“What’s wrang wi’ ye now?” inquired his spouse as he dropped morosely into a chair and answered but sourly a hearty greeting from a visitor.
“Where’s that lad?” he growled.
“Martin. Hasn’t he come yam?”
She trembled for her adopted son’s remissness on this, the first day after the great rebellion.
“Yam!”—with intense bitterness—“he’s not likely te hearken te t’ Word when he’s encouraged in guile.”
“Eh, but there’s some good cause this time,” cried the old lady, more flustered than she cared to show. “Happen he’s bin asked to see t’ squire again.”
“T’ squire left Elmsdale afore noon,” was the gruff reply.
Then the vicar entered, and Elsie, leading Martin, and the two pupils carrying the gigantic cat. Mrs. Johnson and the governess-companion had remained with the tent and would drive home in the dogcart.
Mr. Herbert’s glowing account of Martin’s conduct, combined with a judicious reference to his anxiety when he discovered that the hour for his lesson had passed, placed even Bolland in a good humor. Once again the boy filled the mouths of the multitude, since nothing would serve the farmhands but they must carry off the cat to the fair for exhibition before they skinned it.