Next day David was sent down with the donkey-cart to Clough End to bring up some weekly stores for the family, Hannah specially charging him to call at the post-office and inquire for letters. He started about nine o'clock, and the twelve o'clock dinner passed by without his reappearance. When she had finished her supply of meat and suet-pudding, after a meal during which no one of the three persons at table had uttered a word, Louie abruptly pushed her plate back again towards Hannah. 'David!' was all she said. 'Mind your manners, miss,' said Hannah, angrily. 'Them as cooms late gets nowt.' And, getting up, she cleared the table and put the food away with even greater rapidity than usual. The kitchen was no sooner quite clear than the donkey-cart was heard outside, and David appeared, crimsoned with heat, and panting from the long tug uphill, through which he had just dragged the donkey. He carried a letter, which he put down on the table. Then he looked round the kitchen. 'Aunt's put t' dinner away,' said Louie, shortly, ''cos yo came late.' David's expression changed. 'Then nex time she wants owt, she can fetch it fro Clough End hersel,' he said violently, and went out. Hannah came forward and laid eager hands on the letter, which was from London, addressed in a clerk's hand. 'Louie!' she called imperatively, 'tak un out soom bread-an-drippin.' Louie put some on a plate, and went out with it to the cowhouse, where David sat on a stool, occupying himself in cutting the pages of a number of the _Vegetarian News,_ lent him in Clough End, with trembling hands, while a fierce red spot burnt in either cheek. 'Tak it away!' he said, almost knocking the plate out of Louie's hands; 'it chokes me to eat a crumb o' hers.' As Louie was bearing the plate back through the yard, Uncle Reuben came by.' What's--what's 'at?' he said, peering shortsightedly at what she held. Every month of late Reuben's back had seemed to grow rounder, his sight less, and his wits of less practical use. 'Summat for David,' said Louie, shortly, ''cos Aunt Hannah woan't gie him no dinner. But he woan't ha it.' Reuben's sudden look of trouble was unmistakable. 'Whar is he?' 'I' th' coo-house.' Reuben went his way, and found the dinnerless boy deep, or apparently deep, in recipes for vegetable soups. 'What made yo late, Davy?' he asked him, as he stood over him. David had more than half a mind not to answer, but at last he jerked out fiercely, 'Waitin for th' second post, fust; then t' donkey fell down half a mile out o' t' town, an th' things were spilt. There was nobody about, an' I had a job to get 'un up at a'.' Reuben nervously thrust his hands far into his coat-pockets. 'Coom wi me, Davy, an I'st mak yor aunt gie yer yor dinner.' 'I wouldn't eat a morsel if she went down on her bended knees to me,' the lad broke out, and, springing up, he strode sombrely through the yard and into the fields.