His mother never seemed happy about his going away, but her opposition was always borne down. For the few days previous, she had been accustomed to take him on her lap, and, with eyes full of tears, heap endearing epithets upon him, such as, "My sweet flower;" but he did not appreciate her sympathy, and always broke away from her. His father lifted him in his arms, carried him out into the darkness, and placed him gently between his uncle and aunt, on a seat with a raised back, which was laid across a cart from side to side. Sitting aloft, on this prototype of the Irish gig, little Hugh Brontë, with a heart full of childish anticipations, began his rough journey out into the big world. That Brontë covenant was indeed faithfully kept, for even when Mary, his aunt, visited Hugh in County Down about the beginning of this century, she could neither be coaxed nor compelled to give him, either directly or indirectly, the slightest clue by which he might discover the home of his childhood. It thus happened that Hugh Brontë was never able to retrace his steps to his father's house, after the darkness had closed around him, perched aloft on the cross-seat of a country cart, between his uncle and aunt. It was a cold night, and the child crept close under his aunt's wing for warmth. Soon he began to prattle in his childish way as he had done with his new friends for days, when suddenly a harsh torrent of corrosive words burst from Welsh, commanding him not to let another sound pass his lips. For a moment the child was stunned and bewildered, for the angry order fell like a blow. The young Brontë blood could not, however, rest passively in such a crisis. Disentangling himself from his aunt's shawl, Hugh drew towards his uncle and said, "Did you speak those unkind words to me?" "I'll teach you to disobey me, you magnificent whelp!" rasped out Welsh, bringing his great hand down with a sharp smack on the little fellow's face. Hurt and angry, little Brontë sprang from the seat into the bottom of the cart and, facing the cruel uncle, shouted: "I won't go with you one step further! I will go back and tell my father what a bad old monster you are!" and then clutching at the reins, screamed: "Turn the horse around and take me home!" A heavy hand grasped him, and choked the voice out of him. He was shaken and knocked against the bottom and sides of the cart, until he was able neither to escape nor to speak. Several hours later, he awoke and found himself lying in damp straw, sick, and sore, and hungry. Every jolt of the springless cart pained him. It was a moonlight night with occasional showers. He turned upon his side, and watched the two figures perched upon the seat above him, riding along in silence and caring nothing for him. A few hours before he had loved them passionately, and now he hated them to loathing. He felt the utter desolation of loneliness and home-sickness.