“So that impudent young scamp aint returned yet, it seems,” cried the farmer. “He be making a long stop on it.” “I hope he will come back,” said his daughter, in a tone of sadness. “You hope! What do you hope for? If he does come back he shan’t stop, I tell ’ee that. I’ll see the squire, and get shot of un.” “Have a little more patience with him. He won’t be so wilful after a bit.” “Patience, gell! I dunno what thee art thinkin’ about. I think we’ve all had patience enough. Wilful! He’ll mend as much as small beer is likely to do in harvest time. Some on us will ha’ to break un of his bad habits. I aint much yoose at that, it would seem.” “But when he returns you will wait awhile, and try him a little longer?” said Patty, coaxingly, winding her arms round the old man’s neck. “Umph! ye be a wheedling lass,” he returned. “Very well, I will wait and see if he be likely to change. Say no more, gell. You know better than what I do what a fool ye can mek o’ yer old father. Say no more; ye shall ha’ yer own way in this as in all other things.” “Ah, that’s said like my own dear father,” murmured Patty. But the night passed over as the day had done, and no Alf Purvis presented himself at Stoke Ferry Farm; as bed time came the members of the household exchanged blank looks, although they said but little. Each member of the family could not conceal his uneasiness. Although they said but little each member of the family could not conceal their uneasiness. Let us return to him whose absence was the cause of this anxiety. After the departure of the urchin who had rendered such signal service to Alf, the latter walked over the fields and bethought him of what to do. “I won’t return again to that dalled place,” murmured he. “I’ve had enough of the guv’nor and his low-bred crew of workpeople. Oh that I were a man, and able to fight my way in the world without the help of anyone! If I go to the squire he’ll give me a long lecture, and take me back to Stoke Ferry Farm. I don’t know what to do.” He looked at the sun――it wanted about an hour to noon, his dinner time. He resolved to stroll about and amuse himself birds’ nesting. Anyway he would not return till the evening――he could do without his dinner for once in the way; besides he had a slice of fat bacon between two thick pieces of bread in his pocket; these he had stolen from the larder without any one observing him. Yes, he’ll go birds’ nesting. He walked across field after field, and soon reached a small common which was covered with furze bushes, slanting thorn trees, and yews. This place seemed to have considerable attractions for him. The aspect of nature is always beautiful, but rugged, savage, uncultivated nature this lad loved the most. Perhaps the reason of this might be traced to his occupation as a tiller of the soil.