84 Turnaside Cottage.

a farm labourer, and vexed again because I could
not be one. I should have liked to be at the same
time a Samson for strength, anda Paul for learning ;
and because I was not, I sat and fretted. I could
not go to my master for a day or two, as I con-
tinued to be a good deal upset ; and here was more
cause for fretting. He would think I had forgotten
him, that I no longer cared for his lessons ; perhaps
he would take offence at my long absence, and I
should lose my best, my only friend. My father, I
was sure, despised me for being so weak and
wretched. Simon’s scornful glances were fresh in
my memory; and that message from the farmer, that
he would not want me again, was fresh proof of my
usclessness. Perhaps I should fail into a decline,
as the women had said, and die an early death
That thought pleased me, the more I dwelt on it.
I imagined my father sitting by my bedside, tender
and affectionate ; Nance waiting upon me, devoted
and remorseful ; Tommysobbing in the doorway ; my
master, who never went anywhere, walking all the
way out to Turnaside to ask after me; and mysclf
bidding farewell to them all in a touching address,
with appropriate advice to each. But by-and-by
the death-bed scene began to be put a little further
off in my fancy. I had gone to my master, and
was received just as usual, and found that he had