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Updated: June 28, 2025
For he took it for granted, and Grimes too, that Tom had made his way home. But no Tom came back to Mr. Grimes that evening; and he went to the police office, to tell them to look out for the boy. But no Tom was heard of. So Mr. Grimes came up to Harthover next day with a very sour face; but when he got there, Sir John was over the hills and far away; and Mr.
As for his having gone over those great fells to Vendale, they no more dreamed of that than of his having gone to the moon. So Mr. Grimes came up to Harthover next day with a very sour face; but when he got there, Sir John was over the hills and far away; and Mr.
Behind him, far below, was Harthover, and the dark woods, and the shining salmon river; and on his left, far below, was the town, and the smoking chimneys of the collieries; and far, far away, the river widened to the shining sea; and little white specks, which were ships, lay on its bosom. Before him lay, spread out like a map, great plains, and farms, and villages, amid dark knots of trees.
"Over Harthover? and down Lewthwaite Crag? Art sure thou are not lying?" "Why should I?" said Tom, and leant his head against the post. "And how got ye up there?" "I came over from the Place;" and Tom was so tired and desperate he had no heart or time to think of a story, so he told all the truth in a few words. "Bless thy little heart! And thou hast not been stealing, then?" "No."
And so Tom hurt his head; but he was a brave boy, and did not mind that a penny. He guessed that over the wall the cover would end; and up it he went, and over like a squirrel. And there he was, out on the great grouse-moors, which the country folk called Harthover Fell heather and bog and rock, stretching away and up, up to the very sky.
"You are Mother Carey," said Tom, in a very low, solemn voice; for he had found out something which made him very happy, and yet frightened him more than all that he had ever seen. "But you are grown quite young again." "To you," said the fairy. "Look again." "You are the Irishwoman who met me the day I went to Harthover!" And when they looked she was neither of them, and yet all of them at once.
Bless thy little heart; and I'll warrant not. Why, God's guided the bairn, because he was innocent! Away from the Place, and over Harthover Fell, and down Lewthwaite Crag! Who ever heard the like, if God hadn't led him? Why dost not eat thy bread?" "I can't." "It's good enough, for I made it myself." "I can't," said Tom, and he laid his head on his knees, and then asked: "Is it Sunday?"
"Over Harthover? and down Lewthwaite Crag? Art sure thou art not lying?" "Why should I?" said Tom, and leant his head against the post. "And how got ye up there?" "I came over from the Place;" and Tom was so tired and desperate he had no heart or time to think of a story, so he told all the truth in a few words. "Bless thy little heart! And thou hast not been stealing, then?" "No."
No. It was none of these, the salmon stream at Harthover. It was such a stream as you see in dear old Bewick; Bewick, who was born and bred upon them.
Tom was quite right about the hue and cry not having got thither; for he had come, without knowing it, the best part of ten miles from Harthover; but he was wrong about getting down in five minutes, for the cottage was more than a mile off, and a good thousand feet below.
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