She could not help stopping a moment at the gate, and calling out to
Paul to ask whether he had seen anything of Harold. He seemed to
have a great mind not to hear, and turned very slowly with his
shoulder towards her, making a sound like 'Eh?' as if to ask what she
said.
'Have you seen my boy Harold?'
'I saw him in the morning.'
'Have you not seen him since? Didn't he go to church with you?'
'No; I don't go to Sunday school.'
'Was he there?'
She did not receive any answer.
'Do you know if many of the boys are gone to the merry orchard?'
'Ay.'
'Well, you are a good lad not to be one of them.'
'Hadn't got any money,' said Paul gruffly; but Mrs. King thought he
said so chiefly from dislike to be praised, and that there had been
some principle as well as poverty to keep him away.
'It might be better if no one had it on a Sunday,' she could not help
sighing out as she looked anxiously along the lane ere turning in,
and then said, 'My good lad, I don't want to get you to be telling
tales, but it would set my heart at rest, and his poor brother's up
there, if you could tell me he is not gone to Briar Alley.'
Paul turned up his face from the gate upon which he was leaning his
elbows, and gazed for a moment at her sad, meek, anxious face, then
exclaimed, 'I can't think how he could!'
Poor Paul! was it not crossing him how impossible it would seem to do
anything to vex one who so cared for him?
'Then he is gone,' she said mournfully.
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