“Now, if I had twenty hearts to lose, I never could spare a bit of one of them for that good, grey, square severe man. But different people have different tastes, and here is that little imp of a gipsy-tinker ready to turn slave for my master; and, odd enough, my master,--who, I should have said before-hand, would have made short work of imp, and imp’s family, and have sent Hall, the Bang-beggar, after them in no time--my master, as they tell me, is in his way quite fond of the lad, and if he could, without vexing my lady too much, he would have made him what the folks here call a Latiner. However, last night, it seems that there was a letter of some importance forgotten (I can’t tell you what it was about, my dear, though I know perfectly well, but ‘<i>service oblige</i>,’ as well as ‘noblesse,’ and you must take my word for it that it was important, and one that I am surprised my master could forget), till too late for the post. (The poor, good, orderly man is not what he was before his wife’s death.) Well, it seems that he was sore annoyed by his forgetfulness, and well he might be. And it was all the more vexatious, as he had no one to blame but himself. As for that matter, I always scold somebody else when I’m in fault; but I suppose my master would never think of doing that, else it’s a mighty relief. However, he could eat no tea, and was altogether put out and gloomy. And the little faithful imp-lad, perceiving all this, I suppose, got up like a page in an old ballad, and said he would run for his life across country to Comberford, and see if he could not get there before the bags were made up. So my master gave him the letter, and nothing more was heard of the poor fellow till this morning, for the father thought his son was sleeping in Mr. Horner’s barn, as he does occasionally it seems, and my master, as was very natural, that he had gone to his father’s.” “And he had fallen down the old stone quarry, had he not?”