"You'll say nothing, and that's the worst of signs. When folks won't answer a reasonable question, ten to one they've been in some mischief."

"I haven't finished the pie."

"Much you'll tell me when you have!"

"Oh, I'll answer any reasonable question," said Stephen, with a slight emphasis on the adjective.

Osbert laughed, and Anania was more vexed than ever.

"You're a pair!" said he.

"Now, look you here! I'll have an answer, if I stand here while Christmas; and you sha'n't have another bite till you've given it. Did you go a-courting?"

As Anania had laid violent hands on the pie, which she held out of his grasp, and as Stephen had no desire to get into a genuine quarrel with her, he was obliged to make some reply.

"Will you give me back the pie, if I tell you?"

"Yes, I will."

"Then, I'd no such notion in my head. Let's have the pie."

"When?" Anania still withheld the pie.

"When what?"

"When hadn't you such a notion? when you set forth, or when you came back?"

"Eat thy supper, lad, and let them buzzing things be!" said Osbert.

"There'll never be no end to it, and thou mayest as well shut the portcullis first as last."

"Them's my thoughts too," said Stephen.

"Then you sha'n't have another mouthful."

"Nay, you're off your bargain. I answered the question, I'm sure."

"You've been after some'at ill, as I'm a living woman! You'd have told me fast enough if you hadn't. There's the pie,"--Anania set it up on a high shelf--"take it down if you dare!"

"I've no wish to quarrel with you, Sister. I'll go and finish my supper at Aunt Isel's--they'll give me some'at there, I know."

"Anania, don't be such a goose!" said Osbert.

"Don't you meddle, or you'll get what you mayn't like!" was the conjugal answer.

Osbert rose and took down a switch from its hook on the wall.

"You'll get it first, my lady!" said he: and Stephen, who never had any fancy for quarrelling, and was wont to leave the house when such not unfrequent scenes occurred, shut the door on the ill-matched pair, and went off to Kepeharme Lane.

"Stephen, is it? Good even, lad. I'm fain to see thee back. Art only just come?"

"Long enough to eat half a supper, and for Anania to get into more than half a temper," said Stephen, laughing. "I'm come to see, Aunt, if you'll give me another half."

"That I will, lad, and kindly welcome. What will thou have? I've a fat fish pie and some cold pork and beans."

"Let's have the pork and beans, for I've been eating pie up yonder."

"Good, and I'll put some apples down to roast. Hast thou enjoyed thy holiday?"

"Ay, middling, thank you, if it hadn't been so cold."

"It's a desperate cold winter!" said Isel, with a sigh, which Stephen felt certain was breathed to the memory of the Germans. "I never remember a worse."

"I'm afraid you feel lonely, Aunt."

"Ay, lonely enough, the saints know!"

"Why doesn't Haimet wed, and bring you a daughter to help you? Mabel's a bit too grand, I reckon."

"Mabel thinks a deal of herself, that's true. Well. I don't know.

One's not another, Stephen."

"I'll not gainsay you, Aunt Isel. But mayn't 'another' be better than none? Leastwise, some others,"--as a recollection of his amiable sister-in-law crossed his mind.

"I don't know, Stephen. Sometimes that hangs on the 'one.' You'll think it unnatural in me, lad, but I don't miss Flemild nor Derette as I do Ermine."

"Bless you, dear old thing!" said Stephen in his heart.

"O Stephen, lad, I believe you've a kind heart; you've shown it in a many little ways. Do let me speak to you of them now and again! Your uncle won't have me say a word, and sometimes I feel as if I should burst. I don't believe you'd tell on me, if I did, and it would relieve me like, if I could let it out to somebody."

"Catch me at it!" said Stephen significantly. "You say what you've a mind, Aunt Isel: I'm as safe as the King's Treasury."

"Well, lad, do you think they're all gone--every one?"

"I'm afraid there's no hope for the most of them, Aunt," said Stephen in a low voice.

"Then you do think there might--?"

"One, perhaps, or two--ay, there _might_ be, that had got taken in somewhere. I can't say it isn't just possible. But folks would be afraid of helping them, mostly."

"Ay, I suppose they would," said Isel sorrowfully.

Stephen ate in silence, sorely tempted to tell her what he knew. Had the danger been for himself only, and not for Ermine, he thought he should certainly have braved it.

"Well!" said Isel at last, as she stood by the fire, giving frequent twirls to the string which held the apples. "Maybe the good Lord is more merciful than men. _They_ haven't much mercy."

"Hold you there!" said Stephen.

"Now why shouldn't we?--we that are all sinners, and all want forgiving?

We might be a bit kinder to one another, if we tried."