“They call me Rambling Bob, but Bob Bertram is my real name.” “Bob Bertram?” said the stranger, with a glittering[Pg 3] eye. “What, the only son of Farmer Bertram of Four Ash Farm?” [Pg 3] “Right, sir. Do ye know him?” “Me? Bless the man, no!” said the horseman. “I don’t know any one hereabouts. I am on my way to a neighbouring village on urgent business.” “More’s the pity then,” said Bob. “You might travel a long way afore you’d find a nicer or kinder old gentleman than Sir Richard Warbeck, at Darlington Hall.” “So I’ve heard; and he’s very rich also, I am told.” “There’s no mistake about that, sir. He’s a magistrate in the city of London, and is director of one of the best banks there. He adopted two orphan boys, and brought ’em up as his own sons. One’s in the London bank; but young Wildfire Ned, as we call him, won’t do nothing but go to sea. If they only mind themselves they are sure to fall into all Sir Richard’s money. If they don’t, though, and should go astray, they will have the door slammed in their face, as I had to-day.” “You? by your father, Farmer Bertram?” “Yes; and all because some time ago I picked up with a poor village lass as I loved as dearly as I love my life, and promised for to marry.” “And did your father turn you out of house and home on that account?” “He didn’t turn me out ’zactly,” said Bob. “I left, and went to sea for a few months. I was wrecked on the coast here a week back, without money or anything ’cept what I stand up in, and these leggings were given me this very day by Sir Richard’s gamekeeper as knows me, so I should go up to the farm and see the old man decent like.” “And what did Farmer Bertram say to you?” “Why, cause I had made up my mind to marry the lass I loved best, and father the child sleeping at her breast, he slammed the door in my face, and refused to give me a shilling.” “That’s rather hard for a father to do,” said the horseman, with a cunning glance. “And what do you intend to do with yourself to-night? You can’t sleep in the open air,
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