Walter was so busy trenching in his garden, one late autumn afternoon, that he paid no attention to any thing that passed on the other side of the hedge. Train after train of coal-waggons slid by on the rail-road from the pit to the staithe, and from the staithe to the pit, and he never looked up, till a voice from one of the vehicles shouted to him that he was a pretty ferryman to let a passenger stand calling for his boat, for minutes together, while he gave no heed. Walter just turned to the cottage to shout, in his turn, “Father, the boat!” and then went on with his trenching. The days were gone by when Walter used to uprear himself from his weeding or pruning, or stand resting on his spade, to watch his father putting off for the opposite bank, or speculate on who the passengers might be, whence they came, and whither they might be going. His garden was a tempting place whence to overlook the river, sloping as it did down to the very bank; but Walter had now too much to do and to think about to spare time for the chance amusements of former days. His father had duly and perpetually assured him in his childhood that “the hand of the diligent maketh rich,” and that “if a man will not work, neither should he eat;” but, though these quotations had their effect, there were thoughts in Walter’s mind which were yet more stimulating to his exertions. He threw down his spade in no little hurry, however, when, in a few minutes, he heard himself called from behind. His cousin Effie was running up the slope of the garden, crying, “Walter! Walter! is my father here? You need not be afraid to tell _me_. Is my father here?” “Your father, no! I have not seen him since church, last Sunday.” “Well, uncle Christopher said just so; but I got him to set me over, I was so unwilling to believe you did not know where my father was. O, Walter! cannot you give the least guess where he is? I dare not go back to my mother without news.” Walter’s grieved countenance showed that he would afford news if he had any to impart. He hesitatingly mentioned the public-house. “O, there is not a public-house between this and Newcastle, nor all over Shields, where one or other of us had not been before twelve o’clock last night. I did not know whether to be glad or sorry that he was not in one of them. Now I should be glad enough to see him in almost any way.” “Before twelve o’clock last night! How long have you missed him?” “He quitted the keel, they say, just at dark, when she came alongside the collier,—only because he had broken his pipe, and went to get another; but he did not come back.” Walter was silent; but Effie could interpret his thought. “It is certain the press-gang was out last night,” she observed. “Where is the tender stationed?” asked Walter, pulling down his shirt sleeves, and looking round for his coat.