‘He’s gone!’ he said, and threw himself back in a chair.
‘Gone!’ cried Mrs. King and Ellen with one voice, quite aghast.
‘Gone!’ repeated Harold. ‘The farmer hunted him off this morning! Missus will have it that he’s been stealing her eggs, and that there was a lantern in the stable on Friday night; so they told him to be off with him, and he’s gone!’
‘Poor, poor boy! just when my Lady would have been the making of him!’ cried Ellen.
‘But where—which way is he gone?’ asked Mrs. King.
‘I might ride after him, and overtake him,’ cried Harold, starting up, ‘but I never thought to ask! And Mrs. Shepherd was ready to pitch into me, so I got away as soon as I could. Do you run over and ask, Ellen; you always were a favourite.’
They were in such an eager state, that Ellen at once sprang up, and hastily throwing on her bonnet, ran across the road, and tapped at Mrs. Shepherd’s open door, exclaiming breathlessly, ‘O Ma’am, I beg your pardon, but will you tell me where Paul Blackthorn is gone?’
‘Paul Blackthorn! how should I know?’ said Mrs. Shepherd crossly. ‘I’m not to be looking after thieves and vagabonds. He’s a come-by-chance, and he’s a go-by-chance, and a good riddance too!’
‘Oh but, Ma’am, my Lady wanted to speak to him.’
This only made Mrs. Shepherd the more set against the poor boy.