ll warrant he is off to the merry orchard.'

'I hope not,' said Mrs. King gravely.

'He never would,' said Ellen, in anger.

'Ah, well, I always said I didn't see no harm in a lad getting a bit of
pleasure.'

'No, indeed,' said Mrs. King. 'Harold knows I would not stint him in the
fruit nor in the pleasure, but I should be much vexed if he could go out
on a Sunday, buying and selling, among such a lot as meet at that
orchard.'

'Well, I'm sure I don't know when poor folks is to have a holiday if not
on a Sunday, and the poor boy must be terrible moped with his brother so
ill.'

'Not doing thine own pleasure on My holy day,' thought Ellen, but she did
not say it, for her mother could not bear for texts to be quoted at
people. But her heart was very heavy; and when she went up with some tea
to Alfred, she looked from the window to see whether, as she hoped,
Harold might be in Paul's hay-loft, preferring going without his tea to
being teased by Betsey. Paul sat in his loft, with his Bible on his
knee, and his head on Caesar's neck.

'Alfred,' said Ellen, 'do you know where Harold is? Sure he is not gone
to the merry orchard?'

'Is not he come home?' said Alfred. 'Oh, then he is! He is gone to the
merry orchard, breaking Sunday with Dick Royston! And by-and-by he'll be
ill, and die, and be as miserable as I am!' And Alfred cried as Ellen
had never seen him cry.

CHAPTER VI--THE MERRY ORCHARD

Where was Harold?

Still the evening went on, and he did not come. Alfred had worn himself
out with his fit of crying, and lay quite still, either asleep, or
looking so like it, that when Betsey had finished her tea, and again
began asking to see him, Ellen could honestly declare that he was asleep.

Betsey had bidden them good-bye, more than half affronted at not being
able to report to her mother all about his looks, though she carried with
her a basket of gooseberries and French beans, and Mrs. King walked all
the way down the lane with her, and tried to shew an interest in all she
said, to make up for the disappointment.

Maybe likewise Mrs. King felt it a relief to her uneasiness to look up
and down the road, and along the river, and into the farm-yard, in the
hope that Harold might be in sight; but nothing was to be seen on the
road, but Master Norland, his wife, and baby, soberly taking their Sunday
walk; nor by the river, except the ducks, who seemed to be enjoying their
evening bath, and almos