Meanwhile there was plenty of time before Fairy need want to fly away from the shepherd’s sheltering roof, for if Jack came back at the end of two years she would only then be eighteen. And as time went on the accounts of Jack were very satisfactory. Not only did his own letters lead his friends to gather that he was making his way, but Mr. Leslie occasionally received glowing accounts from his friend the banker of the very promising young man he had sent out to him, and there seemed very little doubt that Jack would do uncommonly well for himself. He wrote every mail, either to his mother or Fairy; indeed, his letters were the chief incidents in their lives, and were eagerly looked for, for little occurred to vary the monotony of the daily routine, except, in due course, the sheep-fairs, lambing-time, the sheep-washing and shearing, and the White Ram, until, in the spring of the second year after Jack went away, a disease broke out among the flocks, which gave John Shelley a great deal of anxiety, although hitherto his sheep had escaped. Indeed, he had been very fortunate since Jack left, and at the time of his third White Ram his flock was in a most prosperous condition. Charlie had developed into an excellent shepherd; his heart was as much in his work now as his father’s; he knew and loved all his sheep, and he was by no means above going to the fairs with them; on the contrary, he was very proud of his position of under-shepherd, and then he had no scruples, like Jack, about snareing wheatears. He made quite a little fortune in this way during the summer months, and in winter he trapped moles and sold them for so much a dozen; in the autumn he gathered mushrooms and sold them—indeed, all was fish that came to Charlie’s net; and in one way he was as observant as Jack, though while Jack pursued his observations from a pure love of natural history, Charlie always had an eye on the main chance. He cared nothing for the beauty of the scenery—probably he saw none, although Ray, the naturalist, thought the South Downs equal to any scenery in Europe. All Charlie saw was an expanse of short crisp turf, excellent pasturage for his sheep. He never brought Fairy home a bunch of flowers, as Jack had been wont to do every day except in the depth of winter, and when she asked him to get her some bee orchises from Mount Caburn, Charlie either did not know where they grew or else had not time to gather them; and then Fairy would go to John Shelley, and beg him to get her some orchids before they were all over, and, busy as he might be, John never refused.