‘That’s a brave lad!’ said Black Thompson; ’he’s got his father’s pluck after all, as I’ve always told thee, Davies, and we’ll see him righted.  He’s got his eyes in his head, has this lad!’

‘They’re down in the leasowe, between the Firspinny and Ragleth Hill,’ continued Stephen; ’and they’re just prime, I can tell ye.  And I know, too, what he doesn’t know himself.  I know to some black game, far away up the hill.  He’d give his two eyes to see them, with their white wing-feathers; and if he hadn’t’—­

Stephen stopped, with quivering lips, for he could not speak yet of Snip’s murder.

‘Never take on, my lad,’ said Black Thompson, clapping him on the back; ’we’ll spoil his sport for him.  Come thy ways with us; it’ll be dark dusk afore we gain the spinny, and Jones is off to the Whitehurst woods to-night.  We’ll have as rare sport as the lord of the manor himself.  Thee art a sharp one.  I’d lay a round wager, now, thee knows where all the sheep of the hillside fold of nights.’

‘Ay, do I,’ answered Stephen, walking briskly beside Black Thompson; ’I know every walk and every fold on the hills; ay, and many of the sheep themselves.  I keep my eyes wide open out of doors, I promise ye.’

‘I’ll swear to that,’ said Black Thompson, glad to encourage the boy in his foolish boasting.  On their way they passed near to Fern’s Hollow, and Stephen heard little Nan’s shrill voice calling his name, as if she were seeking him weariedly; but when he hesitated for a moment, his heart yearning to answer her, Black Thompson again patted him on the back, and bade him never show the white feather, but remember poor dead Snip; at which his passion for revenge returned, and he pressed on eagerly to the fir-coppice.

It was quite dark when they entered the path leading through the wood.  No one spoke now, and they trod cautiously, lest there should be any noise from their footsteps.  The tall black fir-trees towered above them to an unusual height; and through all the topmost branches there ran a low, mournful sound, as if every tree was whispering about them, and lamenting over them.  Even the little brook, which in the sunshine rippled so merrily along the borders of the wood, seemed to be sobbing like a grieved and tired child in the night-time.  Strange rustlings on every side, and sudden groanings of the withered boughs in some of the pines, made them start in fear; and once, in a little opening among the trees, when the stars came out and looked down upon them, Stephen would have given all he had in the world to be safe at home, with little Nan singing hymns on his knee, or quietly asleep after the hot and busy day.