’Don’t be discontented, Harold, on that score.  Them little chaps will work hard enough by-and-by:  and the money they have now is to train them in making a fit use of it then.’

Harold looked anxiously up and down the road for Paul, and asked Mr. Cope’s housekeeper whether he had been there to take leave.  No; and indeed Harold would have been a little vexed if he had wished good-bye anywhere if not at home.

There was a fine white frost, and the rime hung thickly on every spray of the heavy branches of the dark firs and larches that overhung the long solitary lane between the Grange and Ragglesford, and fringed the park palings with crystals.  Harold thought how cold poor Paul must be going on his way in his ragged clothes.  The ice crackled under the pony’s feet as she trotted down Ragglesford Lane, and the water of the ford looked so cold, that Peggy, a very wise animal, turned her head towards the foot-bridge, a narrow and not very sound affair, over which Harold had sometimes taken her when the stream was high, and threatened to be over his feet.

Harold made no objection; but no sooner were all the pony’s four hoofs well upon the bridge, than at the other end appeared Dick Royston.

‘Hollo, Har’ld!’ was his greeting, ‘I’ve got somewhat to say to ye.’

‘D’ye know where Paul Blackthorn is?’ asked Harold.

‘Not I—­I’m a traveller myself, you must know.’

‘You, going to cut?’ cried Harold.

‘Ay,’ said Dick, laying hold of the pony’s rein.  ’The police have been down at Rolt’s—­stupid fellow left old gander’s feet about—­Mrs. Barker swore to ’em ’cause he’d had so many kicks and bites on common—­Jesse’s took up and peached—­I’ve been hiding about all night—­precious cold it was, and just waiting, you see, to wish you goodbye.’

Harold, very much shocked, could have dispensed with his farewells, nor did he like the look of his eyes.

’Thank you, Dick; I’m sorry—­I didn’t think—­but I’m after time—­I wish you’d let go of Peggy.’

‘So that’s all you have to say to an old comrade!’ said Dick; ’but, I say, Har’ld, I’m not going so.  I must have some tin to take me to Portsmouth.  I want to know what you’ve got in that there bag!’

‘You won’t have that; it’s the post.  Let go, Dick;’ and he pushed the pony forward, but Dick had got her fast by the head.  Harold looked round for help, but Ragglesford Lane was one of the loneliest places in the country.  There was not a house for half a mile, and Lady Jane’s plantations shut in the road on either side.

‘I mean to have it,’ said Dick, looking coolly up into his face; ’I mean to see if there’s any of the letters with a half-sovereign in ‘em, that you tell us about.’

’Dick, Dick, it would be robbing!  For shame, Dick!  What would become of Mother and me?’

‘That’s your look-out,’ said Dick; and he stretched out his hand for the bag.  He was four years older than Harold, and much stouter.