“Only one!” cried the indignant agriculturist. “That be true enough, lass; but how are we to know if he aint killed twenty――the young warmint?” A dead hare, which was lying on the dresser with a wire round its neck, explained the subject of their conversation. Mr. Jamblin glanced at it with a look of rage and disgust. “He’ll never come to any good――never, as sure as I’m a born man,” he ejaculated; “there beant no manner of doubt about that.” “Haven’t you often said that boys wouldn’t be boys if they weren’t a little mischievous?” said his daughter. “Don’t talk nonsense, gell. Boys’ meescheef be boys’ meescheef, that be true enough; but it doesn’t do to ha’ too much of it at one time. I tell ’ee he won’t come to any good. He aint a common boy――he’s a changeling, that’s what he be; there’s something remarkable about him. Ever since he’s bin here he’s bin a sore trouble to all on us, and I wish I’d never set eyes on the young bastard. After he had bin with me a little time and I sent him out in the fields bird-keepin’, he begged and prayed of me to take the long gun with him, and I did let un take it. ‘You won’t know how to use it now you’ve got it,’ sed I. ‘Oh yes, I shell,’ sed he; and I’m blessed if he warn’t right, for directly he got into the fields he let fly at a flock of my house pigeons and brought down four, and took ’em into the veeledge and sold ’em. He’ll never come to any good, Patty, you mark my words. Them as commence being bad as early as he did seldom find the right road arterwards.” “Oh, he’ll know better as he gets older,” said Patty. “Not a bit on it; not a morsel of improvement will be found in him. I tell ee what makes me most afraid on him,” said the farmer, sinking his voice to a whisper, “it’s the way he’s got of reading a durned lot o’ books. It’s my belief as they puts him up to no end of things as he’d never ha’ thort on without.” “Oh, father, there aint any harm in reading.” “I tell ee there is, I aint no ’pinion of that printed stuff, Patty. When I opens a book it reads all black to me, and whatever’s black’s bad, so folks say, and it arnt that only, this lad is so clever with’ut. I sent him to a day school to get a little scholarship because the vicar wished me to do so, but he soon beat the lot on un, missus inclooded.” His daughter laughed outright at this speech. “It be all very well for you to make merry over it, gell; he’s allers got a book in his hand now, arter his day’s work, or what he calls his day’s work, is over.” “He’s read all I’ve got in the best parlour, and there’s a frightful sight on ’em there, so he gets about borrowin’ books from the neighbours. Blessed if I don’t think he would swallow the biggest library that ever was, and think nuffin of it.” “Well, he’d better be reading than be getting into mischief.”