A great part of the morning was spent in putting them into the ground; and, as soon as that was finished, he set out again in quest of the old woman, whom, to his great joy, he spied sitting at her corner of the street with her board before her. But this old woman was deaf and cross; and when at last Jem made her hear his questions, he could get no answer from her, but that she found the fossils where he would never find any more. “But can’t I look where you looked?” “Look away, nobody hinders you,” replied the old woman; and these were the only words she would say. Jem was not, however, a boy to be easily discouraged; he went to the rocks, and walked slowly along, looking at all the stones as he passed. Presently he came to a place where a number of men were at work loosening some large rocks, and one amongst the workmen was stooping down looking for something very eagerly; Jem ran up, and asked if he could help him. “Yes,” said the man, “you can; I’ve just dropped, amongst this heap of rubbish, a fine piece of crystal that I got to-day.” “What kind of a looking thing is it?” said Jem. “White, and like glass,” said the man, and went on working whilst Jem looked very carefully over the heap of rubbish for a great while. “Come,” said the man, “it’s gone for ever; don’t trouble yourself any more, my boy.” “It’s no trouble; I’ll look a little longer; we’ll not give it up so soon,” said Jem; and after he had looked a little longer, he found the piece of crystal. “Thank’e,” said the man, “you are a fine little industrious fellow.” Jem, encouraged by the tone of voice in which the man spoke this, ventured to ask him the same questions which he had asked the old woman. “One good turn deserves another,” said the man; “we are going to dinner just now, and shall leave off work—wait for me here, and I’ll make it worth your while.” Jem waited; and, as he was very attentively observing how the workmen went on with their work, he heard somebody near him give a great yawn, and, turning round, he saw stretched upon the grass, beside the river, a boy about his own age, who, in the village of Ashton, as he knew, went by the name of Lazy Lawrence—a name which he most justly deserved, for he never did anything from morning to night. He neither worked nor played, but sauntered or lounged about restless and yawning. His father was an ale-house keeper, and being generally drunk, could take no care of his son; so that Lazy Lawrence grew every day worse and worse. However, some of the neighbours said that he was a good natured, poor fellow enough, and would never do anyone harm but himself; whilst others, who were wiser, often shook their heads, and told him that idleness was the root of all evil. “What, Lawrence!” cried Jem to him, when he saw him lying upon the grass; “what, are you asleep?” “Not quite.” “Are you awake?” “Not quite.” “What are you doing there?” “Nothing.” “What are you thinking of?” “Nothing.” “What makes you lie there?”