Father's, of course.

What a lot he must have!" He went on in the supposed direction for another five minutes, noticing that the trees were closer together, and that there was more undergrowth, amongst which the creamy-fleeced sheep were wandering; and before entering this undergrowth he took a look round and behind to see that his way home was unmistakable.
"That can't be the bush," he said, with a laugh, as he threaded his way among the trees, and directly after caught sight of a man walking slowly along, evidently inspecting the sheep.
"Hi! Ahoy!" cried Nic; and the man turned.

"Why, it's Leather!" He started off at a trot to join the man, who stood stock still awaiting his approach.
"'Morning, Mr Leather," he cried, as he joined the man, who faced him with his brows knit, and a bitter, sour look in his countenance, as he said morosely: "'Morning, sir.

My name's not Leather." "Oh! I beg your pardon." The man laughed unpleasantly, and Nic felt an involuntary dislike to him.
"But I heard them call you Leather." "Leatherhead generally," said the man roughly: "because I'm such a fool." "Then it's a nickname," cried the boy, thinking instantly of his own annoyance at school.

"I say, I'm very sorry: I didn't know.