"Sea, is it?" roared Tim. "I'll run away--no sea for me." "And I'll run away too," shouted I. "No Knockowen for me." But it was of no avail; protest as we would, we had to do as we were bid. That very hour, with nothing but a little book that was once my mother's, and a few poor clothes, and Con the dog at my heels, I followed his honour down to the boat and left my old home behind me. And before dawn of day Tim was trudging surlily at my father's heels across country, on his way to join the _Cigale_ at Sheep Haven. CHAPTER SIX. MISS KIT. His honour, saving his presence! was one of the meanest men I ever met, and I have come across many a close-fisted one in my day. There was nothing large about Maurice Gorman. His little eyes could never open wide enough to see the whole of a matter, or his little mouth open wide enough to speak it. If he owed a guinea, he would only pay a pound of it, and trust to your forgetting the rest. If his boat wanted painting, he would give it one coat and save the other. If his horse wanted shoeing, he would give him three new shoes, and use an old one for the fourth. If he ever gave money, it was by way of a bargain; and if he ever took up a cause, good or bad, it was grudgingly, and in a way which robbed his support of all graciousness. It took me some months to discover all this about my new master. When first I found myself an inmate of Knockowen, I was so sore with disappointment and anger that I cared about nothing and nobody. His honour, whose professions of interest in me were, as I well knew, all hollow, concerned himself very little about my well-being under his roof. Why he had taken me at all I could not guess. But I was sure, whatever the reason, it was because it suited his interest, not mine. I was handed over to the stables, and there they made a sort of groom of me; and presently, because I was a handy lad, I was fetched indoors when company was present, and set to wait at table in a livery coat. The Knockowen household was a small one, consisting only of his honour and Mistress Gorman and the young lady. Mistress Gorman was a sad woman, who had little enough pleasure in this world, and that not of her husband's making. The man and his wife were almost strangers, meeting only at meal-times, and not always then, to exchange a few formal words, and then separate, one to her lonely chamber, the other to his grounds. The brightness of the house was all centred in my little lady Kit, who was as remote from her mother's sadness as she was from her father's meanness. From the first she made my life at Knockowen tolerable, and very soon she made it necessary. I shall not soon forget my first meeting with her. She had been away on a visit when I arrived, and a week later I was ordered to take the boat over to Rathmullan to fetch her home.