"Dick, get me my pipe.

I'll have just one while we're waiting.

Hope he has not taken the wrong road!" "Do you think he has ?" said Mrs Winthorpe anxiously.

"It would be very dangerous for him now it is growing dark." "No, no; nonsense!" said the squire, filling his pipe from the stone tobacco-jar Dick had taken from the high chimney-piece of the cosy, low, oak-panelled room.
It was a curious receptacle, having been originally a corbel from the bottom of a groin of the old building, and represented an evil-looking grotesque head.

This the squire had had hollowed out and fitted with a leaden lid.
"Think we ought to go and meet him, father ?" said Dick, after watching the supper-table with the longing eyes of a young boy, and then taking them away to stare at his mother's glistening needle and the soft grey clouds from his father's pipe.
"No, Dick, we don't know which way to go.