Every Sunday, sir, without fail."

Some third person behind me burst out laughing; some third person had
been listening to our talk. I turned round, and discovered Ambrose
Meadowcroft.

"I understand the drift of your catechism, sir, though my brother
doesn't," he said. "Don't be hard on Silas, sir. He isn't the only
Christian who leaves his Christianity in the pew when he goes out of
church. You will never make us friends with John Jago, try as you may.
Why, what have you got there, Mr. Lefrank? May I die if it isn't my
stick! I have been looking for it everywhere!"

The thick beechen stick had been feeling uncomfortably heavy in my
invalid hand for some time past. There was no sort of need for my
keeping it any longer. John Jago was going away to Narrabee, and Silas
Meadowcroft's savage temper was subdued to a sulky repose. I handed the
stick back to Ambrose. He laughed as he took it from me.

"You can't think how strange it feels, Mr. Lefrank, to be out without
one's stick," he said. "A man gets used to his stick, sir; doesn't he?
Are you ready for your breakfast?"

"Not just yet. I thought of taking a little walk first."

"All right, sir. I wish I could go with you; but I have got my work to
do this morning, and Silas has his work too. If you go back by the way
you came, you will find yourself in the garden. If you want to go
further, the wicket-gate at the end will lead you into the lane."

Through sheer thoughtlessness, I did a very foolish thing. I turned
back as I was told, and left the brothers together at the gate of the
stable-yard.

CHAPTER V. THE NEWS FROM NARRABEE.

ARRIVED at the garden, a thought struck me. The cheerful speech and
easy manner of Ambrose plainly indicated that he was ignorant thus far
of the quarrel which had taken place under my window. Silas might
confess to having taken his brother's stick, and might mention whose
head he had threatened with it. It was not only useless, but
undesirable, that Ambrose should know of the quarrel. I retraced my
steps to the stable-yard. Nobody was at the gate. I called alternately
to Silas and to Ambrose. Nobody answered. The brothers had gone away to
their work.

Returning to the garden, I heard a pleasant voice wishing me
"Good-morning." I looked round. Naomi Colebrook was standing at one of
the lower windows of the farm. She had her working apron on, and she
was industriously brightening the knives for the breakfast-table on an
old-fashio