threw the strap of the letter-bag round his neck, and gave such a re-
echoing switch to the poor pony, that Alfred heard it upstairs, and
started up to call out, 'For shame, Harold!'

Harold was ashamed: he settled himself in the saddle and rode off,
but Alfred had not the comfort of knowing that his ill-humour was not
being vented upon the poor beast all the way to Elbury. Alfred had
given a great deal of his heart to that pony, and it made him feel
helpless and indignant to think that it was ill-used. Those tears of
which he was ashamed came welling up into his eyes as he lay back on
his pillow; but they were better tears than yesterday's--they were
not selfish.

'Never mind, Alfy,' said Ellen, 'Harold's not a cruel lad; he'll not
go on, if he was cross for a bit. It is all that he's mad after that
boy there! I wish mother had never let him go into the hay-field to
meet bad company! Depend upon it, that boy has run away out of a
Reformatory! Sleeping out at night! I can't think how Farmer
Shepherd could encourage him among honest folk!'

'Well, now I think of it, I should not wonder if he had,' said Mrs.
King. 'He is the dirtiest boy that ever I did see! Most likely; I
wish he may do no mischief to-night!'

Harold came home in better humour, but a fresh vexation awaited him.
Mrs. King would not let him go to the hay-home supper in the barn.
The men were apt to drink too much and grow riotous; and with her
suspicions about his new friend, she thought it better to keep him
apart. She was a spirited woman, who would be minded, and Harold
knew he must submit, and that he had behaved very ill. Ellen told