tough, and I were afraid of somebody coming and finding me, so I cut
rather random, for my knife were not so sharp, and I couldn't get the
branch off at first, and as the bank were rather steep, I slipped about
a good deal, and nearly tumbled back. Just then I heard somebody a-
coming, and I felt almost sure it were fayther; so I gave one great pull
with my knife, the branch came in two all of a suddent, and the knife
slipped, and gave my left hand a great gash. I kept it, however, in my
hand, but I slipped in getting back into the road, and dropped it. I
durstn't stop long, for the man, whoever he were, came nearer and
nearer, so I just looked about for a moment or two, and then I set off
and ran for my life, and never saw my poor knife again till your John
gave it me to sharpen an hour since."

"Eh, Sammul," cried Betty, with a great sigh of relief, "you little
thought what a stab your knife'd give your poor sister. I went out,
same night as you went off, to seek you, and coming home from Aunt
Jenny's I seed a summat shining on the road near the old pit-shaft, for
moon were up then; it were this knife o' yourn. I picked it up, and oh,
Sammul, there were blood on it, and I saw the bank were trampled, and
oh, I didn't know what to make on it. I feart ye'd been and kilt
yourself. I feart it at first, but I didn't arter a bit, when I'd time
to bethink me a little. But I've kept the knife ever since; you shall
have it back now, and you mustn't charge us anything for grinding it."

"Poor Betty!" said her brother, "I little thought what sorrow my knife
would bring you."

"Well, go on, it's all right now."

"When I'd run a good way," continued Samuel, "I began to think a bit
what I should do with myself. One thing I were resolved on--I'd make a
fresh start--I'd forget as I'd ever had a home--I'd change my name, and
be my own mayster. It were not right--I see it now--I were misguided--
it were not right to my poor Betty, my loving sister--it were selfish to
leave her to bear all the trouble by herself, and it were not right by
you, fayther, nor by poor dear mother. I should have borne my trials
with patience, and the Lord would have made a road through 'em; but I've
prayed to be forgiven, and, bless the Lord, he's brought good out of
evil. Arter a while, I thought as I'd walk to Liverpool, and see if I
couldn't work my passage to America or Australia. I didn't wish any one
to know where I was gone, so I never