Dick was a brave-hearted lad, and at last recovered himself. He determined that he would keep the treatment he had received at Stephen Filmer's hands a secret from his mother. He would be brave, and bear his trouble alone.
Up went the fagot on the child's thin shoulders. Try as he might, Dick could not whistle to-day, as he usually did, because his eyes were so full of tears that he had all he could do to see where he was going. He trudged on, fighting against his grief, and by the time he reached home, he had quite composed himself.
To his surprise, Dick found that Molly had already kindled a fire with some of the wood he had gathered earlier in the day, and had set the tea-things out upon the snow-white cloth.
"O Dick!" the little girl exclaimed, "What a long time you've been! And how red the wind has made your poor eyes look—just as if you had been crying!"
"Mother isn't back yet, I suppose," remarked the boy, taking no heed of the comment his sister had made about his appearance.
"No; I expect, though, she'll be here soon now. Come close to the fire, Dick—do! and warm yourself. The sticks you fetched this morning blaze up splendidly; they give out better heat than any we've had as yet."
"That's right!" in gratified accents. "I'll bring home some more to-morrow."
And Dick Wilkins took a stool, a sharp knife, and a basketful of sticks, and sat down making clothes' pegs in the poor but well-warmed kitchen; whilst Molly stood knitting by the firelight; and the twins and Stranger occupied a prominent position on the hearth, and watched the lifting cover of the already boiling kettle.
[CHAPTER IV.]
TEN SHILLINGS REWARD.