It was not cheering news to carry back to poor Mrs. Chattaway. That timid, trembling, unhappy lady had left the shelter of the hedge--where she probably found her crouching position not a very easy one--and was standing behind the trunk of a tree at a little distance, her whole weight leaning upon it. To stand long, unaided, was almost a physical impossibility to her, for her spine was weak. She saw Nora, and came forward. "Where is he?" "He is not at home. His mother does not know where he is. She had heard----Hush! Who's this?" Nora's voice dropped, and they retreated behind the tree. To be seen in the vicinity of Jim Sanders's cottage would not have furthered the object they had in view--that of burying the gentleman for a time. The steps advanced, and Nora, stealing a peep, recognised Farmer Apperley. He was coming from the direction of the Hold; and they rightly judged, seeing him walking leisurely, that the danger must be over. At the same moment they became conscious of footsteps approaching from another direction. They were crossing the road, bearing rather towards the Hold, and in another moment would meet Mr. Apperley. Footsore, weary, yet excited, and making what haste he could, their owner came into view, disclosing the person of Mr. Jim Sanders. Mrs. Chattaway uttered an exclamation, and would have started forward; but Nora, with more caution, held her back. The farmer heard the cry, and looked round, but seeing nothing, probably thought his ears had deceived him. As he turned his head again, there, right in front of him, was Jim Sanders. Quick as lightning his grasp was laid upon the boy's shoulder. "Now then! Where have you been skulking?" "Lawk a mercy! I han't been skulking, sir," returned Jim, apparently surprised at the salutation. "I be a'most ready to drop with the speed I've made."