edge.

"The monks were parsons, John, you know. Very good men, I dare say,
but rather idle."

"Oh, indeed. Do you think they planted that yew hedge?" And he went
to examine it.

Now, far and near, our yew-hedge was noted. There was not its like in
the whole country. It was about fifteen feet high, and as many thick.
Century after century of growth, with careful clipping and training,
had compacted it into a massive green barrier, as close and impervious
as a wall.

John poked in and about it--peering through every interstice--leaning
his breast against the solid depth of branches; but their close shield
resisted all his strength.

At last he came back to me, his face glowing with the vain efforts he
had made.

"What were you about? Did you want to get through?"

"I wanted just to see if it were possible."

I shook my head. "What would you do, John, if you were shut up here,
and had to get over the yew-hedge? You could not climb it?"

"I know that, and, therefore, should not waste time in trying."

"Would you give up, then?"

He smiled--there was no "giving up" in that smile of his. "I'll tell
you what I'd do--I'd begin and break it, twig by twig, till I forced my
way through, and got out safe at the other side."

"Well done, lad!--but if it's all the same to thee, I would rather thee
did not try that experiment upon MY hedge at present."

My father had come behind, and overheard us, unobserved. We were both
somewhat confounded, though a grim kindliness of aspect showed that he
was not displeased--nay, even amused.

"Is that thy usual fashion of getting over a difficulty, friend--what's
thy name?"

I supplied the answer. The minute Abel Fletcher appeared, John seemed
to lose all his boyish fun, and go back to that premature gravity and
hardness of demeanour which I supposed his harsh experience of the
world and of men had necessarily taught him; but which was very sad to
see in a lad so young.

My father sat down beside me on the bench--pushed aside an intrusive
branch of clematis--finally, because it would come back and tickle his
bald pate, broke it off, and threw it into the river: then, leaning on
his stick with both hands, eyed John Halifax sharply, all over, from
top to toe.

"Didn't thee say thee wanted work? It looks rather like it."

His glance upon the shabby clothes made the boy colour violently.

"Oh, thee need'st not be ashamed; better men than thee have been in
rags.