Hill came in, and they prepared to go to the other house. David, his arms full--for, of course, with things to be carried, they did not go out empty-handed--came suddenly back from the door in going out, flung his load down, and clasped his mother. She bent to kiss him. "Good night, my dear one! Don't you and Luke get chattering all night. Go to sleep betimes." He burst into tears, clinging to her with sobs. It was as if his heart were breaking. "Are you afraid to go?" she whispered. "I must go," was his sobbing answer. "Now then, Davvy!" called back Hill's rough tones. "What the plague are you lagging for?" "Say good-bye to me, mother! Say good-bye!" "Good-bye, and God bless you, David! Remember the angels are around you!" "I know; I know!" Taking up his bundles, he departed, keeping some paces behind Hill all the way; partly to hide his face, down which the tears were raining; partly in his usual awe of that formidable functionary who stood to him as a step-father. Arrived at the house, Hill was fumbling for the key, when some one came darting out from the shadow of its eaves. It proved to be Luke Macintosh. "I was a-looking round for you," said crusty Hill. "I began to think you'd forgot the time o' meeting." "No, I'd not forgot it; but I be come to say that I can't oblige you by sleeping there," was Luke's reply. "The master have ordered me off with the waggon afore dawn, and so--I'm a-going to sleep at home." Had I been there, I could have said the master had _not_ ordered Luke off before dawn; but after his breakfast. It was just a ruse of his, to avoid doing what he had never relished, sleeping in the house. Hill suspected as much, and went on at him, mockingly asking if he was afraid of hobgoblins. Luke dodged away in the midst of it, and Hill relieved his anger by a little hot language. "Come along, Davvy," said he at last; "we must put these here things inside." Unlocking the door, he went in; and, the first thing, fell against something or other in the dark. Hill swore a little at that, and struck a light, the fire having gone out. This lower room was full of articles, thrown down out of hand; the putting things straight had been left to the morrow. "Carry the match afore me, Davvy. These blankets must go upstairs." By some oversight no candles had been taken to the house; only the box of matches. David lighted one match after the other, while Hill arranged the blankets on the mattress for sleeping. This room--the one with the skylight--was to be David's. "There," said Hill, taking the box of matches from him, "you'll be comfortable here till morning. If you find it cold, you might keep on your trousers." David Garth stood speechless, a look of horror struggling to his face. In that first moment he dared not remonstrate; his awe of Hill was too great. "What's the matter now?" asked Hill, striking another match. "What ails you?"