not change them. They were more likely to be dug up by some of
the gypsy people who so often camp about there, and are now far enough
from Easney."

It was truly dreadful to Ambrose to hear his father talk in that calm
soothing tone, and to imagine how he would feel if he knew that his own
son Ambrose had taken Miss Barnicroft's money, and that the hateful
little crock of gold was at that very moment lying quite near him in
David's garden. His heart beat so fast that the sound of it seemed to
fill the room. Would Miss Barnicroft never go away? He longed and yet
dreaded to hear her say good-bye; for after that only one course was
before him--confession.

But she remained some time longer, for she was not at all satisfied to
have the matter treated so quietly. She tried to impress upon Mr
Hawthorne that it was his duty to make a thorough inquiry amongst his
people, for she felt certain, she said with an air of conviction which
made Ambrose tremble, that her money was somewhere in Easney.

"I should advise you in future, Miss Barnicroft," said the vicar when
she at last took her departure, "to bring me anything you wish taken
care of--it would be safer here than burying it. And there's the bank,
you know, in Nearminster. I should be glad to take any money there for
you at any time."

"You are very kind," she answered with an airy toss of the feathers and
ribbons on her head, "but no banks for me. Banks fail."

She flitted out of the room, followed by Mr Hawthorne, and Ambrose was
alone. Now, in a minute, he would have to tell his father. There was
the hall-door shutting; there was his step coming back. How should he
begin?

"Well, my boy," said the vicar, "how's the head? Not much better, I'm
afraid. You look quite flushed. You'd better go to your mother now;
she's just come in."

He sat down and lifted his pen to go on with a letter. Ambrose got up
from the rug and stood irresolute by the door. He tried to say
"Father," but no voice came, and Mr Hawthorne did not look round or ask
what he wanted. It made it so much worse that he did not notice or
suspect anything.

"I can't do it now," said Ambrose to himself, "I must tell David first."

Lessons were only just over in the school-room, and he found David
putting away his books, while Pennie and Nancy, still with their hats
and cloaks on, were talking very fast about all they had seen and done
in Nearminster. How happy they looked! They had no