The sun had been shining when they started--beautiful though not very warm spring-sun, but now it was clouded and rain was threatened. They were in the middle of a bare, lonely moor, easily reached from the house, but of considerable extent, and the wind had begun to blow cold. Sunk in his miserable thoughts, the more miserable that he had now yielded even the pretence of struggle, and relapsed into unforgiving unforgivenness, the father saw nothing of his child's failing strength, but kept trudging on. All at once he became aware that the boy was not by his side. He looked round: he was nowhere visible. Alarmed, he stopped, and turning, called his name aloud. The wind was blowing the other way, and that might be the cause of his hearing no reply. He called again, and this time thought he heard a feeble response. He retraced his steps rapidly. Some four or five hundred yards back, he came to a hollow, where on a tuft of brown heather, sat Mark, looking as white as the vapour-like moon in the daytime. His anxiety relieved, the father felt annoyed, and rated the little fellow for stopping behind. "I wasn't able to keep up, papa," replied Mark. "So I thought I would rest a while, and meet you as you came back." "You ought to have told me. I shouldn't have brought you had I known you would behave so. Come, get up, we must go home." "I'm very sorry, papa, but I think I can't." "Nonsense!" "There's something gone wrong in my knee." "Try," said his father, again frightened. Mark had never shown himself whimsical. He obeyed and rose, but with a little cry dropped on the ground. He had somehow injured his knee that he could not walk a step. His father stooped to lift him. "I'll carry you, Markie," he said. "Oh, no, no, you must not, papa! It will tire you! Set me on that stone, and send Jacob. He carries a sack of meal, and I'm not so heavy as a sack of meal." His father was already walking homeward with him. The next moment Mark spied the waving of a dress. "Oh," he cried, "there's Hessie! She will carry me!" "You little goose!" said his father tenderly, "can she carry you better than I can?" "She is not stronger than you, papa, because you are a big man; but I think Hessie has more carry in her. She has such strong arms!" Hester was running, and when she came near was quite out of breath. She had feared how it would be when she found her father had taken Mark for a walk, and her first feeling was of anger, for she had inherited not a little of her father's spirit: indirectly the black sheep had roused evils in the flock unknown before. Never in her life had Hester been aware of such a feeling as that with which she now hurried to meet her father. When, however, she saw the boy's arms round his father's neck, and his cheek laid against his, her anger went from her, and she was sorry and ashamed, notwithstanding that she knew by Mark's face, of which she understood every light and shade, that he was suffering much.