'A likely story. There's been none
these half-dozen years.'
'It's four years since,' answered Stephen; 'I remember, because
grandfather and I saw them the day mother died, when little Nan was born.
I couldn't forget them or mistake them after that. They are at the head
of the Black Valley, where the quaking noise begins. I'm sure I'm right,
sir.'
'You are not making game of me?' asked Jones, laughing heartily at his
own wit. 'Well, my lad, if this is true, it will be worth something to
me. Hark ye, I'm sorry about your dog, and you shall choose any one of
mine you like, if you'll promise to keep him out of mischief.'
'I couldn't have another dog in Snip's place,' replied Stephen in a
choked voice; 'at any rate not yet, thank you, sir.'
'Well,' said the gamekeeper, shouldering his gun, and walking off, 'I'll
be your friend, young Fern, when it does not hurt myself.'
CHAPTER IX.
HOMELESS.
Of course Stephen's brief term of favour with Black Thompson was at an
end; but whether Miss Anne had given him a hint that the boy was under
her protection, and had confessed all to her, or because he might be
busy in some deeper scheme of wickedness, he did not display as much
anger as Stephen expected, when he refused to show him the haunts of
the grouse, or go with him again on a poaching expedition.
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77