'Yoong man,' said an old farmer to him once reprovingly, after one of these "rumpuses," '_yor_ temper woan't mouldy wi keepin.' Reuben coming by at the moment threw an unhappy glance at the lad, whose bruised face and torn clothes showed he had been fighting.

To the uncle's mind there was a wanton, nay, a ruffianly look about him, which was wholly new.

Instead of rebuking the culprit, Reuben slouched away and put as much road as possible between himself and Davy.
One evening, after a long day on the moors, the party came, late in the afternoon, to the Yorkshire village of Haworth.

To David it was a village like any other.

He was already mortally tired of the whole business--of the endless hills, the company, the bleak grey weather.