The Kings had been bred up to think a Sunday going to the merry orchard a thing never to be done; and in his most idle days Alfred would never have dreamt of such a thing.  Indeed, their good mother always managed to have some treat to make up for it when they were little; and they certainly never wanted for merries, nay, a merry pudding had been their dinner this very day, with savage-looking purple juice and scalding hot stones.  If Harold went it was for the frolic, not for want of the dainty; and wrong as it was, his mother was grieving more at the thought of his casting away the restraint of his old habits than for the one action.  One son going away into the unseen world, the other being led away from the paths of right—­no wonder she wept as she tried to read!

At last voices were coming, and very loud ones.  The summer night was so still, they could be heard a great way—­those rude coarse voices of village boys boasting and jeering one another.

’I say, wouldn’t you like to be one of they chaps at Ragglesford School?’

‘What lots they bought there on Saturday, to be sure!’

‘Well they may:  they’ve lots of tin!’

‘Have they?  How d’ye know?’

’Why, the money-letters!  Don’t I know the feel of them—­directed to master this and master that, and with a seal and a card, and half a sovereign, or maybe a whole one, under it; and such lots as they gets before the holidays—­that’s to go home, you see.’

’Well, it’s a shame such little impudent rogues should get so much without ever doing a stroke of work for it.’

’I say, Harold, don’t ye never put one of they letters in your pocket?’

‘For shame, Dick!’

’Ha!  I shall know where to come when I wants half a sovereign or so!’

‘No, you won’t.’

It was only these last two or three speeches that reached the cottage at all clearly; and they were followed by a sound as if Harold had fallen upon one of the others, and they were holding him off, with halloos and shouts of hoarse laughing, which broke Alfred’s sleep, and his voice came down-stairs with a startled cry of ’Mother!  Mother! what is that?’ She ran up-stairs in haste, and Ellen threw the door open.  The sudden display of the light silenced the noisy boys; and Harold came slowly up the garden-path, pretty certain of a scolding, and prepared to feel it as little as he could help.

’Well, Master, a nice sort of a way of spending a Sunday evening this!’ began Ellen; ’and coming hollaing up the lane, just on purpose to wake poor Alfred, when he’s so ill!’

‘I’m sure I never meant to wake him.’

’Then what did you bring all that good-for-nothing set roaring and shouting up the road for?  And just this evening, too, when one would have thought you would we have cared for poor Mother and Alfred,’ said she, crying.

‘Why, what’s the matter now?’ said Harold.