Ferns Hollow | Page 4

the seas, for a thief.'
'Father!' cried Stephen, in a tone of deep distress; and he turned quickly
to the old man, remembering how often he had sat upon his knees by

the winter fire, and how many summer days he had rambled with him
over the uplands after the sheep. His grandfather had been far kinder to
him than his own father; and his heart swelled with anger as he went
and laid his arm round the bending neck of the old man, who looked up
in his face and laughed heartily.
'Come back, Stephen; it's true,' gasped James Fern. 'Poor mother and
me came here, where nobody knew us, while he was away for more
than twenty years; and she built a hut for-us to live in till he came back.
I was a little lad then, but as soon as I was big enough she made me
learn to read and write, that I might send letters to him beyond the seas
and none of the neighbours know. She'd often make me read to her
about a poor fellow who had left home and gone to a far country, and
when he came home again, how his father saw him a long way off.
Well, she was just like that when she'd heard that he was landed in
England; she did nought but sit over the bent of the hill yonder, peering
along the road to Botfield; and one evening at sundown she saw
something, little more than a speck upon the turf, and she'd a feeling
come over her that it was he, and she fainted for real joy. After all, we
weren't much happier when we were settled down like. Grandfather had
learned to tend sheep out yonder, and I worked at Botfield; but we
never laid by money to build a brick house, as poor mother always
wanted us. She died a month or so afore I was married to your mother.'
James Fern was silent again for some minutes, leaning back upon his
pillow, with his eyes closed, and his thoughts gone back to the old
times.
'If I'd only been like mother, you'd have been a hill-farmer now, Steve,'
he continued, in a tone of regret; 'she plotted out in her own mind to
take in the green before us, for rearing young lambs, and ducks, and
goslings. But I was like that poor lad that wasted all his substance in
riotous living; and I've let thee and thy sister grow up without even the
learning I could have given thee; and learning is light carriage. But, lad,
remember this house is thy own, and never part with it; never give it up,
for it is thy right. Maybe they'll want to turn thee out, because thee art a
boy; but I've lived in it nigh upon forty years, and I've written it all

down upon this piece of paper, and that the place is thine, Stephen.'
'I'll never give it up, father,' said Stephen, in his steady voice.
'Stephen,' continued his father, 'the master has set his heart upon it to
make it a hill-farm; and thou'lt have hard work to hold thy own against
him. Thou must frame thy words well when he speaks to thee about it,
for he's a cunning man. And there's another paper, which the parson at
Danesford has in his keeping, to certify that mother built this house and
dwelt in it all the days of her life, more than thirty years; if there's any
mischief worked against thee, go to him for it. And now, Stephen, wash
thyself, and get thy supper, and then let's hear thee read thy chapter.'
Stephen carried his basin of potatoes to the door-sill and sat there, with
his back turned to the dismal hut and his dying father, and his face
looking out upon the green hills. He had always been a grave and
thoughtful boy; and he had much to think of now. The deep sense of
new duties and obligations that had come upon him with his father's
words, made him feel that his boyhood had passed away. He looked
round upon the garden, and the field, and the hut, with the keen eye of
an owner; and he wondered at the neglected state into which they had
fallen since his father's illness. There could be no more play-time for
him; no bird's-nesting among the gorse-bushes; no rabbit-bunting with
Snip, the little white terrier that was sharing his supper. If little Nan and
his grandfather were to be provided for, he must be a man, with a man's
thoughtfulness, doing man's work. There seemed enough work for him
to do in the field and garden alone, without his twelve hours' toil in the
coal-pit; but his weekly wages