Tears do not flow long when they may flow freely. It is the presence of restraint, or the interruption of thought, causing the painful idea to recur, which renders it difficult for a child to stop a fit of crying. John had no such restraint, and was subject to no further interruption than the silent appearance of light after light in the village below, and the survey of an occasional sheep, which came noiselessly to look at him and walk away again. By the time that the dew began to make itself felt upon his face, he was yawning instead of crying; and he rose from the turf as much from a desire to be moving again as from any anxiety as to what was to become of him this night. A manifold bleat resounded as he erected himself, and a score or two of sheep ran over one another as he moved from his resting place, giving hope that the shepherd was at no great distance. It was not long before he was seen through the grey twilight, moving on a slope a little to the west; and, to John’s delight, he turned out to be an acquaintance, Bill Hookey, who lived close by the Kays till he went upon the moors in Wilkins the grazier’s service.
“How late are you going to be out, Will?” was John’s first question.
“As late as it be before it is early,” replied Will. “Yon’s my sleeping place, and I am going to turn in when I have made out what is doing on the river there. Look farther down,—below the forge, boy. They are quiet enough this minute, or the wind is lulled. When it blows again, you may chance to hear what I heard.”
“But about sleeping,” said John. “I am mortally tired, and I’ve a great way to go home. Can’t you give me a corner in your hut till morning?”
“Why, I doubt there will be scarce room, for I promised two of my ewes that they should have shelter to-night; and this lamb is too tender, you see, to be left to itself. I don’t see how they can let you be served.”
John promised to let the ewes have the first choice of a snug corner, and to be content with any space they might leave him, explaining that he wanted to be abroad early to glean, and that it would save him a long walk to sleep on this side Anderson’s fields, instead of a mile to the east of them. He said nothing at present about his hunger, lest it should prove an objection to his abiding in Will’s company. The objection came spontaneously, however, into the mind of the prudent Will.
“I hope you’ve your supper with you, lad, or you’ll fare hardly here.”
“O, never mind supper,” said John, brushing his sleeve across his eyes. “I have gone without often enough lately.”
“Like many a one besides. Well, if you don’t mind supper, so much the better for you. I have left but a scanty one for myself, I was so mortal hungry at dinner time; and there is no more bread and milk in the jar than the lamb will want.”
“Can’t I get some fresh sweet grass for the lamb that will do as well? Do let me! Pretty creature! I should like to feed it.”