At last the long-expected actually came to pass. He woke up suddenly, very early, one morning, and saw a lantern glimmering at the further end of the field. He immediately rose, put on his coat, and opening the door of the hut a little wider peered out into the darkness. It was not yet five o’clock, and here in the open field all was still as at midnight. The weather had “taken up” lately; the keen crispness of frost was in the air, and the sky was full of stars. The bobbing light yonder seemed to blink like one at first, but presently became steady, and all at once he heard, or fancied he heard, a faint cry. “She’s found the stone,” said Timothy, and grinned to himself. Now the light began to waver again, and, as Timothy expected, approached the hut. As it drew near, Ann-Car’line’s voice was heard calling piteously, “Mr Kiddle! Timothy—Timothy!” The shepherd winked to himself, and answered with a low and muffled roar, intended to indicate that he had just been aroused from profound slumber. “Oh, Timothy Kiddle!” cried the voice, “please come out a minute, I don’t know what to do. Oh! Oh! Oh!” “Hold hard a minute!” cried Timothy. “I’m coming!” He lighted his lantern and sallied forth. There stood Ann-Car’line, pressing close against the hurdle fence, the light which she held up falling upon her white scared face, and upon the handkerchief in her hand. “What be doin’ here, my maid, at this hour?” enquired the shepherd sternly. “You did ought to be at home and a-bed. ’Tisn’t respectable to be wanderin’ about in the fields in the dark.” “Oh, don’t be so cross,” pleaded the girl. “I wouldn’t come if I could help it. Oh dear! Oh dear! I’m in such trouble. You said I was to call you if I was in trouble.” “I said you was to own up,” said Timothy, grimly. “You must start wi’ that.” “I thought you’d be a bit kinder,” moaned Ann-Car’line, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. “I—I—I had summat as I didn’t want the folks at home to see—I haven’t got nothin’ what locks—so I made a little hole at the bottom of the field yon—and I buried it. An’—an’—somebody’s been an’ stole it away, an’ put a stone in its place.” “That’s a queer tale,” said Timothy. “Very near as queer a tale as the one you did tell I about bein’ axed to be a fairy.” “Oh, but it’s true—it’s really true,” cried Ann-Car’line earnestly. “And the worst of it is the thing—what I hid—wasn’t mine.” Timothy deliberately set down his lantern, and folded his arms on the top of the hurdle. “You’ll have to come out wi’ the whole truth, my girl,” said he; “what was the thing ye hid?” “’Twas a watch,” gasped the girl; “a gold watch.” Timothy whistled under his breath. “And ’twasn’t yours, ye say?” he remarked after a pause. “Ye stole it then, did ye? Ye’ll be put in prison so sure as I be a-lookin’ at ye.”