He was so much absorbed in thus watching, that he did not pay much heed to what interested his mother and sister—­the reports which came by every customer about the new clergyman, who, it appeared, had been staying in the next parish till yesterday, when he had moved into the Rectory; and Mrs. Bonham, the butcher’s wife, reported that the Rectory servants said he was come to stay till their master came back.  All this and much more Mrs. King heard and rehearsed to Ellen, while Alfred lay, sometimes reading the ‘Swiss Robinson,’ sometimes watching the loading of the wains, as they creaked slowly through the fields, the horses seeming to enjoy the work, among their fragrant provender, as much as the human kind.  When five o’clock struck, Harold gave no signs of quitting the scene of action; and Mrs. King, in much anxiety lest the letters should be late, sent Helen to get the pony ready, while she herself went into the field to call the boy.

Very unwilling he was to come—­he shook his shoulders, and growled and grumbled, and said he should be in plenty of time, and he wished the post was at the bottom of the sea.  Nothing but his mother’s orders and the necessity of the case could have made him go at all.  At last he walked off, as if he had lead in his feet, muttering that he wished he had not some one to be always after him.  Mrs. King looked at the grimy face of his disreputable-looking companion, and wondered whether he had put such things into his head.

Very cross was Harold as he twitched the bridle out of Ellen’s hand, threw the strap of the letter-bag round his neck, and gave such a re-echoing switch to the poor pony, that Alfred heard it upstairs, and started up to call out, ‘For shame, Harold!’

Harold was ashamed:  he settled himself in the saddle and rode off, but Alfred had not the comfort of knowing that his ill-humour was not being vented upon the poor beast all the way to Elbury.  Alfred had given a great deal of his heart to that pony, and it made him feel helpless and indignant to think that it was ill-used.  Those tears of which he was ashamed came welling up into his eyes as he lay back on his pillow; but they were better tears than yesterday’s—­they were not selfish.

‘Never mind, Alfy,’ said Ellen, ’Harold’s not a cruel lad; he’ll not go on, if he was cross for a bit.  It is all that he’s mad after that boy there!  I wish mother had never let him go into the hay-field to meet bad company!  Depend upon it, that boy has run away out of a Reformatory!  Sleeping out at night!  I can’t think how Farmer Shepherd could encourage him among honest folk!’

‘Well, now I think of it, I should not wonder if he had,’ said Mrs. King.  ’He is the dirtiest boy that ever I did see!  Most likely; I wish he may do no mischief to-night!’