"As for Mulready I should like to burn his mill down, or to break his neck. I hate him; it's bad enough to be a tyrant; but to be a tyrant and a hypocrite too, is horrible. Well, at any rate he shan't lord it over me;" and so at last Ned dropped off to sleep. He was still soundly asleep when Bill Swinton came in to wake him. It was half-past six, a dull October morning with a dreary drizzling rain. Bill brought with him a mug of hot tea and some thick slices of bread and butter. Ned got up and shook himself.
" What o'clock is it, Bill?"
"Half-past six; the chaps went off to t' mill an hour gone; oi've kept some tea hot for ee."
" Thank you, Bill, my head aches, and so do all my bones, and I feel as if I hadn't been asleep all night, although, indeed, I must have slept quite as long as usual. Can't I have a wash?"
"Yes," Bill said, "thou canst come to our place; but thou hadst best take thy breakfast whilst it be hot. It ull waken thee up loike."
Ned drank the tea and ate a slice of bread and butter, and felt refreshed thereat. Then he ran with Bill to his cottage and had a wash, and then started for the town. It was eight o'clock when he reached home. Abijah was at the door, looking down the road as he came up.
"Oh! Master Ned, how can you go on so ? Not a bit of sleep have I had this blessed night, and the mistress in strong hystrikes all the evening. Where have you been?" Ned gave a grunt at the news of his mother's hysterics— a grunt which clearly expressed " served her right," but he only answered the last part of the question.
"I have been up at Varley, and slept at the school-house. Bill Swinton and Polly Powlett made me up a bed and got me tea and breakfast. I am right enough."
" But you shouldn't have gone away, Master Ned, in that style, leaving us to wait and worry ourselves out of our senses."
" Do you know what she told me, Abijah ? Wasn't it enough to make any fellow mad ?"
" Ay, ay," the nurse said. " I know. I have see'd it coming months ago; but it wasn't no good for me to speak. Ay lad, it's a sore trouble for you, sure-ly a sore trouble for you, and for us all; but it ain't no manner of use for you to set yourself agin it. Least said sooner mended, Master Ned; in a case like this it ain't no good your setting yourself up again the missis. She ain't strong in some things, but she's strong enough in her will, and you ought to know by this time that what she sets her mind on she gets. It were so alius in the captain's time, and
if he couldn't change her, poor patient lamb—for if ever there were a saint on arth he was that—you may be sure that you can't. So try and take it quietly, dearie. It be main hard for ye, and it ain't for me to say as it isn't; but for the sake of peace and quiet, and for the sake of the little ones, Master Ned, it's better for you to take it quiet. If I thought as it would do any good for you to make a fuss I wouldn't be agin it; but it ain't, you know, and it will be worse for you all if you sets him agin you to begin with. Now go up and see your mother, dearie, afore you goes off to school. I have just taken her up her tea."
" I have got nothing to say to her," Ned growled.
"Yes, you have, Master Ned; you have got to tell her you hopes she will be happy. You can do that, you know, with a clear heart, for you do hope so. Fortunately she didn't see him yesterday; for when he called I told him she was too ill to see him, and a nice taking she was in when I told her he had been and gone; but I didn't mind that, you know, and it was better she shouldn't see him when she was so sore about the words you had said to her. It ain't no use making trouble aforehand, or setting him agin you. He knows, I reckon, as he won't be welcomed here by you. The way he has always come when you would be out showed that clear enough. But it ain't no use making matters worse. It's a pretty kettle of fish as it stands. No, go up, dearie, like a good boy, and make things roight."
Ned lingered irresolute for a little time in the hall, and then his father's words, "Be kind to her," came strongly
in his mind, and he slowly went upstairs and knocked at his mother's door.
"Oh! here you are again!" she said in querulous tones as he entered, "after being nearly the death of me with your wicked goings on! I don't know what you will come to, speaking to me as you did yesterday, and then running away and stopping out all night."
"It was wrong, mother," Ned said quietly, "and I have come to tell you I am sorry; but you see the news was very sudden, and I wasn't prepared for it. I did not know that he had been coming here, and the news took me quite by surprise. I suppose fellows never do like their mothers marrying again. It stands to reason they wouldn't; but, now I have thought it over, I am sorry I spoke as I did, and I do hope, mother, you will be happy with him."
Mrs. Sankey felt mollified. She had indeed all along dreaded Ned's hearing the news, and had felt certain it would produce a desperate outbreak on his part. Now that it was over she was relieved. The storm had been no worse than she expected, and now that Ned had so speedily come round, and was submissive, she felt a load off her mind.
" Very well, Ned," she said more graciously than usual, " I am glad that you have seen the wickedness of your conduct. I am sure that I am acting for the best, and that it will be a great advantage to you and your brother and sister having a man like Mr. Mulready to help you push your way in life. I am sure I am thinking of
your interest as much as my own; and I have spoken to him over and over again about you, and he has promised dozens of times to do his best to be like a father to you all." Ned winced perceptibly.
"All right, mother! I do hope you will be happy; but, please, don't let us talk about it again till — till it comes off; and, please, don't let him come here in the evening. I will try and get accustomed to it in time; but you see it's rather hard at first, and you know I didn't expect it."
So saying Ned left the room, and collecting his books made his way off" to school, leaving his mother highly satisfied with the interview.
His absence from afternoon school had, of course, been noticed, and Smithers had told his friends how Ned had flown at him on his speaking to him about the talk of his mother and Mulready. Of course before afternoon school broke up every boy knew that Ned Sankey had cut up rough about the report; and although the great majority of the boys did not know Mr. Mulready by name there was a general feeling of sympathy with Ned. The circumstances of his father's death had, of course, exalted him greatly in the eyes of his school-fellows, and it was the unanimous opinion, that after having had a hero for his father, a fellow would naturally object to having a stepfather put over him.
Ned's absence was naturally associated with the news, and caused much comment and even excitement. His attack upon Mr. Hathorn had become a sort of histori-
cal incident in the school, and the younger boys looked up with a sort of respectful awe upon the boy who had defied a head-master, There were all sorts of speculations rife among them as to what Ned had done, there being a general opinion that he had probably killed Mr. Mul-ready, and the debate turning principally upon the manner in which this act of righteous vengeance had been performed.
There was, then, a feeling almost of disappointment when Ned walked into the playground looking much as usual, except that his face was pale and his eyes looked heavy and dull. No one asked him any questions; for although Ned was a general favourite, it was generally understood that he was not the sort of fellow to be asked questions that might put him out. When they went in school, and the first class was called up, Ned, who was always at its head, took his place at the bottom of the class, saying quietly to the master: