’ve been thinking what can be done for you.  There’s your grandfather, a poor, simple, helpless old man, and the little girl—­why, of course we shall have to receive them into the House; and I’ll see there is no difficulty made about it.  Then we intend to get your sister into some right good service.’

‘I should not mind taking her into my own house,’ said the master, Mr. James Wyley; ’she would soon learn under my niece Anne.  So you will be set free to get your own living without encumbrance; you are earning your six shillings now, and that will keep you well.’

‘Please, sir,’ answered Stephen, ’we mean to live all together as we’ve been used; and I couldn’t let grandfather and little Nan come upon the parish.  Martha must stay at home to mind them; and I’ll work my fingers to the bone for them all, sir.  Many thanks all the same to you for coming up here to see after us.’

‘Very fine indeed, my little fellow,’ said Thomas Wyley; ’but you don’t understand what you are talking about.  It is my place to see after the poor, and I cannot leave you in charge of such a very old man and such a child as this, No, no; they must be taken care of; and they’ll be made right comfortable in the House.’

‘Father said,’ replied Stephen, ’that I was never to let grandfather and little Nan come upon the parish.  I get my wages, and we’ve no rent to pay; and the potatoes and oats will help us; and Martha can pick bilberries on the hill, and carry bundles of firing to the village; and we’ll do well enough without the parish.  Many thanks all the same to you, sir.’

‘Hark ye, my lad,’ said the master impatiently.  ’I want to buy your old hut and field from you.  I’ll give ye a ten-pound note for it; a whole ten pounds.  Why, a fortune for you!’

‘Father said,’ repeated Stephen, ’I was never to give up Fern’s Hollow; and I gave him a sure promise for that, and to take care of little Nan as long as ever I lived.’

‘Fern’s Hollow is none of yours,’ cried the master, in a rage; ’you’ve just been a family of paupers and squatters, living up here by poaching and thieving.  I’ll unearth you, I promise ye; you have been a disgrace to the manor long enough.  So it is ten pounds or nothing for your old hole; and you may take your choice.’

‘Please, sir,’ said Stephen firmly, ’the place is ours, and I’m never to part with it.  I’ll never poach, and I’ll never trespass on the manor; but I can’t sell the old house, sir.’