Paul was not too ill to smile at this; and Harold modestly said, ’It was all along of he, Sir.’

‘And he seems to be the chief sufferer.—­Are you in much pain, Paul?’

‘Sometimes, Sir, when I try to move,’ said Paul; ’but it is better when I’m still.’

‘You’ve had a harder time of it than I supposed, my boy,’ said Mr. Cope.  ‘Why did you never let me know how you were treated?’

Paul’s face shewed more wonder than anything else.  ‘Thank you, Sir,’ he said, ‘I didn’t think it was any one’s business.’

‘No one’s business!’ exclaimed the young clergyman.  ’It is every one’s business to see justice done, and it should never have gone on so if you had spoken.  Why didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t think it would be any use,’ again said Paul.  ’There was old Joe Joiner, he always said ’twas a hard world to live in, and that there was nothing for it but to grin and bear it.’

‘There’s something better to be done than to grin,’ said Mr. Cope.

‘Yes, I know, Sir,’ said Paul, with a brighter gleam on his face; ’and I seem to understand that better since I came here.  I was thinking,’ he added, ’if they pass me back to Upperscote, I’ll tell old Joe that folks are much kinder than he told me, by far.’

‘Kinder—­I should not have thought that your experience!’ exclaimed Mr. Cope, his head still running on the Shepherds.

But Paul did not seem to think of them at all, or else to take their treatment as a matter-of-course, as he did his Union hardships.  There was a glistening in his eyes; and he moved his head so as to sign down-stairs, as he said, ’I didn’t think there was ne’er a one in the world like her.’

‘What, Mrs. King?  I don’t think there are many,’ said Mr. Cope warmly.  ‘And yet I hope there are.’

‘Ay, Sir,’ said Paul fervently.  ’And there’s Harold, and John Farden, and all the chaps.  Please, Sir, when I’m gone away, will you tell them all that I’ll never forget ’em? and I’ll be happier as long as I live for knowing that there are such good-hearted folks.’

Mr. Cope felt trebly moved towards one who thought harshness so much more natural than kindness, and who received the one so submissively, the other so gratefully; but the conversation was interrupted by Harold’s exclaiming that my Lady in her carriage was stopping at the gate, and Mother was running out to her.

Rumours of the post-office robbery, as little Miss Selby called it, had travelled up to the Grange, and she was wild to know what had happened to Harold; but her grandmamma, not knowing what highway robbers might be roaming about Friarswood, would not hear of her walking to the post-office, and drove thither with her herself, in full state, close carriage, coachman and footman; and there was Mrs. King, with her head in at the carriage window, telling all the story.

‘So you have this youth here?’ said Lady Jane.