Fenwick took a large, red apple from the dresser, and began to munch it, declaring that they had none such in their orchard. And then, when the apple was finished, he had to begin his story. "Mrs. Brattle, I'm sorry that I have something to say that will vex you." "Eh, Mr. Fenwick! Bad news? 'Deed and I think there's but little good news left to us now,--little that comes from the tongues of men. It's bad news that is always coming here. Mr. Fenwick,--what is it, sir?" Then he repeated the question he had before put to the miller about Sam. Where was Sam last night?--She only shook her head. Did he sleep at home?--She shook her head again. Had he breakfasted at home? "'Deed no, sir. I haven't set eyes on him since before yesterday." "But how does he live? His father does not give him money, I suppose?" "There's little enough to give him, Mr. Fenwick. When he is at the mill his father do pay him a some'at over and above his keep. It isn't much, sir. Young men must have a some'at in their pockets at times." "He has too much in his pockets, I fear. I wish he had nothing, so that he needs must come home for his meals. He works at the mill, doesn't he?" "At times, sir; and there isn't a lad in all Bullumpton,"--for so the name was ordinarily pronounced,--"who can do a turn of work to beat him." "Do he and his father agree pretty well?" "At times, sir. Times again his father don't say much to him. The master ain't given to much talking in the mill, and Sam, when he's there, works with a will. There's times when his father softens down to him, and then to see 'em, you'd think they was all in all to each other. There's a stroke of the master about Sam hisself, at times, Mr. Fenwick, and the old man's eyes gladden to see it. There's none so near his heart now as poor Sam."