“God bless thee!” said Mrs. Ray.
“You've been anxious. It was bad to keep you so,” he said, with an obvious effort to assume his ordinary manner.
“I reckon thou couldst not have helped it, my lad,” said Mrs. Ray. Relieved and cheerful, she was bustling about to get Ralph's supper on the table.
“Well, no,” he answered. “You know, I've been over to Gosforth—it's a long ride—I borrowed Jackson's pony from Armboth; and what a wild country it is, to be sure! It blew a gale on Stye Head. It's bleak enough up there on a day like this, mother. I could scarce hold the horse.”
“I don't wonder, Ralph; but see, here's thy poddish—thou must be fair clemm'd.”
“No, no; I called at Broom Hill.”
“How did you come in at the back, lad? Do you not come up the lonnin?”
“I thought I'd go round by the low meadow and see all safe, and then the nearest way home was on the hill side, you know.”
Willy and Rotha glanced simultaneously at Ralph as he said this, but they found nothing in his face, voice, or manner to indicate that his words were intended to conceal the truth.
“But look how late it is!” he said as the clock struck twelve; “hadn't we better go off to bed, all of us?”