nor, of endearment, of trust, and of approbation. David
Denton won the pleasant little prefix before he was ten years old.
When he saved little Willy Sabay out of the cold waters of Thirlmere,
the villagers dubbed him "Lile Davie." When he took a flogging to
spare the crippled lad of Farmer Grimsby, men and women said proudly,
"He were a lile lad;" and when he gave up his rare half-holiday to
help the widow Gates glean, they had still no higher word of praise
than "kind lile Davie."

However, it often happens that a prophet has no honor among his own
people, and David was the black sheep of the miserly household of
Denton Farm. It consisted of old Christopher Denton, his three sons,
Matthew, Sam, and David, and his daughter Jennie. They had the
reputation of being "people well-to-do," but they were not liked among
the Cumberland "states-men," who had small sympathy for their
niggardly hospitality and petty deeds of injustice.

One night in early autumn Christopher was sitting at the great black
oak table counting over the proceeds of the Kendal market, and Matt
and Sam looked greedily on. There was some dispute about the wool and
the number of sheep, and Matt said angrily, "There's summat got to be
done about Davie. He's just a clish-ma-saunter, lying among the ling
wi' a book in his hand the lee-long day. It is just miff-maff and
nonsense letting him go any longer to the schoolmaster. I am fair
jagged out wi' his ways."

"That's so," said Sam.

"Then why don't you gie the lad a licking, and make him mind the sheep
better? I saw him last Saturday playing sogers down at Thirlston with
a score or more of idle lads like himsel'." The old man spoke
irritably, and looked round for the culprit. "I'll lay thee a penny
he's at the same game now. Gie him a licking when he comes in, son
Matt."

"Nay, but Matt wont," said Jennie Denton, with a quiet decision. She
stood at her big wheel, spinning busily, though it was nine o'clock;
and though her words were few and quiet, the men knew from her face
and manner that Davie's licking would not be easily accomplished. In
fact, Jennie habitually stood between Davie and his father and
brothers. She had nursed him through a motherless babyhood, and had
always sympathized in his eager efforts to rise above the sordid life
that encompassed him. It was Jennie who had got him the grudging
permission to go in the evening to the village schoolmaster for some
book-learning. But peculiar ci