Chapter Thirty.

Chapter Thirty.How we were Rescued.It is all confused at times as I try to recall it. Some of our adventure stands out clear to me, as if it took place only yesterday, while other parts seem strange and dreamy, and I know now that we both dozed a great deal in the warm close place like a pair of animals shut up for their winter sleep.We soon finished our food, for we were in such good hope of soon being dug out that we had not the heart to save a part of it in our hungry state. Then we slept again, and woke, and slept again, till waking and sleeping were mixed up strangely. The horror seemed to wear off a great deal, only when Shock started up suddenly and began talking loudly about something I could not understand, my feeling of fear increased.How time went—when it was night and when it was day—I could not tell; and at last almost our sole thought was about what we should eat when we got out again.At last I felt too weak and helpless to do more than lie still and try to think of a prayer or two, which at times was only half uttered before I dropped asleep.Then I woke to think of Mr Solomon and the garden, and fell asleep again. And then I recall trying to rouse up Shock, who seemed to be always sleeping; and while I was trying feebly to get him to speak to me again I seem to have gone to sleep once more, and everything was like being at an end.At first I had suffered agonies of fear and horror. At last all seemed to fade, as it were, into a dreamless sleep.“It was like this here,” Ike told me afterwards. “I lay down and made myself comfortable, and then after smoking a pipe I went off asleep. When I woke up I heerd you two a chiveying about and shouting, but it was too soon to move, so I went asleep again.“Then I woke up and looked about for you, and shouted for you to come down and have something to eat, and bring up the horse again, for I thought by that time he’d have had a good rest.“I shouted again, but I couldn’t make you hear, so I went up higher and hollered once more, and then Juno came trotting up to me and looked up in my face.“I asked her where you two was, but she didn’t say anything of course, so I began to grow rough, and I said you might find your way back, my lads; and I went down to the public, ordered some tea and some briled ham; see to my horse having another feed and some water, and then, as you hadn’t come down, I had my tea all alone in a huff.“Then I finished, and you hadn’t come, so I says, ‘Well, that’s their fault, and they may go without.’ But all the same I says to myself, ‘Well, poor chaps, they don’t often get a run in the country!’ and that made me a bit soft like, and I pulled a half-quartern loaf in two and put all the briled ham that was left in the middle, and tied it up in a clean hankychy for you to eat going home.“Then I pays for the eating and the horse, harnessed him up, after a good rub down his legs, and whistled to Juno, who was keeping very close to me, and we went up the hill to the sand-pit again.“I shouted and hollered again, and then, as it was got to be quite time we started, I grew waxy, and pulls out my knife and cuts a good ash stick out of the hedge for Master Shock, for I put it down to him for having led you off.“Still you didn’t come, and though I looked all about there was nothing fresh as I could see, only sand everywhere; and at last I says to myself, ‘I sha’n’t wait with that load to get out of the pit here,’ and so I started.“Nice tug the hoss had, but she brought it well out on to the hard road, and there I rested just a quarter of an hour, giving a holler now and then.“‘I’m off!’ I says at last, ‘and they may foller. Come on, Juno,’ I says; but the dog wasn’t there.“That made me more waxy, and I shouted and whistled, and she come from out of the sand-pit and kept looking back, as if she wanted to know why you two didn’t come. She follered the cart, though, right enough; and feeling precious put out, I went on slowly down the hill; stopped in the village ten minutes, and then, knowing you could find out that I’d gone on, I set to for my long job, and trudged on by the hoss.“It was a long job, hour after hour, for I couldn’t hurry—that little looking load was too heavy for that. And so I went on, and eight o’clock come, and nine, and ten, and you didn’t overtake me, and then it got to be twelve o’clock; and at last, reg’lar fagged out, me and hoss, we got to the yard just as it was striking four, and getting to be day.“I put the hoss up, and saw Juno go into her kennel, but I was too tired to chain her, and I lay down in the loft on some hay and went off to sleep.“I didn’t seem to have been asleep above ten minutes, but it was eight o’clock when Old Brownsmith’s brother stirs me up with his foot, and I sat up and stared at him.“‘Where’s young Grant and the boy?’ he says.“‘What! ain’t they come?’ I says, and I told him.“‘And you’ve left the dog behind too,’ he says, quite waxy with me.“‘No,’ I says; ‘she come home along o’ me and went into her kennel.’“‘She’s not there now,’ he says.“‘Then,’ says I, ‘she’s gone back to meet ’em.’“‘Then there’s something wrong,’ he says sharply; ‘and look here, Ike, if you’ve let that boy come to harm I’ll never forgive you.’“‘Why, I’d sooner come to harm myself,’ I says. ‘It’s larks, that’s what it is.’“‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’ll wait till twelve o’clock, and if they’re not back then you must come along with me and find ’em, for there is something wrong.’“I never cared a bit about you, my lad, but I couldn’t sleep no more, and I couldn’t touch a bit o’ breakfast; and when twelve o’clock came, Mrs Old Brownsmith’s brother’s wife had been at me with a face as white as noo milk, and she wanted us to go off before.“We was off at twelve, though, in the light cart and with a fresh horse; and though I expected to see you every minute along the road, we got back to the public, and asked for you, and found that you hadn’t been seen.“Then we put up the hoss and went and looked about the sand-pits, and could see nothing of you there, and we didn’t see nothing of the dog. Then we went over the common and searched the wood, and there was no sign.“Then back we was at the sand-pits, and there was the sand everywhere, but nothing seemed to say as it had fallen down. There was some holes, and we looked in all of ’em, but we couldn’t tell that any of ’em had filled up. Last of all, it was getting dark, when we heard a whine, and saw Juno come out of the fir-wood on the top with a rabbit in her mouth.“But that taught us nothing, and we coaxed her down to the public again, and drove home.“‘I’ve got it,’ I says, as we stood in the stable-yard: ‘that boy Shock’s got him on to it, and they’ve gone off to Portsmouth to be sailors.’“Old Brownsmith’s brother looked at me and shook his head, but I stack to it I was right; and he said he’d go down to Portsmouth and see.“But he didn’t, for next day he goes over to Isleworth, and as I was coming out of the garden next night he was back, and he stops me and takes me to the cottage.“‘Good job,’ he says, ‘as Sir Francis ain’t at home, for he thought a deal of that boy.’“‘Warn’t my fault,’ I says; but he shook his head, and took me in, and there sat Old Brownsmith’s brother’s wife, with a white face and red eyes as if she had been crying, and Old Brownsmith himself.“Well, he gives me a long talking to, and I told him everything about it; and when I’d done I says again as it warn’t my fault, and Old Brownsmith turns to his brother and he says, as fair as a man could speak, ‘It warn’t his fault, Solomon; and if it’s as he says, Grant’s that sort o’ boy as’ll repent and be very sorry, and if he don’t come back before, you’ll get a letter begging your pardon for what he’s done, or else I shall. You wait a couple of days.’“I dunno why, but I was reg’lar uncomf’table about you, my lad, and I didn’t understand Juno stopping away so, for next day she was gone again, but next night she was back. Next day she was gone again, and didn’t come back, and on the fourth, when I was down the garden digging—leastwise, I wasn’t digging, for I was leaning on my spade thinking, up comes Old Brownsmith’s brother with his mouth open, and before he could say a word I says to him, ‘Stop!’ I says; ‘I’ve got it,’ for it come to me like a flash o’ lightning.“‘What?’ he says.“‘Them boys is in that sand-pit, covered over!’ I says.“‘That’s it!’ he says. ‘I was coming to say I thought so, and that we’d go over directly.’“Bless your heart, my boy, I was all of a shiver as I got into the light cart alongside Old Brownsmith’s brother and six shovels and four spades in the bottom of the cart as I felt we should want, and I see as Old Brownsmith’s brother had got a flask o’ something strong in his breast-pocket. Then I just looked and saw that Juno warn’t there, and we were off.“My hye, how that there horse did go till we got to the little public. We stopped once to give her mouth a wash out and a mouthful of hay, and then we were off again, never hardly saying a word, but as we got to the public we pulls up, and Old Brownsmith’s brother shouts to the landlord, ‘Send half-a-dozen men up to the sand-pit directly. Boys buried.’“You see he felt that sure, my lad, that he said that, and then we drove on up the hill, with the horse smoking, and a lot of men after us.“First thing we see was Juno trotting towards us, and she looked up and whined, and then trotted back to a place where it was plain enough, now we knew, a great bit of the side had caved down and made a slope, and here Juno began scratching hard, and as fast as she scratched the more sand come down.“I looked, at Old Brownsmith’s brother, and he looked at me, and we jumped out, slipped off our coats and weskits, took a shovel apiece, and began to throw the sand away.“My head was all of a buzz, for every shovelful I threw out I seemed to see your white gal’s face staring at me and asking of me to work harder, and I did work like a steam-engyne.“Then, one by one, eight men come up, and we set ’em all at work; but Old Brownsmith’s brother, the ganger, you know, stops us after a bit.“‘This is no use!’ he says; ‘we’re only burying of ’em deeper.’“Right he was, for the sand kept crumbling down from the top as soon as ever we made a bit of space below, and twice over some one called out ‘Warning!’ and we had to run back to keep from being buried, while I got in right up to the chest once.“‘There’s hundreds o’ tons loose,’ says the old—the ganger, you know; ‘and we shall never get in that way.’ He stopped to think, but it made me mad, for I knowed you must be in there, and I began digging again, wondering how it was that Juno hadn’t found you before, and ’sposed the sand didn’t hold the scent, or else the rabbits up above ’tracted her away.“‘I can see no other way,’ said the ganger at last. ‘You must dig, my lads. Go on. I’ll get on the top, and see how much more is loose. Take care. You,’ he said to a tall, thin lad of sixteen—‘you stand there; and as soon as you see any sand crumbling down, you shout.’“The men began to dig again, and at the end of a minute the lad shouted, and we had to scuttle off, or we should have been buried, and things looked worse than ever. We’d been digging and shovelling back the sloping bank, but it grew instead of getting less, and this made me obstint as I dug away as hard as I could get my shovel down.“All at once I hears a shout from the ganger. ‘Come up here, Ike,’ he says; and I shouldered my spade, and had to go a good bit round ’fore I could climb up to him, and I found him twenty or thirty foot back from the edge, among some furze.“‘Look here,’ he says; ‘I was hunting for cracks when I slipped down here.’“I looked, and I saw a narrow crack, ’bout a foot wide, nearly covered with furze.“‘Now, listen,’ he says, and he kneeled down and shouted, and, sure enough, there was a bit of a groan came up.“‘Echo!’ I says.“‘No,’ he says. ‘Listen again,’ and he shouted, and there was a sort of answer.“‘They’re here,’ he says excitedly. ‘Hi! Juno, Juno!’ The dog came rushing up, and we put her to the hole or crack, and she darted into it, went down snuffling, and came back again barking. We sent her down again, and then she didn’t come back, and when we called we could hear her barking, but she didn’t come to us, and at last we felt that she couldn’t get back.“‘What’s to be done?’ said the ganger. ‘We can’t get down there.’“‘Dig down,’ I says.“‘No, no,’ says he. ‘If we do we shall smother them.’“‘That boy, then, you sot to look out—send him down.’“‘Go and bring him,’ says the ganger; ‘and—oh, we have no rope. Bring the reins; they’re strong and new.’“Five minutes after, the boy was up with us, and he said he’d go down if we’d put the reins round him like a rope, and so we did, and after we’d torn some furze away he got into the hole feet first, and wriggled himself down till only his head was out.“‘Goes down all sidewise,’ he says, ‘and then turns round.’“‘Will you go, my lad? The dog’s down there, and we’ll hold on to the reins, and have you out in a minute, if you shout.’“‘And ’spose the sand falls?’“‘Why, we’ve got the reins to trace you by, and we’ll dig you out in a jiffy,’ I says.“‘All right!’ he says, and he shuffled himself down and went out of sight, and he kept on saying, ‘all right! all right!’ and then all at once, quickly, ‘I’ve slipped,’ he says, as if frightened. ‘There’s no bottom. I’m over a big hole.’“Just then, my lad, the rein had tightened, but we held on.“‘Pull me up!’ he says, and we pulled hard, and strained the reins a good deal, and at last he come up, looking hot and scared.“‘I couldn’t touch bottom,’ he says, ‘and the dog began to bark loudly.’“‘I see,’ says the ganger, ‘the dog slipped there, and can’t get out. We must have a rope; you, Ike, take the reins, and drive down to the village and get a stout cart-rope. Bring two.’“The landlord of the inn had just come up, and he said he’d got plenty, and he’d go with me, and so he did, and in a quarter of an hour we’d been down and driven back with two good strong new ropes.“There was no more digging going on, it was no use; but while we’d been gone they’d chopped away the furze, cutting through it with spades, so that the hole, which was a big crack, was all clear.“‘Now, then,’ says Old Brownsmith’s brother, ‘go down again, my boy. With this stout rope round we can take care of you,’ but the boy shook his head, he’d been too much scared last time.“‘Who’ll go?’ says the ganger. ‘A sovereign for the man who goes down and fetches them up.’“The chaps talked together, but no one moved.“‘It’ll cave in,’ says one of ’em.“‘You must cut a way down, Ike,’ says the ganger. ‘I’m too stout, or I’d go down myself.’“‘Nay,’ I says, ‘if they’re down there, and you get digging, you’ll bury ’em. P’r’aps I could squeedge myself down. Let’s try.’“So they ties the rope round me, and I lets myself into the hole, which was all sand, and roots to hold it a bit together.“‘It’s a tight fit,’ I says, as I wriggled myself down with my face to the ganger, but I soon found that wouldn’t do, and I dragged myself out again and took off my boots, tightened my strap, and went down the other way.“That was better, but it was a tight job going all round a corner like a zigger-me-zag, as you calls it, or a furnace chimney; and as I scrouged down with my eyes shut, and the sand and stones scuttling down after me, I began to wonder how I was going to get up again.“‘Here!’ I shouts, ‘I shall want two ropes. See if you can reach down the other.’“I put up my hand as far as I could reach, and the thin boy put a loop round his foot and come down, shutting out the light, till he could reach my hand, and I got hold of the second rope, and went scuttling farther, till all at once I found it like the boy had said—my legs was hanging and kicking about.“‘Here’s in for it now,’ I says to myself; and I wondered whether I should be buried; but I shouts out, ‘Lower away,’ and I let myself slide, and then there was a rush of falling sand and I was half smothered as I swung about, but they lowered down, and directly after I touched bottom with my feet, and Juno was jumping about me and barking like mad.“‘Found ’em?’ I heard the ganger shout from up in daylight, and I began to feel about for you; and, Lor’! there has been times when I’ve longed for a match, when I’ve wanted a pipe o’ tobacco; but nothing like what I longed then, so as to see where I was, for it was as black as pitch.“But I felt about with the dog barking, and followed to where she was, and feeling about, I got hold of you two boys cuddled up together as if you was asleep, and nearly covered up with sand.“I puts my hands to my mouth, and I yells out as loud as I could: ‘I’ve got ’em!’ and there came back a ‘Hooray!’ sounding hollow and strange like, and then I s’pose it was the sand had got in my eyes so as they began to water like anything.“But I knelt down trembling all over, for I was afraid you was both dead, and I can’t a-bear touching dead boys. I never did touch none, but I can’t a-bear touching of ’em all the same.“Then I felt something jump up in my throat, as if I’d swallowed a new potato, only upside down like, other way on, you know, the tater coming up and not going down for when I got feeling you about you was both warm.“‘Out o’ the way, dog,’ I says, for she kept licking of you both, and I feels to find out which was you, and soon found that out, because Shock had such a rough head; and then I says to myself, ‘Which shall I send up first?’“I did think o’ sending Shock, so as to make him open the hole a bit more; but I thought p’raps the top’d fall in with sending the first one up, and you was more use than Shock, so I made the rope, as was loose, fast round your chest, and then I shouts to ’em as I lifted you up.“‘Haul steady,’ I shouts, and as the rope tightened hoisted you more and more, till you went up and up, and I was shoving your legs, then your feet, and then you was dragged away from me, and I was knocked down flat by ’bout hunderd ton o’ sand coming on my head. I didn’t weigh it, so p’r’aps there warn’t so much.“I was made half stupid; but I heerd them cheering, and I knowed they’d got you out, for they shouted down the hole for the next, and I had to drag the rope I had out of the sand before I fastened it round Shock, who give a bit of a groan as soon as I touched him, and I wished I’d heerd you groan too.“‘Haul away,’ I shouted, and I walked right up a heap of sand, as they hauled at Shock, and as soon as they’d dragged him away from me, and he was going up, I jumped back, expecting some more sand to fall, and so it did, as they hauled, whole barrowfuls of it.“Then come some more shouting, and Old Brownsmith’s brother roared down the hole:—“‘All right. Safe up.’“‘All right, is it?’ I says, scratching the sand out o’ my head, ‘and how’s me and the dog to come?’“They seemed to have thought of that, for the ganger shouts down the crooked hole—‘How are we to get down the rope to you?’“‘I d’know,’ I says; and I stood there in the dark thinking and listening to the buzzing voices, and wondering what to do.“‘Wonder how nigh I am to the hole,’ I says to myself; and I walked up quite a heap o’ sand and tried if I could touch anything, but I couldn’t.“Then I thought of the dog.“‘Hi, Juno!’ I says, and she whined and come to me, and I took hold of her.“‘Here, you try if you can’t get out, old gal,’ I says; and I believe as she understood me as I lifted her up and helped her scramble up, and somehow I got her right with her stomach on my head. Then I lifted her shoulders up as high as I could reach, as I stood on the heap o’ sand, and she got her legs on my head, and my! how she did scratch, and then the sand began to come down, and I knowed she could reach the top. Next moment she’d got one of her hind paws on my hand as I reached up high, and then there was a rush and scramble, and I heard another shouting of ‘Hooray!’ while the sand come down so that I had to get right as far away as I could.“‘What shall we do now?’ says the ganger, shouting to me:—“‘Send the dog down again with the two ropes round her.’“‘Right!’ he says; and then in a minute there was a scuffling and more rushing, and Juno come down with a run, to begin barking loudly as she fell on the soft sand.“‘There you are, old gal,’ I says, patting her, as I took off one rope, and felt that the other was fast round her. ‘Up you go again.’ I lifted her up and shouted to ’em to haul, and in half a minute she was gone, and I was alone in the dark, but with the rope made fast round my chest.“‘Are you ready?’ shouts the ganger.“‘Ay!’ I says. ‘Pull steady, for I’m heavier than the dog.’“They began to haul as I took tight hold of the rope above my head, and up I went slowly with the sand being cut away by the tight line, and coming thundering down on me at an awful rate, just as if some one was shooting cart loads atop of me.“‘Steady!’ I yelled; and they pulled away slowly, while I wondered whether the rope would give way. But it held, and I felt my head bang against the sand, and some more fell. Then, as I kicked my legs about, I felt myself dragged more into the hole, and I tried to help myself; but all I did was to send about a ton of sand down from under me. Then very slowly I was hauled past an elbow in the hole, and I was got round towards the other when a lot more sand fell from beneath me, and then, just as I was seeing daylight, there was a sort of heave above me, and the top came down and nipped me fast just about the hips.“‘Haul! my lads, haul!’ the ganger shouted, and they hauled till I felt most cut in two, and I had to holler to ’em to stop.“‘I shall want my legs,’ I says. ‘They ain’t much o’ ones, but useful!’“There was nothing for it but to begin digging, for they could see my face now, and they began watching very carefully that the sand didn’t get over my head, when, all at once, as they dug, there was a slip, and the sand, and the roots, and stones all dropped down into the hole below, and I was hauled out on to the top safe and sound, ’cept a few scratches, and only a bit of the sleeve of my shirt left.“There, you know the rest.”

It is all confused at times as I try to recall it. Some of our adventure stands out clear to me, as if it took place only yesterday, while other parts seem strange and dreamy, and I know now that we both dozed a great deal in the warm close place like a pair of animals shut up for their winter sleep.

We soon finished our food, for we were in such good hope of soon being dug out that we had not the heart to save a part of it in our hungry state. Then we slept again, and woke, and slept again, till waking and sleeping were mixed up strangely. The horror seemed to wear off a great deal, only when Shock started up suddenly and began talking loudly about something I could not understand, my feeling of fear increased.

How time went—when it was night and when it was day—I could not tell; and at last almost our sole thought was about what we should eat when we got out again.

At last I felt too weak and helpless to do more than lie still and try to think of a prayer or two, which at times was only half uttered before I dropped asleep.

Then I woke to think of Mr Solomon and the garden, and fell asleep again. And then I recall trying to rouse up Shock, who seemed to be always sleeping; and while I was trying feebly to get him to speak to me again I seem to have gone to sleep once more, and everything was like being at an end.

At first I had suffered agonies of fear and horror. At last all seemed to fade, as it were, into a dreamless sleep.

“It was like this here,” Ike told me afterwards. “I lay down and made myself comfortable, and then after smoking a pipe I went off asleep. When I woke up I heerd you two a chiveying about and shouting, but it was too soon to move, so I went asleep again.

“Then I woke up and looked about for you, and shouted for you to come down and have something to eat, and bring up the horse again, for I thought by that time he’d have had a good rest.

“I shouted again, but I couldn’t make you hear, so I went up higher and hollered once more, and then Juno came trotting up to me and looked up in my face.

“I asked her where you two was, but she didn’t say anything of course, so I began to grow rough, and I said you might find your way back, my lads; and I went down to the public, ordered some tea and some briled ham; see to my horse having another feed and some water, and then, as you hadn’t come down, I had my tea all alone in a huff.

“Then I finished, and you hadn’t come, so I says, ‘Well, that’s their fault, and they may go without.’ But all the same I says to myself, ‘Well, poor chaps, they don’t often get a run in the country!’ and that made me a bit soft like, and I pulled a half-quartern loaf in two and put all the briled ham that was left in the middle, and tied it up in a clean hankychy for you to eat going home.

“Then I pays for the eating and the horse, harnessed him up, after a good rub down his legs, and whistled to Juno, who was keeping very close to me, and we went up the hill to the sand-pit again.

“I shouted and hollered again, and then, as it was got to be quite time we started, I grew waxy, and pulls out my knife and cuts a good ash stick out of the hedge for Master Shock, for I put it down to him for having led you off.

“Still you didn’t come, and though I looked all about there was nothing fresh as I could see, only sand everywhere; and at last I says to myself, ‘I sha’n’t wait with that load to get out of the pit here,’ and so I started.

“Nice tug the hoss had, but she brought it well out on to the hard road, and there I rested just a quarter of an hour, giving a holler now and then.

“‘I’m off!’ I says at last, ‘and they may foller. Come on, Juno,’ I says; but the dog wasn’t there.

“That made me more waxy, and I shouted and whistled, and she come from out of the sand-pit and kept looking back, as if she wanted to know why you two didn’t come. She follered the cart, though, right enough; and feeling precious put out, I went on slowly down the hill; stopped in the village ten minutes, and then, knowing you could find out that I’d gone on, I set to for my long job, and trudged on by the hoss.

“It was a long job, hour after hour, for I couldn’t hurry—that little looking load was too heavy for that. And so I went on, and eight o’clock come, and nine, and ten, and you didn’t overtake me, and then it got to be twelve o’clock; and at last, reg’lar fagged out, me and hoss, we got to the yard just as it was striking four, and getting to be day.

“I put the hoss up, and saw Juno go into her kennel, but I was too tired to chain her, and I lay down in the loft on some hay and went off to sleep.

“I didn’t seem to have been asleep above ten minutes, but it was eight o’clock when Old Brownsmith’s brother stirs me up with his foot, and I sat up and stared at him.

“‘Where’s young Grant and the boy?’ he says.

“‘What! ain’t they come?’ I says, and I told him.

“‘And you’ve left the dog behind too,’ he says, quite waxy with me.

“‘No,’ I says; ‘she come home along o’ me and went into her kennel.’

“‘She’s not there now,’ he says.

“‘Then,’ says I, ‘she’s gone back to meet ’em.’

“‘Then there’s something wrong,’ he says sharply; ‘and look here, Ike, if you’ve let that boy come to harm I’ll never forgive you.’

“‘Why, I’d sooner come to harm myself,’ I says. ‘It’s larks, that’s what it is.’

“‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’ll wait till twelve o’clock, and if they’re not back then you must come along with me and find ’em, for there is something wrong.’

“I never cared a bit about you, my lad, but I couldn’t sleep no more, and I couldn’t touch a bit o’ breakfast; and when twelve o’clock came, Mrs Old Brownsmith’s brother’s wife had been at me with a face as white as noo milk, and she wanted us to go off before.

“We was off at twelve, though, in the light cart and with a fresh horse; and though I expected to see you every minute along the road, we got back to the public, and asked for you, and found that you hadn’t been seen.

“Then we put up the hoss and went and looked about the sand-pits, and could see nothing of you there, and we didn’t see nothing of the dog. Then we went over the common and searched the wood, and there was no sign.

“Then back we was at the sand-pits, and there was the sand everywhere, but nothing seemed to say as it had fallen down. There was some holes, and we looked in all of ’em, but we couldn’t tell that any of ’em had filled up. Last of all, it was getting dark, when we heard a whine, and saw Juno come out of the fir-wood on the top with a rabbit in her mouth.

“But that taught us nothing, and we coaxed her down to the public again, and drove home.

“‘I’ve got it,’ I says, as we stood in the stable-yard: ‘that boy Shock’s got him on to it, and they’ve gone off to Portsmouth to be sailors.’

“Old Brownsmith’s brother looked at me and shook his head, but I stack to it I was right; and he said he’d go down to Portsmouth and see.

“But he didn’t, for next day he goes over to Isleworth, and as I was coming out of the garden next night he was back, and he stops me and takes me to the cottage.

“‘Good job,’ he says, ‘as Sir Francis ain’t at home, for he thought a deal of that boy.’

“‘Warn’t my fault,’ I says; but he shook his head, and took me in, and there sat Old Brownsmith’s brother’s wife, with a white face and red eyes as if she had been crying, and Old Brownsmith himself.

“Well, he gives me a long talking to, and I told him everything about it; and when I’d done I says again as it warn’t my fault, and Old Brownsmith turns to his brother and he says, as fair as a man could speak, ‘It warn’t his fault, Solomon; and if it’s as he says, Grant’s that sort o’ boy as’ll repent and be very sorry, and if he don’t come back before, you’ll get a letter begging your pardon for what he’s done, or else I shall. You wait a couple of days.’

“I dunno why, but I was reg’lar uncomf’table about you, my lad, and I didn’t understand Juno stopping away so, for next day she was gone again, but next night she was back. Next day she was gone again, and didn’t come back, and on the fourth, when I was down the garden digging—leastwise, I wasn’t digging, for I was leaning on my spade thinking, up comes Old Brownsmith’s brother with his mouth open, and before he could say a word I says to him, ‘Stop!’ I says; ‘I’ve got it,’ for it come to me like a flash o’ lightning.

“‘What?’ he says.

“‘Them boys is in that sand-pit, covered over!’ I says.

“‘That’s it!’ he says. ‘I was coming to say I thought so, and that we’d go over directly.’

“Bless your heart, my boy, I was all of a shiver as I got into the light cart alongside Old Brownsmith’s brother and six shovels and four spades in the bottom of the cart as I felt we should want, and I see as Old Brownsmith’s brother had got a flask o’ something strong in his breast-pocket. Then I just looked and saw that Juno warn’t there, and we were off.

“My hye, how that there horse did go till we got to the little public. We stopped once to give her mouth a wash out and a mouthful of hay, and then we were off again, never hardly saying a word, but as we got to the public we pulls up, and Old Brownsmith’s brother shouts to the landlord, ‘Send half-a-dozen men up to the sand-pit directly. Boys buried.’

“You see he felt that sure, my lad, that he said that, and then we drove on up the hill, with the horse smoking, and a lot of men after us.

“First thing we see was Juno trotting towards us, and she looked up and whined, and then trotted back to a place where it was plain enough, now we knew, a great bit of the side had caved down and made a slope, and here Juno began scratching hard, and as fast as she scratched the more sand come down.

“I looked, at Old Brownsmith’s brother, and he looked at me, and we jumped out, slipped off our coats and weskits, took a shovel apiece, and began to throw the sand away.

“My head was all of a buzz, for every shovelful I threw out I seemed to see your white gal’s face staring at me and asking of me to work harder, and I did work like a steam-engyne.

“Then, one by one, eight men come up, and we set ’em all at work; but Old Brownsmith’s brother, the ganger, you know, stops us after a bit.

“‘This is no use!’ he says; ‘we’re only burying of ’em deeper.’

“Right he was, for the sand kept crumbling down from the top as soon as ever we made a bit of space below, and twice over some one called out ‘Warning!’ and we had to run back to keep from being buried, while I got in right up to the chest once.

“‘There’s hundreds o’ tons loose,’ says the old—the ganger, you know; ‘and we shall never get in that way.’ He stopped to think, but it made me mad, for I knowed you must be in there, and I began digging again, wondering how it was that Juno hadn’t found you before, and ’sposed the sand didn’t hold the scent, or else the rabbits up above ’tracted her away.

“‘I can see no other way,’ said the ganger at last. ‘You must dig, my lads. Go on. I’ll get on the top, and see how much more is loose. Take care. You,’ he said to a tall, thin lad of sixteen—‘you stand there; and as soon as you see any sand crumbling down, you shout.’

“The men began to dig again, and at the end of a minute the lad shouted, and we had to scuttle off, or we should have been buried, and things looked worse than ever. We’d been digging and shovelling back the sloping bank, but it grew instead of getting less, and this made me obstint as I dug away as hard as I could get my shovel down.

“All at once I hears a shout from the ganger. ‘Come up here, Ike,’ he says; and I shouldered my spade, and had to go a good bit round ’fore I could climb up to him, and I found him twenty or thirty foot back from the edge, among some furze.

“‘Look here,’ he says; ‘I was hunting for cracks when I slipped down here.’

“I looked, and I saw a narrow crack, ’bout a foot wide, nearly covered with furze.

“‘Now, listen,’ he says, and he kneeled down and shouted, and, sure enough, there was a bit of a groan came up.

“‘Echo!’ I says.

“‘No,’ he says. ‘Listen again,’ and he shouted, and there was a sort of answer.

“‘They’re here,’ he says excitedly. ‘Hi! Juno, Juno!’ The dog came rushing up, and we put her to the hole or crack, and she darted into it, went down snuffling, and came back again barking. We sent her down again, and then she didn’t come back, and when we called we could hear her barking, but she didn’t come to us, and at last we felt that she couldn’t get back.

“‘What’s to be done?’ said the ganger. ‘We can’t get down there.’

“‘Dig down,’ I says.

“‘No, no,’ says he. ‘If we do we shall smother them.’

“‘That boy, then, you sot to look out—send him down.’

“‘Go and bring him,’ says the ganger; ‘and—oh, we have no rope. Bring the reins; they’re strong and new.’

“Five minutes after, the boy was up with us, and he said he’d go down if we’d put the reins round him like a rope, and so we did, and after we’d torn some furze away he got into the hole feet first, and wriggled himself down till only his head was out.

“‘Goes down all sidewise,’ he says, ‘and then turns round.’

“‘Will you go, my lad? The dog’s down there, and we’ll hold on to the reins, and have you out in a minute, if you shout.’

“‘And ’spose the sand falls?’

“‘Why, we’ve got the reins to trace you by, and we’ll dig you out in a jiffy,’ I says.

“‘All right!’ he says, and he shuffled himself down and went out of sight, and he kept on saying, ‘all right! all right!’ and then all at once, quickly, ‘I’ve slipped,’ he says, as if frightened. ‘There’s no bottom. I’m over a big hole.’

“Just then, my lad, the rein had tightened, but we held on.

“‘Pull me up!’ he says, and we pulled hard, and strained the reins a good deal, and at last he come up, looking hot and scared.

“‘I couldn’t touch bottom,’ he says, ‘and the dog began to bark loudly.’

“‘I see,’ says the ganger, ‘the dog slipped there, and can’t get out. We must have a rope; you, Ike, take the reins, and drive down to the village and get a stout cart-rope. Bring two.’

“The landlord of the inn had just come up, and he said he’d got plenty, and he’d go with me, and so he did, and in a quarter of an hour we’d been down and driven back with two good strong new ropes.

“There was no more digging going on, it was no use; but while we’d been gone they’d chopped away the furze, cutting through it with spades, so that the hole, which was a big crack, was all clear.

“‘Now, then,’ says Old Brownsmith’s brother, ‘go down again, my boy. With this stout rope round we can take care of you,’ but the boy shook his head, he’d been too much scared last time.

“‘Who’ll go?’ says the ganger. ‘A sovereign for the man who goes down and fetches them up.’

“The chaps talked together, but no one moved.

“‘It’ll cave in,’ says one of ’em.

“‘You must cut a way down, Ike,’ says the ganger. ‘I’m too stout, or I’d go down myself.’

“‘Nay,’ I says, ‘if they’re down there, and you get digging, you’ll bury ’em. P’r’aps I could squeedge myself down. Let’s try.’

“So they ties the rope round me, and I lets myself into the hole, which was all sand, and roots to hold it a bit together.

“‘It’s a tight fit,’ I says, as I wriggled myself down with my face to the ganger, but I soon found that wouldn’t do, and I dragged myself out again and took off my boots, tightened my strap, and went down the other way.

“That was better, but it was a tight job going all round a corner like a zigger-me-zag, as you calls it, or a furnace chimney; and as I scrouged down with my eyes shut, and the sand and stones scuttling down after me, I began to wonder how I was going to get up again.

“‘Here!’ I shouts, ‘I shall want two ropes. See if you can reach down the other.’

“I put up my hand as far as I could reach, and the thin boy put a loop round his foot and come down, shutting out the light, till he could reach my hand, and I got hold of the second rope, and went scuttling farther, till all at once I found it like the boy had said—my legs was hanging and kicking about.

“‘Here’s in for it now,’ I says to myself; and I wondered whether I should be buried; but I shouts out, ‘Lower away,’ and I let myself slide, and then there was a rush of falling sand and I was half smothered as I swung about, but they lowered down, and directly after I touched bottom with my feet, and Juno was jumping about me and barking like mad.

“‘Found ’em?’ I heard the ganger shout from up in daylight, and I began to feel about for you; and, Lor’! there has been times when I’ve longed for a match, when I’ve wanted a pipe o’ tobacco; but nothing like what I longed then, so as to see where I was, for it was as black as pitch.

“But I felt about with the dog barking, and followed to where she was, and feeling about, I got hold of you two boys cuddled up together as if you was asleep, and nearly covered up with sand.

“I puts my hands to my mouth, and I yells out as loud as I could: ‘I’ve got ’em!’ and there came back a ‘Hooray!’ sounding hollow and strange like, and then I s’pose it was the sand had got in my eyes so as they began to water like anything.

“But I knelt down trembling all over, for I was afraid you was both dead, and I can’t a-bear touching dead boys. I never did touch none, but I can’t a-bear touching of ’em all the same.

“Then I felt something jump up in my throat, as if I’d swallowed a new potato, only upside down like, other way on, you know, the tater coming up and not going down for when I got feeling you about you was both warm.

“‘Out o’ the way, dog,’ I says, for she kept licking of you both, and I feels to find out which was you, and soon found that out, because Shock had such a rough head; and then I says to myself, ‘Which shall I send up first?’

“I did think o’ sending Shock, so as to make him open the hole a bit more; but I thought p’raps the top’d fall in with sending the first one up, and you was more use than Shock, so I made the rope, as was loose, fast round your chest, and then I shouts to ’em as I lifted you up.

“‘Haul steady,’ I shouts, and as the rope tightened hoisted you more and more, till you went up and up, and I was shoving your legs, then your feet, and then you was dragged away from me, and I was knocked down flat by ’bout hunderd ton o’ sand coming on my head. I didn’t weigh it, so p’r’aps there warn’t so much.

“I was made half stupid; but I heerd them cheering, and I knowed they’d got you out, for they shouted down the hole for the next, and I had to drag the rope I had out of the sand before I fastened it round Shock, who give a bit of a groan as soon as I touched him, and I wished I’d heerd you groan too.

“‘Haul away,’ I shouted, and I walked right up a heap of sand, as they hauled at Shock, and as soon as they’d dragged him away from me, and he was going up, I jumped back, expecting some more sand to fall, and so it did, as they hauled, whole barrowfuls of it.

“Then come some more shouting, and Old Brownsmith’s brother roared down the hole:—

“‘All right. Safe up.’

“‘All right, is it?’ I says, scratching the sand out o’ my head, ‘and how’s me and the dog to come?’

“They seemed to have thought of that, for the ganger shouts down the crooked hole—‘How are we to get down the rope to you?’

“‘I d’know,’ I says; and I stood there in the dark thinking and listening to the buzzing voices, and wondering what to do.

“‘Wonder how nigh I am to the hole,’ I says to myself; and I walked up quite a heap o’ sand and tried if I could touch anything, but I couldn’t.

“Then I thought of the dog.

“‘Hi, Juno!’ I says, and she whined and come to me, and I took hold of her.

“‘Here, you try if you can’t get out, old gal,’ I says; and I believe as she understood me as I lifted her up and helped her scramble up, and somehow I got her right with her stomach on my head. Then I lifted her shoulders up as high as I could reach, as I stood on the heap o’ sand, and she got her legs on my head, and my! how she did scratch, and then the sand began to come down, and I knowed she could reach the top. Next moment she’d got one of her hind paws on my hand as I reached up high, and then there was a rush and scramble, and I heard another shouting of ‘Hooray!’ while the sand come down so that I had to get right as far away as I could.

“‘What shall we do now?’ says the ganger, shouting to me:—

“‘Send the dog down again with the two ropes round her.’

“‘Right!’ he says; and then in a minute there was a scuffling and more rushing, and Juno come down with a run, to begin barking loudly as she fell on the soft sand.

“‘There you are, old gal,’ I says, patting her, as I took off one rope, and felt that the other was fast round her. ‘Up you go again.’ I lifted her up and shouted to ’em to haul, and in half a minute she was gone, and I was alone in the dark, but with the rope made fast round my chest.

“‘Are you ready?’ shouts the ganger.

“‘Ay!’ I says. ‘Pull steady, for I’m heavier than the dog.’

“They began to haul as I took tight hold of the rope above my head, and up I went slowly with the sand being cut away by the tight line, and coming thundering down on me at an awful rate, just as if some one was shooting cart loads atop of me.

“‘Steady!’ I yelled; and they pulled away slowly, while I wondered whether the rope would give way. But it held, and I felt my head bang against the sand, and some more fell. Then, as I kicked my legs about, I felt myself dragged more into the hole, and I tried to help myself; but all I did was to send about a ton of sand down from under me. Then very slowly I was hauled past an elbow in the hole, and I was got round towards the other when a lot more sand fell from beneath me, and then, just as I was seeing daylight, there was a sort of heave above me, and the top came down and nipped me fast just about the hips.

“‘Haul! my lads, haul!’ the ganger shouted, and they hauled till I felt most cut in two, and I had to holler to ’em to stop.

“‘I shall want my legs,’ I says. ‘They ain’t much o’ ones, but useful!’

“There was nothing for it but to begin digging, for they could see my face now, and they began watching very carefully that the sand didn’t get over my head, when, all at once, as they dug, there was a slip, and the sand, and the roots, and stones all dropped down into the hole below, and I was hauled out on to the top safe and sound, ’cept a few scratches, and only a bit of the sleeve of my shirt left.

“There, you know the rest.”

Chapter Thirty One.“What’s the Meaning of all this?”I did know the rest; how Shock and I lay for a fortnight at the little country inn carefully tended before we were declared fit to go back home, for the doctor was not long in bringing us back to our senses; and, save that I used to wake with a start out of my sleep in the dark, fancying I was back in the pit, I was not much the worse. Shock was better, for he looked cleaner and fresher, but he objected a great deal to our nurse brushing his hair.I was just back and feeling strong again, when one day Sir Francis came down into the pinery, and stopped and spoke to me. He said he had heard all about my narrow escape, and hoped it would be a warning to me never to trust myself in a sand-pit again.He was very kind after his manner, which was generally as if he thought all the world were soldiers, and I was going up to my dinner soon, after I had stopped for a bit of a cool down in one of the other houses, when, to my great disgust, I saw Courtenay and Philip back, and I felt a kind of foreboding that there would soon be some more troubles to face.I was quite right, for during the rest of their stay at home they seemed to have combined to make my life as wretched as they possibly could.I was often on the point of complaining, but I did not like to do so, for it seemed to be so cowardly, and besides, I argued to myself that I could not expect all sunshine. Old Brownsmith used to have me over to spend Sundays with him, and his brother and Mrs Solomon were very kind. Ike sometimes went so far as to say “Good-morning” and “good-night,” and Shock had become so friendly that he would talk, and bring me a good moth or butterfly for my case.I went steadily on collecting, for Mr Solomon said, as long as the work was done well he would rather I did amuse myself in a sensible way.The consequence was that I often used to go down the garden of a night, and my collection of moths was largely increased.I noticed about this time that Sir Francis used to talk a good deal to Shock, and by and by I found from Ike that the boy was going regularly to an evening-school, and altering a great deal for the better. Unfortunately, Ike, with whom he lodged, was not improving, as I had several opportunities of observing, and one day I took him to task about it.“I know the excuse you have, Ike,” I said, “that habit you got into when going backwards and forwards to the market; but when you had settled down here in a gentleman’s garden, I should have thought that you would have given it up.”“Ah, yes,” he said, as he drove in his spade. “You’re a gent, you see, and I’m only a workman.”“I’m going to be a workman too, Ike,” I said.“Ay, but not a digger like me. They don’t set me to prune, and thin grapes, and mind chyce flowers. I’m not like you.”“It does not matter what any one is, Ike,” I said. “You ought to turn over a new leaf and keep away from the public-house.”“True,” he said, smashing a clod; “and I do turn over a noo leaf, but it will turn itself back.”“Nonsense!” I said. “You are sharp enough on Shock’s failings, and you tell me of mine. Why don’t you attend to your own?”“Look here, young gent,” he cried sharply, “do you want to quarrel just because I like a drop now and then?”“Quarrel! No, Ike. I tell you because I don’t want to see you discharged.”“Think they would start me if they knowed, lad?”“I’m sure of it,” I said earnestly. “Sir Francis is so particular.”“Then,” he said, scraping his spade fiercely, “it won’t do. I want to stop here. I’ll turn over a noo leaf.”One day in the next autumn, as I was carefully shutting in a pill-box a moth that I had found, a gentleman who was staying at the house caught sight of me and asked to see it.“Ah, yes!” he said. “Goat-moth, and a nice specimen. Do you sugar?”“Do I sugar, sir?” I said vacantly. “Yes, I like sugar, sir.”“Bless the lad!” he said, laughing. “I mean sugar the trees. Smear them with thick sugar and water or treacle, and then go round at night with a lantern; that’s the way to catch the best moths.”I was delighted with the idea and was not long before I tried it, and as luck would have it, there was an old bull’s-eye lantern in the tool-house that Mr Solomon used when he went round to the furnaces of a night.I remember well one evening, just at leaving-off time, taking my bottle of thick syrup and brush from the tool-house shelf, and slipping down the garden and into the pear-plantation where the choice late fruit was waiting and asking daily to be picked.Mr Solomon was very proud of his pears, and certainly some of them grew to a magnificent size.I was noticing how beautiful and tawny and golden some of them were growing to be as I smeared the trunk of one and then of another with my sweet stuff, and as it was a deliciously warm still evening, I was full of expectation of a good take.I had just finished when all at once I heard a curious noise, which made me think of lying in the dark in the sand-cave listening to Shock’s hard breathing; and I gave quite a shudder as I looked round, and then turned hot and angry.I knew what the noise was, and had not to look far to find Ike lying under a large tree right away from the path fast asleep, and every now and then uttering a few words and giving a snort.“Ike!” I said, shaking him. “Ike! wake up and go home.”But the more I tried the more stupid he seemed to grow, and I stood at last wondering what I had better do, not liking the idea of Mr Solomon hearing, for it was certain to mean a very severe reprimand. It might mean discharge.It seemed such a pity, too, and I could not help thinking that this bad habit of Ike’s was the reason why he had lived to fifty and never risen above the position of labourer.I tried again to wake him, but it was of no use, and just then I heard Mr Solomon shout to me that tea was waiting.I ran up the garden quickly for fear Mr Solomon should come down and see Ike, and as I went I made up my mind that I would get the key of the gate into the lane and come down after dark and smuggle him out without anyone knowing.“Well, butterfly boy,” said Mrs Solomon, smiling in her half-serious way, “we’ve been waiting tea these ten minutes.”I said I was very sorry, and though I felt a little guilty as I sat down I soon forgot all about Ike in my pleasant meal.Then I felt frightened as I heard some laughing and shouting, and started and listened, for it struck me that Courtenay and Philip might be going down the garden, and if they should see poor Ike in such a state, I knew that they would begin baiting and teasing him, when he would perhaps fly in a passion such as I had seen him in once before, when he abused me, and apologised the next day, saying that it wasn’t temper, but beer.The sound died away, and then it seemed to rise again nearer to us.“Ah!” said Mr Solomon, “I’m sorry for those who have boys.”“No, you are not, Solomon,” said his wife, cutting the bread and butter.“Well, such boys as them.”“Ah!” said Mrs Solomon. “That’s better.”That seemed a long tea-time, and it appeared to be longer still before I could get away, for Mr Solomon had a lot of things to ask me about the grape-house and pit. I kept glancing at the wall where the key hung on a nail, and though another time I might easily have taken it, on this particular occasion it seemed as if I could not get near the place unobserved.At last my time came; Mrs Solomon had gone into the back kitchen, and Mr Solomon to his desk in the parlour. I did not lose a moment, but, snatching the key from the nail, I slipped it in my pocket, caught my cap from the peg, and slipped out.I was not going to do any wicked act, but somehow I felt as if all this was very wrong, and I found myself running along the grass borders, leaping over the gravel paths, so that my footsteps should not be heard, and in this way I reached the tool-house, where, quite at home in the darkness, and making no more noise than jingling a hanging spade against the bricks, I reached up on to the corner shelf and found my lantern and matches.There was the little lamp inside already trimmed, and I soon had it alight and darkened by the shade, slipped it in my pocket, and then started down the long green walk by the big wall where the espaliers were trained, and the wall was covered with big pear-trees.“I feel just like a robber,” I said to myself as I stole along to find Ike and turn him out.Then I stopped short, for there was a scrambling noise on one side.“He is awake and trying to get over the wall,” I said to myself, and setting down my lantern by one of the big trees, I went forward towards the great pear-tree, whose branches would make a ladder right to the top.It was very dark, and the great wall made it seem blacker as I stole on over the soft green path meaning to make sure that Ike had gone over quite safely, and then go to my moth-hunting.“It’s as well not to speak to him,” I thought.Then I stopped again, for if it was Ike he was either talking to himself or had some one whispering to him.“It can’t be Ike,” I thought, for after the whispering some one jumped down on the soft bed, and then some one else followed—crash.There was a scuffle here, and some one uttered an ejaculation of pain as if he had hurt himself in jumping, while the other laughed, and then they whispered together.It was not Ike going away then, but two people come over the wall to get at the great choice pears that were growing on my left.“What a shame,” I thought; and as I recalled a similar occurrence at Old Brownsmith’s I wished that Shock were with me to help protect Sir Francis’ choice fruit.I ought to have slipped off back and told Mr Solomon, who would have made the gardener come from the lower cottage; but I did not think of that; I only listened and heard one of the thieves whisper to the other:“Get up; you aren’t hurt. Come along.”Then there was a rustling as they forced their way among the bushes, and went bang up against an espalier. This they skirted, coming close to me as I stood in the shadow of a pear-tree.“Come along quick!” I heard; and then the two figures went on rustling and crashing among the black-currant bushes, so that I could smell the peculiar herbaceous medicine-scent they gave out.I knew as well as if I had been told where they were going, and that was to a double row of beautiful great pears that were just ready to pick, and which I had noticed that morning, and again when I was sugaring the trees close by.At first I had taken them for men, but by degrees, by the tone of their whispers and the faint sight I got of them now and then as they passed an open place, I knew that they were boys.A few minutes before I had felt excited and nervous; then I felt less alarm. My first idea was to frighten them by shouting for the different men about the place; but as soon as I was sure that they were boys, a curiously pugnacious sensation came over me, and I determined to see if I couldn’t catch one of them and drag him up to Mr Solomon, for I felt sure that I should only have one to fight with, the other would be sure to run as hard as he could go.I stopped short again with an unpleasant thought in my mind. Surely this could not be Shock with some companion.No, it could not be he, I felt sure, and I was rather ashamed of having thought it as I crept on after the two thieves, so that I was quite near them when, as I expected they would, they stopped by the little thick heavily-laden trees.“Look out! hold the bag and be quick,” was whispered; and then there was snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves, and a couple of dull thuds as two pears fell.“Never mind them,” was whispered in the same tone. “There’s no end of ’em about.”I crept nearer with my teeth grinding together, for it seemed to be such a shameful thing to clear those pears from the tree in that way, and then I grew furious, for one whispered something to the other, and the tree being stripped was shaken, and thenthump, thump, thump, one after another the beautiful fruit fell.They scuffled about, and I was so close now that I could hear the pears banged and bruised one upon another as they were thrown into a bag. Then I felt as if I could bear it no longer. The pears were as if they were my own, and making a dash at the faintly seen figure with the bag I struck him a blow with all my might, and that, the surprise, and the weight of my body combined were sufficient to send him over amongst the black currants, while I went at the other, and in a blind fury began laying on to him with my fists as hard as I could.He tried to get away, but I held on to him, and this drove him to fight desperately, and for some minutes we were up and down, fighting, wrestling, and hanging on to each other with all the fury of bitter enemies.I was beaten down to my knees twice over. I struggled up again though, and held on with the stubbornness of a bull-dog.Then being stronger than I he swung me round, so that I was crushed up against the trunk of one of the trees, but the more he hurt me the more angry I grew, and held on, striking at him whenever I could get an arm free. I could hear him grinding his teeth as he struggled with me, and at last I caught my feet in a currant bush, for even then I could tell it by the smell, and down I went.But not alone. I held on to him, and dragged him atop of me.“Let go!” he cried hoarsely, as he struck me savagely in the face; and when the pain only made me hang on all the more tightly he called out to his companion, who had taken no farther part in the fray:“Here, Phil, Phil. Come on, you sneak.”I felt as if I had been stunned. Not by his blow, but by his words, as for the first time I realised with whom I had been engaged.A rustling noise on my left warned me that some one else was coming; but I let my hands fall to my side, for I had made a grievous mistake, and must strike no more.In place now of my hanging on to Courtenay, he was holding me, and drawing in his breath he raised himself a little, raised one hand and was about to strike me, but before he could, Philip seemed to seize me by the collar, and his brother too, but in an instant I felt that it was a stronger grip, and a hoarse gruff voice that I knew well enough was that of Sir Francis shouted out, “Caught you, have I, you young scoundrels.”As he spoke he made us rise, and forced us before him—neither of us speaking—through the bushes and on to the path, a little point of light appearing above me, and puffs of pungent smoke from a cigar striking my face.“I’ve got t’other one,” said a rough voice that I also recognised, and I cried out involuntarily:“Ike—Ike!”“That’s me, lad. I’ve got him fast.”“You let me go. You hurt me,” cried Philip out of the darkness.“Hurt yer? I should think I do hurt you. Traps always does hurt, my fine fellow. Who are you? What’s your name?”“Bring him here,” cried Sir Francis; and as Ike half carried, half dragged Philip out from among the trees on to the broad green walk, Sir Francis cried fiercely:“Now, then! What’s the meaning of all this!”I heard Philip give a gasp as I opened my lips to speak, but before I could say a word Courtenay cried out quickly:“Phil and I heard them stealing the pears, and we came down to stop them—didn’t we, Phil?”“Yes: they pounced upon us in the dark.”“I am knocked about,” cried Courtenay.“What a wicked lie!” I exclaimed, as soon as I could get my breath.“Lie, sir, lie!” cried Sir Francis fiercely, as he tightened his grasp upon my collar. “Why, I saw you come creeping along with that dark lantern, and watched you. You had no business down here, and yet I find you along with this fellow, who has no right to be in the garden now, assaulting my sons.”

I did know the rest; how Shock and I lay for a fortnight at the little country inn carefully tended before we were declared fit to go back home, for the doctor was not long in bringing us back to our senses; and, save that I used to wake with a start out of my sleep in the dark, fancying I was back in the pit, I was not much the worse. Shock was better, for he looked cleaner and fresher, but he objected a great deal to our nurse brushing his hair.

I was just back and feeling strong again, when one day Sir Francis came down into the pinery, and stopped and spoke to me. He said he had heard all about my narrow escape, and hoped it would be a warning to me never to trust myself in a sand-pit again.

He was very kind after his manner, which was generally as if he thought all the world were soldiers, and I was going up to my dinner soon, after I had stopped for a bit of a cool down in one of the other houses, when, to my great disgust, I saw Courtenay and Philip back, and I felt a kind of foreboding that there would soon be some more troubles to face.

I was quite right, for during the rest of their stay at home they seemed to have combined to make my life as wretched as they possibly could.

I was often on the point of complaining, but I did not like to do so, for it seemed to be so cowardly, and besides, I argued to myself that I could not expect all sunshine. Old Brownsmith used to have me over to spend Sundays with him, and his brother and Mrs Solomon were very kind. Ike sometimes went so far as to say “Good-morning” and “good-night,” and Shock had become so friendly that he would talk, and bring me a good moth or butterfly for my case.

I went steadily on collecting, for Mr Solomon said, as long as the work was done well he would rather I did amuse myself in a sensible way.

The consequence was that I often used to go down the garden of a night, and my collection of moths was largely increased.

I noticed about this time that Sir Francis used to talk a good deal to Shock, and by and by I found from Ike that the boy was going regularly to an evening-school, and altering a great deal for the better. Unfortunately, Ike, with whom he lodged, was not improving, as I had several opportunities of observing, and one day I took him to task about it.

“I know the excuse you have, Ike,” I said, “that habit you got into when going backwards and forwards to the market; but when you had settled down here in a gentleman’s garden, I should have thought that you would have given it up.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, as he drove in his spade. “You’re a gent, you see, and I’m only a workman.”

“I’m going to be a workman too, Ike,” I said.

“Ay, but not a digger like me. They don’t set me to prune, and thin grapes, and mind chyce flowers. I’m not like you.”

“It does not matter what any one is, Ike,” I said. “You ought to turn over a new leaf and keep away from the public-house.”

“True,” he said, smashing a clod; “and I do turn over a noo leaf, but it will turn itself back.”

“Nonsense!” I said. “You are sharp enough on Shock’s failings, and you tell me of mine. Why don’t you attend to your own?”

“Look here, young gent,” he cried sharply, “do you want to quarrel just because I like a drop now and then?”

“Quarrel! No, Ike. I tell you because I don’t want to see you discharged.”

“Think they would start me if they knowed, lad?”

“I’m sure of it,” I said earnestly. “Sir Francis is so particular.”

“Then,” he said, scraping his spade fiercely, “it won’t do. I want to stop here. I’ll turn over a noo leaf.”

One day in the next autumn, as I was carefully shutting in a pill-box a moth that I had found, a gentleman who was staying at the house caught sight of me and asked to see it.

“Ah, yes!” he said. “Goat-moth, and a nice specimen. Do you sugar?”

“Do I sugar, sir?” I said vacantly. “Yes, I like sugar, sir.”

“Bless the lad!” he said, laughing. “I mean sugar the trees. Smear them with thick sugar and water or treacle, and then go round at night with a lantern; that’s the way to catch the best moths.”

I was delighted with the idea and was not long before I tried it, and as luck would have it, there was an old bull’s-eye lantern in the tool-house that Mr Solomon used when he went round to the furnaces of a night.

I remember well one evening, just at leaving-off time, taking my bottle of thick syrup and brush from the tool-house shelf, and slipping down the garden and into the pear-plantation where the choice late fruit was waiting and asking daily to be picked.

Mr Solomon was very proud of his pears, and certainly some of them grew to a magnificent size.

I was noticing how beautiful and tawny and golden some of them were growing to be as I smeared the trunk of one and then of another with my sweet stuff, and as it was a deliciously warm still evening, I was full of expectation of a good take.

I had just finished when all at once I heard a curious noise, which made me think of lying in the dark in the sand-cave listening to Shock’s hard breathing; and I gave quite a shudder as I looked round, and then turned hot and angry.

I knew what the noise was, and had not to look far to find Ike lying under a large tree right away from the path fast asleep, and every now and then uttering a few words and giving a snort.

“Ike!” I said, shaking him. “Ike! wake up and go home.”

But the more I tried the more stupid he seemed to grow, and I stood at last wondering what I had better do, not liking the idea of Mr Solomon hearing, for it was certain to mean a very severe reprimand. It might mean discharge.

It seemed such a pity, too, and I could not help thinking that this bad habit of Ike’s was the reason why he had lived to fifty and never risen above the position of labourer.

I tried again to wake him, but it was of no use, and just then I heard Mr Solomon shout to me that tea was waiting.

I ran up the garden quickly for fear Mr Solomon should come down and see Ike, and as I went I made up my mind that I would get the key of the gate into the lane and come down after dark and smuggle him out without anyone knowing.

“Well, butterfly boy,” said Mrs Solomon, smiling in her half-serious way, “we’ve been waiting tea these ten minutes.”

I said I was very sorry, and though I felt a little guilty as I sat down I soon forgot all about Ike in my pleasant meal.

Then I felt frightened as I heard some laughing and shouting, and started and listened, for it struck me that Courtenay and Philip might be going down the garden, and if they should see poor Ike in such a state, I knew that they would begin baiting and teasing him, when he would perhaps fly in a passion such as I had seen him in once before, when he abused me, and apologised the next day, saying that it wasn’t temper, but beer.

The sound died away, and then it seemed to rise again nearer to us.

“Ah!” said Mr Solomon, “I’m sorry for those who have boys.”

“No, you are not, Solomon,” said his wife, cutting the bread and butter.

“Well, such boys as them.”

“Ah!” said Mrs Solomon. “That’s better.”

That seemed a long tea-time, and it appeared to be longer still before I could get away, for Mr Solomon had a lot of things to ask me about the grape-house and pit. I kept glancing at the wall where the key hung on a nail, and though another time I might easily have taken it, on this particular occasion it seemed as if I could not get near the place unobserved.

At last my time came; Mrs Solomon had gone into the back kitchen, and Mr Solomon to his desk in the parlour. I did not lose a moment, but, snatching the key from the nail, I slipped it in my pocket, caught my cap from the peg, and slipped out.

I was not going to do any wicked act, but somehow I felt as if all this was very wrong, and I found myself running along the grass borders, leaping over the gravel paths, so that my footsteps should not be heard, and in this way I reached the tool-house, where, quite at home in the darkness, and making no more noise than jingling a hanging spade against the bricks, I reached up on to the corner shelf and found my lantern and matches.

There was the little lamp inside already trimmed, and I soon had it alight and darkened by the shade, slipped it in my pocket, and then started down the long green walk by the big wall where the espaliers were trained, and the wall was covered with big pear-trees.

“I feel just like a robber,” I said to myself as I stole along to find Ike and turn him out.

Then I stopped short, for there was a scrambling noise on one side.

“He is awake and trying to get over the wall,” I said to myself, and setting down my lantern by one of the big trees, I went forward towards the great pear-tree, whose branches would make a ladder right to the top.

It was very dark, and the great wall made it seem blacker as I stole on over the soft green path meaning to make sure that Ike had gone over quite safely, and then go to my moth-hunting.

“It’s as well not to speak to him,” I thought.

Then I stopped again, for if it was Ike he was either talking to himself or had some one whispering to him.

“It can’t be Ike,” I thought, for after the whispering some one jumped down on the soft bed, and then some one else followed—crash.

There was a scuffle here, and some one uttered an ejaculation of pain as if he had hurt himself in jumping, while the other laughed, and then they whispered together.

It was not Ike going away then, but two people come over the wall to get at the great choice pears that were growing on my left.

“What a shame,” I thought; and as I recalled a similar occurrence at Old Brownsmith’s I wished that Shock were with me to help protect Sir Francis’ choice fruit.

I ought to have slipped off back and told Mr Solomon, who would have made the gardener come from the lower cottage; but I did not think of that; I only listened and heard one of the thieves whisper to the other:

“Get up; you aren’t hurt. Come along.”

Then there was a rustling as they forced their way among the bushes, and went bang up against an espalier. This they skirted, coming close to me as I stood in the shadow of a pear-tree.

“Come along quick!” I heard; and then the two figures went on rustling and crashing among the black-currant bushes, so that I could smell the peculiar herbaceous medicine-scent they gave out.

I knew as well as if I had been told where they were going, and that was to a double row of beautiful great pears that were just ready to pick, and which I had noticed that morning, and again when I was sugaring the trees close by.

At first I had taken them for men, but by degrees, by the tone of their whispers and the faint sight I got of them now and then as they passed an open place, I knew that they were boys.

A few minutes before I had felt excited and nervous; then I felt less alarm. My first idea was to frighten them by shouting for the different men about the place; but as soon as I was sure that they were boys, a curiously pugnacious sensation came over me, and I determined to see if I couldn’t catch one of them and drag him up to Mr Solomon, for I felt sure that I should only have one to fight with, the other would be sure to run as hard as he could go.

I stopped short again with an unpleasant thought in my mind. Surely this could not be Shock with some companion.

No, it could not be he, I felt sure, and I was rather ashamed of having thought it as I crept on after the two thieves, so that I was quite near them when, as I expected they would, they stopped by the little thick heavily-laden trees.

“Look out! hold the bag and be quick,” was whispered; and then there was snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves, and a couple of dull thuds as two pears fell.

“Never mind them,” was whispered in the same tone. “There’s no end of ’em about.”

I crept nearer with my teeth grinding together, for it seemed to be such a shameful thing to clear those pears from the tree in that way, and then I grew furious, for one whispered something to the other, and the tree being stripped was shaken, and thenthump, thump, thump, one after another the beautiful fruit fell.

They scuffled about, and I was so close now that I could hear the pears banged and bruised one upon another as they were thrown into a bag. Then I felt as if I could bear it no longer. The pears were as if they were my own, and making a dash at the faintly seen figure with the bag I struck him a blow with all my might, and that, the surprise, and the weight of my body combined were sufficient to send him over amongst the black currants, while I went at the other, and in a blind fury began laying on to him with my fists as hard as I could.

He tried to get away, but I held on to him, and this drove him to fight desperately, and for some minutes we were up and down, fighting, wrestling, and hanging on to each other with all the fury of bitter enemies.

I was beaten down to my knees twice over. I struggled up again though, and held on with the stubbornness of a bull-dog.

Then being stronger than I he swung me round, so that I was crushed up against the trunk of one of the trees, but the more he hurt me the more angry I grew, and held on, striking at him whenever I could get an arm free. I could hear him grinding his teeth as he struggled with me, and at last I caught my feet in a currant bush, for even then I could tell it by the smell, and down I went.

But not alone. I held on to him, and dragged him atop of me.

“Let go!” he cried hoarsely, as he struck me savagely in the face; and when the pain only made me hang on all the more tightly he called out to his companion, who had taken no farther part in the fray:

“Here, Phil, Phil. Come on, you sneak.”

I felt as if I had been stunned. Not by his blow, but by his words, as for the first time I realised with whom I had been engaged.

A rustling noise on my left warned me that some one else was coming; but I let my hands fall to my side, for I had made a grievous mistake, and must strike no more.

In place now of my hanging on to Courtenay, he was holding me, and drawing in his breath he raised himself a little, raised one hand and was about to strike me, but before he could, Philip seemed to seize me by the collar, and his brother too, but in an instant I felt that it was a stronger grip, and a hoarse gruff voice that I knew well enough was that of Sir Francis shouted out, “Caught you, have I, you young scoundrels.”

As he spoke he made us rise, and forced us before him—neither of us speaking—through the bushes and on to the path, a little point of light appearing above me, and puffs of pungent smoke from a cigar striking my face.

“I’ve got t’other one,” said a rough voice that I also recognised, and I cried out involuntarily:

“Ike—Ike!”

“That’s me, lad. I’ve got him fast.”

“You let me go. You hurt me,” cried Philip out of the darkness.

“Hurt yer? I should think I do hurt you. Traps always does hurt, my fine fellow. Who are you? What’s your name?”

“Bring him here,” cried Sir Francis; and as Ike half carried, half dragged Philip out from among the trees on to the broad green walk, Sir Francis cried fiercely:

“Now, then! What’s the meaning of all this!”

I heard Philip give a gasp as I opened my lips to speak, but before I could say a word Courtenay cried out quickly:

“Phil and I heard them stealing the pears, and we came down to stop them—didn’t we, Phil?”

“Yes: they pounced upon us in the dark.”

“I am knocked about,” cried Courtenay.

“What a wicked lie!” I exclaimed, as soon as I could get my breath.

“Lie, sir, lie!” cried Sir Francis fiercely, as he tightened his grasp upon my collar. “Why, I saw you come creeping along with that dark lantern, and watched you. You had no business down here, and yet I find you along with this fellow, who has no right to be in the garden now, assaulting my sons.”

Chapter Thirty Two.Circumstantial Evidence.“Now, sir,” cried Sir Francis angrily, “have the goodness to explain what you were doing there.”This was to Ike, who seemed stupid and confused. The excitement of the fight had roused him up for a few minutes; but as soon as that was over he yawned very loudly, and when Sir Francis turned fiercely upon him and asked him that question he said aloud:“Eh?”“Answer me, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Francis. “You heard what I said.”“Eh? Hah, yes. What had I been a-doing—heigh—ho—hum! Oh, how sleepy I am! What had I been a-doing here? What I been doing, Mars Grant?”“You were asleep,” I said on being appealed to; and I spoke angrily, for I was smarting under the accusation and suspicion of being a thief.“Asleep!” cried Ike. “To be sure. That’s it. Asleep I was under the bushes there. Dropped right off.”“You repeat your lesson well,” said Sir Francis. “Pray, go up to the house—to the library, you boys—you, sir, follow me.”Courtenay and Philip went on in advance, Sir Francis followed, and we were bringing up the rear when Ike exclaimed in remonstrance:“That ain’t fair, master. You ought to sep’rate them two or a nyste bit of a tale they’ll make up between them.”“You insolent scoundrel!” roared Sir Francis.“All right, sir; scoundrel it is, just as you like. Wonder who’ll tell the truth, and who won’t?”“Hold your tongue, Ike!” I said angrily.Plop!That strange sound was made by Ike, who struck his mouth with his hand as if to stop it up and prevent more words coming.Meanwhile we were going up the garden, and came suddenly upon a spot of fire which kept glowing and fading, and resolved itself into Mr Solomon’s evening pipe in the kitchen-garden middle walk.“Hallo! young gentlemen!” he exclaimed; and then, seeing his master: “Anything the matter, Sir Francis?”“Matter!” cried Sir Francis, who was in a great passion. “Why are you, my head gardener, not protecting my place with the idle scoundrels I pay? Here am I and my sons obliged to turn out of an evening to keep thieves from the fruit.”“Thieves! What thieves?” cried Mr Solomon. “Why, Isaac, what are you doing here?”“Me!” said Ike. “Don’t quite know. Thought I’d been having a nap. The master says I’ve been stealing o’ pears.”“Silence!” cried Sir Francis. “You, Brownsmith, see that those two fellows come straight up to the library. I hold you answerable for their appearance.”Sir Francis went on first and we followed, to find ourselves, about ten minutes later, in the big library, with Sir Francis seated behind a large table, and a lamp and some silver candlesticks on table and mantel-piece, trying to make the gloomy room light.They did not succeed, but there was light enough to show Courtenay and Philip all the better for running up to their rooms and getting a wash and brush, while I was ragged, dirty and torn, bruised and bleeding, for I could not keep my nose from giving forth tokens of the fierce fight.Courtenay was not perfect, though, for his mouth looked puffy and his eyes were swelling up in a curious way that seemed to promise to reduce them to a couple of slits.I glanced at Mr Solomon, and saw that he was looking very anxious, and as our eyes met his lips moved, and he seemed to be saying to me: “How could you do such a disgraceful thing?” but I smiled at him and looked him full in the eyes without flinching, and he appeared to be more cheerful directly.“Attention!” cried Sir Francis as if he were drilling his men; but there was no more fierceness. The officer and angry master had given place to the magistrate, and he cleared his throat and proceeded to try the case.There was a little shuffling about, and Philip whispered to Courtenay.“Silence!” cried Sir Francis. “Now, Courtenay, you are the elder: tell me what you were doing down the garden.”“We were up by the big conservatory door, papa,” said Courtenay boldly—“Phil and I—and we were talking together about getting some bait for fishing, when all at once there came a whistle from down the garden, and directly after some one seemed to answer it; and then, sir—‘what’s that?’ said ‘Phil,’ and I knew directly.”“How did you know?” cried Sir Francis.“Well, I guessed it, sir, and I said it was someone after the fruit; and I asked Phil if he’d come with me and watch and see who it was.”“And he did?”“Yes, sir; and we went down the garden and couldn’t hear or see anything, and we went right to the bottom, and as we were coming back we heard the pear-trees being shaken.”“How did you know it was the pear-trees, sir?—it was dark.”“It sounded like pear-trees, sir, and you could hear the big pears tumbling on the ground.”“Well, sir?”Courtenay spoke out boldly and well. He did not hesitate in the least; and I could not help feeling what a ragged dejected-looking object I seemed, and how much appearances were against me.“I said to Phil that we ought to try and catch the thieves, and he said we would, so we crept up and charged them, and I had this boy, and I suppose Phil brought that man, but it was so dark I could not see what he did.”“Well, sir?”“Well, papa, this boy knocked me about shamefully, and called me all sorts of names.”“And you knocked him about too, I suppose?” said Sir Francis.“Yes, I suppose I did, sir. He hurt me, and I was in a passion.”“Now, Philip, what have you to say?”Philip looked uneasy as he glanced at his brother and then at Sir Francis.“Well, go on, sir.”“We were up by the big con—”“Yes, yes, we have heard all about that,” cried Sir Francis.“Yes, pa; and we heard whistles, and Courtenay said, ‘What’s that?’”“I thought it was you said ‘What’s that?’”“No, pa, it was Courtenay,” cried the boy quickly: “he said it. And then I wanted to go down and catch the thieves, and Courtenay came too, and we could hear them shaking down the pears. Then I went one way and Courtenay went the other, and I saw that new labourer—that man—”“Fine eyes for his age,” said Ike in a low growl.“How dare you speak, sir, till you are called upon for your defence!” cried Sir Francis.“Oh, all right, your worship!” growled Ike. “On’y you know how dark it weer.”“Silence, man!”Plop!That was Ike’s hand over his mouth again to enforce silence.“Go on, Philip,” said Sir Francis quietly.“Yes, pa,” cried the boy excitedly. “As soon as I saw that man shaking down the big pears I ran at him to try and catch him.”“You should ha’ took off your cap, young un, and ketched me like a butterfly,” growled Ike.“Will you be silent, sir!”Plop!“He struck me, then, in the chest, pa, and knocked me right down in among the bushes.”“No, he did not,” I exclaimed indignantly; “it was I.”“It was not; it was that man,” cried Philip; and Ike burst out into a hearty laugh.“Am I to order you out of the room, sir?” cried Sir Francis, severely.“All right, your worship! No,” cried Ike.Plop!“Now, Philip, go on.”“Yes, pa. I’m not very strong, and he shook me and banged me about ever so; but I was determined that I would not let him go, and held on till we heard you come; and then instead of trying to get away any more he turned round and began to drag me towards you, pretending that he had caught me, when I had caught him, you know.”“Go and sit down,” said Sir Francis. “You boys talk well.”“Yes, papa, we are trying to tell you everything,” said Philip.“Thank you,” said Sir Francis, and then he turned to me and looked me all over.“Well, sir,” he said, “your appearance and the evidence are very much against you.”“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said; “very much indeed.”“Well, what have you to say?”I could not answer for some moments, for my feelings of indignation got the better of me, but at last I blurted out:“I went down the garden Sir Francis, to try and catch some moths.”“With this, eh?” said Sir Francis picking up something from the floor, and placing my old dark lantern on the table.“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said. “I am making a collection.”“Where is it, then?”“Down at the cottage, Sir Francis.”“Humph!” ejaculated Sir Francis. “Have you seen his collection, Brownsmith?”“Yes, Sir Francis; he has a great many—butterflies and moths.”“Humph! Sugar the trees, eh?”“Yes, sir,” I said quickly.“And do you know that he goes down the garden of a night?”“Yes, Sir Francis, often,” said Mr Solomon.“Isn’t it enough to tempt him to take the pears?”“No, Sir Francis,” replied Mr Solomon boldly. “I might just as well say to you, ‘Isn’t it enough to tempt him to take the grapes or the peaches to trust him among them alone.’”“He did steal the peaches when he first came. I caught him at it,” cried Philip viciously.“No, you did not, young gentleman,” said Mr Solomon sternly; “but I saw you cut two bunches of grapes one evening—the Muscat of Alexandria—and take them away.”“Oh what a wicked story!” cried Philip, angrily.“Call it what you like, young gentleman,” said Mr Solomon; “but it’s a fact. I meant to speak to Sir Francis, for I hate the choice fruit to be touched till it’s wanted for the house; but I said to myself he’s only a schoolboy and he was tempted, and here are the young gentleman’s nail scissors, Sir Francis, that he dropped in his hurry and left behind.”As Mr Solomon spoke he handed a pair of pearl-handled scissors—a pair of those spring affairs with a tiny knife-blade in each handle—and in the midst of a dead silence laid them on the table before Sir Francis.“Those are not mine,” said Philip hastily.“Humph!” ejaculated Sir Francis, picking them up and examining them. “I shall have to order you out of the room, man, if you make that noise,” he cried, as he turned to Ike.“I weer on’y laughin’, your worship,” said Ike.“Then leave off laughing, sir,” continued Sir Francis, “and have the goodness to tell me what you were doing down the garden. Were you collecting moths with a dark lantern?”“Me, your honour! not I.”“What were you doing, then?”“Well, your honour’s worship, I was having a bit of a sleep—tired, you see.”“Oh!” exclaimed Sir Francis. “Now, look here, Grant, you knew that man was down the garden.”“Yes, Sir Francis.”“And didn’t you go to join him?”“Yes, Sir Francis.”“To get a lot of my pears?”“No, Sir Francis.”“Then why did you go?” he thundered.I was silent.“Do you hear, sir?”“Yes, Sir Francis.”“Then speak, sir.”I remained silent.“Will you tell me why you went down the garden to join that man?”I looked at poor Ike, and felt that if I spoke it would be to get him discharged, so I preferred to remain silent, and said not a word.“Will you speak, sir?” cried Sir Francis, beating the table with his fist.“I can’t tell you, Sir Francis.”“You mean you won’t, sir?”“Yes, Sir Francis.”“Why not tell the whole truth, Grant?” said Mr Solomon, reproachfully.“Because I can’t, sir,” I replied sadly.“Be silent, Brownsmith,” cried Sir Francis fiercely.“He’s too good a mate to tell,” said Ike stoutly. “Here, I may as well make a clean breast of it, and here it is. I’m an old soldier, sir, and—well, theer, it got hold of me at dinner-time. ’Stead of having anything to eat I had a lot to drink, having had some salt herrin’ for breakfast, and I suppose I took too much.”“Herring, my man?”“No, your worship, beer; and I went to sleep down among the bushes. There, that’s the honest truth, Mr Brownsmith’s brother. Fact as fact.”“I believe you, Ike,” said Mr Solomon. “He’s a very honest workman, Sir Francis.”“Thank ye; I call that handsome, I do,” said Ike.“Stop! this is getting very irregular,” cried Sir Francis. “Now, Grant, once more. Did you not go down the garden thinking you would get some of those pears?”“No, Sir Francis.”“To meet that man, and let him take them away?”“No, Sir Francis.”“Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you did not go down to join that man?”“I did go down to join him, Sir Francis,” I replied. “I saw him asleep and tipsy in among the black currants and I left him there, and took this key to-night to wake him up and let him out by the gate in the wall.”“Why not through the coach-yard?”“Because I was afraid he would meet Mr Solomon Brownsmith, and get into disgrace for drinking.”“Thankye, Mars Grant, thankye kindly,” said Ike.“Silence!”Plop!“A nice tale?” said Sir Francis. “We are getting to the bottom of a pretty state of things.”Just then I saw Courtenay look at Philip as if he were uneasy. Then I glanced at Sir Francis and saw him gnawing at his moustache.“Lookye here, sir,” said Ike sturdily. “Is it likely as we two would take the fruit? Why, we’re always amongst it, and think no more of it than if it was so much stones and dirt. We ain’t thieves.”“Look here,” said Sir Francis, suddenly taking a tack in another direction, “you own that you beat my son—my stepson,” he added correctively, “in that way?”“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said, “I didn’t know who he was in the dark.”“You couldn’t see him?”“Only just, Sir Francis; and I hit him as hard as I could.”“And you, my man, do you own that you struck my other stepson as hard as you could in the chest?”“No!” cried Ike fiercely; and to the surprise of all he threw off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve, displaying a great red-brown mass of bone and muscle, and a mighty fist. “Lookye here, your worship. See there. Why, if I’d hit that boy with that there fist as hard as ever I could, there wouldn’t be no boy now, only a coroner’s inquess. Bah! I wonder at you, Sir Francis! There’s none of my marks on him, only where I gripped his arms. Take off your jacket, youngster, and show your pa.”“How dare you!” cried Philip indignantly.“Take off your jacket, sir!” roared Sir Francis, and trembling and flushing, Philip did as he was told, and at a second bidding rolled up his sleeves to show the marks of Ike’s fingers plainly enough.Ike said nothing now, but uttered a low grunt.“He did hit me,” cried Philip excitedly.“No; I hit you,” I cried, “when I rushed at you first. I followed you after I’d heard you scramble over the wall.”“Oh!” cried Philip with an indignant look.“You heard them scramble over the wall?” said Sir Francis sharply.“Yes, Sir Francis. I think it was by the big keeping-pear that is trained horizontally—that large old tree, the last in the row.”Sir Francis sat back in his chair for a few moments in silence; and Courtenay said to his brother in a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear:“Did you ever hear anyone go on like that!”Sir Francis took no notice, but slowly rose from his seat, crossed the room, opened the French window that looked out upon the lawn, and then said:“Hand me a candle, Brownsmith.”The candle was placed in his hands, and he walked with it right out on to the lawn and then held it above his head.Then, walking back into the room, he took up another candlestick.“Let everyone stay as he is till I come back.”“Do you mean us to stay here, papa—with these people?” said Courtenay haughtily.Sir Francis stopped short and looked at him sternly without speaking, making the boy blench. Then he turned away without a word, and followed by Mr Solomon bearing a lighted candle, which hardly flickered in the still autumn evening, he went on down the garden.“Haw—haw—haw!” laughed Ike as soon as we were alone. “You’re a pair o’ nice uns—you are! But you’re ketched this time,” he added.“How dare you speak to us, sir!” cried Courtenay indignantly. “Hold your tongue, sir!”“No use to hold it now,” said Ike laughing. “I say, don’t you feel warm?”“Don’t take any notice of the fellow, Court,” cried Phil; “and as for pauper—”“You leave him to me,” said Courtenay with a vindictive look. “I’ll make him remember telling his lies of me—yes, and of you too. He shall remember to-night as long as he lives, unless he asks our pardon, as soon as Sir Francis comes back and owns that it was he who was taking the pears.”I turned away from them and spoke to Ike, who was asking me about my hurts.“Oh! they’re nothing,” I said—“only a few scratches and bruises. I don’t mind them.”The two boys were whispering eagerly together, and I heard Philip say:“Well, ask him; he’d do anything for money.”“Look here,” said Courtenay.I believe he was going to offer to bribe us; but just then there was the sound of voices in the garden and Sir Francis appeared directly after, candle in hand, closely followed by Mr Solomon, and both of them looking very serious, though somehow it did not have the slightest effect on me, for I was watching the faces of Courtenay and Philip.“Shut that window, Brownsmith,” said Sir Francis, as he set down his candle and went back to his chair behind the table.Mr Solomon shut the window, and then came forward and set down his candle in turn.“Now,” said Sir Francis, “we can finish this business, I think. You say, Grant, that you heard someone climb over the wall by the big trained pear-tree?”“I heard two people come over, sir, and one of them fell down, and, I think, broke a small tree or bush.”“Yes,” said Sir Francis, “a bush is broken, and someone has climbed over by that big pear-tree.”“I digged that bit along that wall only yesterday,” said Ike.“Be silent, sir,” cried Sir Francis; “stop. Come forward; set a candle down on the floor, Brownsmith.”It was done.“You, Isaac, hold up one of your feet—there, by the candle. No, no, man; I want to see the sole.”Ike held up a foot as if he were a horse about to be shod, and growled out:“Fifteen and six, master, and warranted water-tights.”“That will do, my man,” said Sir Francis, frowning severely as if to hide a smile; and Ike put down his great boot and went softly back to his place.“Now you, Grant,” said Sir Francis.I walked boldly to the candle and held up my heavily-nailed garden boots, so that Sir Francis could see the soles.“That will do, my lad,” he said. “Now you, Courtenay, and you, Philip.”They came forward half-puzzled, but I saw clearly enough Sir Francis’ reasons, Ike’s remark about the fresh digging having given me the clue.“That will do,” said Sir Francis; and as the boys passed me to go back to their places I heard Philip utter a sigh of relief.“What time did you hear these people climb over the wall, Grant?” said Sir Francis.“I can’t tell exactly, Sir Francis,” I replied. “I think it must have been about eight o’clock.”“What time is it now, Courtenay?” said Sir Francis. The lad clapped his hand to his pocket, but his watch was not there.“I’ve left it in the bed-room,” he said hastily; and he turned to leave the library, but stopped as if turned to stone as he heard Sir Francis thunder out:“You left it hanging on the Easter Beurré pear-tree, sir, when you climbed down with your brother—on one of the short spurs, before you both left your foot-marks all over the newly-dug bed. Courtenay Dalton—Philip Dalton, if you were my own sons I should feel that a terrible stain had fallen upon my name.”The boys stood staring at him, looking yellow, and almost ghastly.“And as if that proof were not enough, Courtenay, Dalton; when you fell and broke that currant bush—”“It was Phil who fell,” cried the boy with a vicious snarl.“The truth for the first time,” said Sir Francis. Then bitterly: “And I thought you were both gentlemen! Leave the room.”“It was Phil who proposed it all, papa,” cried Courtenay appealingly.“Ah, you sneak!” cried Philip. “I didn’t, sir. I was as bad as he was, I suppose, and I thought it good fun, but I shouldn’t have told all those lies if he hadn’t made me. There, they were all lies! Now you can punish me if you like.”“Leave the room!” said Sir Francis again; and he stood pointing to the door as the brothers went out, looking miserably crestfallen.Then the door closed, and the silence was broken by a sharp cry, a scuffle, the sound of blows, and a fall, accompanied by the smashing of some vessel on the stone floor.Sir Francis strode out into the hall, and there was a hubbub of voices, and I heard Philip cry passionately:“Yes; I did hit him. He began on me, and I’ll do it again—a coward!”Then there was a low murmur for a few minutes, and Sir Francis came back into the library and stood by the table, with the light shining on his great silver moustache; and I thought what a fine, handsome, fierce old fellow he looked as he stood frowning there for quite a minute without speaking. Then, turning to Mr Solomon, he said quickly:“I beg your pardon, Brownsmith. I was excited and irritable to-night, and said what I am sorry for now.”“Then don’t say any more, Sir Francis,” replied Mr Solomon quietly. “I’ve been your servant—”“Faithful servant, Brownsmith.”“Well, Sir Francis, ‘faithful servant,’” said Mr Solomon smiling, “these twenty years, and you don’t suppose I’m going to heed a word or two like that.”“Thank you, Brownsmith,” said Sir Francis, and he turned to Ike and spoke sharply once more.“What regiment were you in, sir?”“Eighth Hoozoars, Captain,” said Ike, drawing himself up and standing at attention.“Colonel,” whispered Mr Solomon.“All right!” growled Ike.“Well, then, Isaac Barnes, speaking as one old soldier to another, I said words to you to-night for which I am heartily sorry. I beg your pardon.”“God bless you, Colonel! If you talk to me like that arterward, you may call me what you like.”“Eh?” cried Sir Francis sharply; “then I will. How dare you then, you scoundrel, go and disgrace yourself; you, an ex-British soldier—a man who has worn the king’s uniform—disgrace yourself by getting drunk? Shame on you, man, shame!”“Go on, Colonel. Give it to me,” growled Ike. “I desarve it.”“No,” said Sir Francis, smiling; “not another word; but don’t let it occur again.”Ike drew his right hand across one eye, and the left over the other, and gave each a flip as if to shake off a tear, as he growled something about “never no more.”I hardly heard him, though, for I was trembling with agitation as I saw Sir Francis turn to me, and I knew that my turn had come.“Grant, my lad,” he said quietly; “I can’t tell you how hurt and sorry I felt to-night when I believed you to be mixed up with that contemptible bit of filching. There is an abundance of fruit grown here, and I should never grudge you sharing in that which you help to produce. I was the more sorry because I have been watching your progress, and I was more than satisfied: I beg your pardon too, for all that I have said. Those boys shall beg it too.”He held out his hand, and I caught it eagerly in mine as I said, in choking tones.“My father was an officer and a gentleman, sir, and to be called a thief was very hard to bear.”“It was, my lad; it was,” he said, shaking my hand warmly. “There, there, I’ll talk to you another time.”I drew back, and we were leaving the room, I last, when, obeying an impulse, I ran back.“Well, my lad?” he said kindly.“I beg your pardon, Sir Francis; but you said that they should beg my pardon.”“Yes,” he said hotly; “and they shall.”“If you please, Sir Francis,” I said, “I would rather they did not.”“Why, sir?”“I think they have been humbled enough.”“By their own conduct?” said Sir Francis. “Yes, you are right. I will not mention it again.”

“Now, sir,” cried Sir Francis angrily, “have the goodness to explain what you were doing there.”

This was to Ike, who seemed stupid and confused. The excitement of the fight had roused him up for a few minutes; but as soon as that was over he yawned very loudly, and when Sir Francis turned fiercely upon him and asked him that question he said aloud:

“Eh?”

“Answer me, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Francis. “You heard what I said.”

“Eh? Hah, yes. What had I been a-doing—heigh—ho—hum! Oh, how sleepy I am! What had I been a-doing here? What I been doing, Mars Grant?”

“You were asleep,” I said on being appealed to; and I spoke angrily, for I was smarting under the accusation and suspicion of being a thief.

“Asleep!” cried Ike. “To be sure. That’s it. Asleep I was under the bushes there. Dropped right off.”

“You repeat your lesson well,” said Sir Francis. “Pray, go up to the house—to the library, you boys—you, sir, follow me.”

Courtenay and Philip went on in advance, Sir Francis followed, and we were bringing up the rear when Ike exclaimed in remonstrance:

“That ain’t fair, master. You ought to sep’rate them two or a nyste bit of a tale they’ll make up between them.”

“You insolent scoundrel!” roared Sir Francis.

“All right, sir; scoundrel it is, just as you like. Wonder who’ll tell the truth, and who won’t?”

“Hold your tongue, Ike!” I said angrily.

Plop!

That strange sound was made by Ike, who struck his mouth with his hand as if to stop it up and prevent more words coming.

Meanwhile we were going up the garden, and came suddenly upon a spot of fire which kept glowing and fading, and resolved itself into Mr Solomon’s evening pipe in the kitchen-garden middle walk.

“Hallo! young gentlemen!” he exclaimed; and then, seeing his master: “Anything the matter, Sir Francis?”

“Matter!” cried Sir Francis, who was in a great passion. “Why are you, my head gardener, not protecting my place with the idle scoundrels I pay? Here am I and my sons obliged to turn out of an evening to keep thieves from the fruit.”

“Thieves! What thieves?” cried Mr Solomon. “Why, Isaac, what are you doing here?”

“Me!” said Ike. “Don’t quite know. Thought I’d been having a nap. The master says I’ve been stealing o’ pears.”

“Silence!” cried Sir Francis. “You, Brownsmith, see that those two fellows come straight up to the library. I hold you answerable for their appearance.”

Sir Francis went on first and we followed, to find ourselves, about ten minutes later, in the big library, with Sir Francis seated behind a large table, and a lamp and some silver candlesticks on table and mantel-piece, trying to make the gloomy room light.

They did not succeed, but there was light enough to show Courtenay and Philip all the better for running up to their rooms and getting a wash and brush, while I was ragged, dirty and torn, bruised and bleeding, for I could not keep my nose from giving forth tokens of the fierce fight.

Courtenay was not perfect, though, for his mouth looked puffy and his eyes were swelling up in a curious way that seemed to promise to reduce them to a couple of slits.

I glanced at Mr Solomon, and saw that he was looking very anxious, and as our eyes met his lips moved, and he seemed to be saying to me: “How could you do such a disgraceful thing?” but I smiled at him and looked him full in the eyes without flinching, and he appeared to be more cheerful directly.

“Attention!” cried Sir Francis as if he were drilling his men; but there was no more fierceness. The officer and angry master had given place to the magistrate, and he cleared his throat and proceeded to try the case.

There was a little shuffling about, and Philip whispered to Courtenay.

“Silence!” cried Sir Francis. “Now, Courtenay, you are the elder: tell me what you were doing down the garden.”

“We were up by the big conservatory door, papa,” said Courtenay boldly—“Phil and I—and we were talking together about getting some bait for fishing, when all at once there came a whistle from down the garden, and directly after some one seemed to answer it; and then, sir—‘what’s that?’ said ‘Phil,’ and I knew directly.”

“How did you know?” cried Sir Francis.

“Well, I guessed it, sir, and I said it was someone after the fruit; and I asked Phil if he’d come with me and watch and see who it was.”

“And he did?”

“Yes, sir; and we went down the garden and couldn’t hear or see anything, and we went right to the bottom, and as we were coming back we heard the pear-trees being shaken.”

“How did you know it was the pear-trees, sir?—it was dark.”

“It sounded like pear-trees, sir, and you could hear the big pears tumbling on the ground.”

“Well, sir?”

Courtenay spoke out boldly and well. He did not hesitate in the least; and I could not help feeling what a ragged dejected-looking object I seemed, and how much appearances were against me.

“I said to Phil that we ought to try and catch the thieves, and he said we would, so we crept up and charged them, and I had this boy, and I suppose Phil brought that man, but it was so dark I could not see what he did.”

“Well, sir?”

“Well, papa, this boy knocked me about shamefully, and called me all sorts of names.”

“And you knocked him about too, I suppose?” said Sir Francis.

“Yes, I suppose I did, sir. He hurt me, and I was in a passion.”

“Now, Philip, what have you to say?”

Philip looked uneasy as he glanced at his brother and then at Sir Francis.

“Well, go on, sir.”

“We were up by the big con—”

“Yes, yes, we have heard all about that,” cried Sir Francis.

“Yes, pa; and we heard whistles, and Courtenay said, ‘What’s that?’”

“I thought it was you said ‘What’s that?’”

“No, pa, it was Courtenay,” cried the boy quickly: “he said it. And then I wanted to go down and catch the thieves, and Courtenay came too, and we could hear them shaking down the pears. Then I went one way and Courtenay went the other, and I saw that new labourer—that man—”

“Fine eyes for his age,” said Ike in a low growl.

“How dare you speak, sir, till you are called upon for your defence!” cried Sir Francis.

“Oh, all right, your worship!” growled Ike. “On’y you know how dark it weer.”

“Silence, man!”

Plop!

That was Ike’s hand over his mouth again to enforce silence.

“Go on, Philip,” said Sir Francis quietly.

“Yes, pa,” cried the boy excitedly. “As soon as I saw that man shaking down the big pears I ran at him to try and catch him.”

“You should ha’ took off your cap, young un, and ketched me like a butterfly,” growled Ike.

“Will you be silent, sir!”

Plop!

“He struck me, then, in the chest, pa, and knocked me right down in among the bushes.”

“No, he did not,” I exclaimed indignantly; “it was I.”

“It was not; it was that man,” cried Philip; and Ike burst out into a hearty laugh.

“Am I to order you out of the room, sir?” cried Sir Francis, severely.

“All right, your worship! No,” cried Ike.

Plop!

“Now, Philip, go on.”

“Yes, pa. I’m not very strong, and he shook me and banged me about ever so; but I was determined that I would not let him go, and held on till we heard you come; and then instead of trying to get away any more he turned round and began to drag me towards you, pretending that he had caught me, when I had caught him, you know.”

“Go and sit down,” said Sir Francis. “You boys talk well.”

“Yes, papa, we are trying to tell you everything,” said Philip.

“Thank you,” said Sir Francis, and then he turned to me and looked me all over.

“Well, sir,” he said, “your appearance and the evidence are very much against you.”

“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said; “very much indeed.”

“Well, what have you to say?”

I could not answer for some moments, for my feelings of indignation got the better of me, but at last I blurted out:

“I went down the garden Sir Francis, to try and catch some moths.”

“With this, eh?” said Sir Francis picking up something from the floor, and placing my old dark lantern on the table.

“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said. “I am making a collection.”

“Where is it, then?”

“Down at the cottage, Sir Francis.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Sir Francis. “Have you seen his collection, Brownsmith?”

“Yes, Sir Francis; he has a great many—butterflies and moths.”

“Humph! Sugar the trees, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” I said quickly.

“And do you know that he goes down the garden of a night?”

“Yes, Sir Francis, often,” said Mr Solomon.

“Isn’t it enough to tempt him to take the pears?”

“No, Sir Francis,” replied Mr Solomon boldly. “I might just as well say to you, ‘Isn’t it enough to tempt him to take the grapes or the peaches to trust him among them alone.’”

“He did steal the peaches when he first came. I caught him at it,” cried Philip viciously.

“No, you did not, young gentleman,” said Mr Solomon sternly; “but I saw you cut two bunches of grapes one evening—the Muscat of Alexandria—and take them away.”

“Oh what a wicked story!” cried Philip, angrily.

“Call it what you like, young gentleman,” said Mr Solomon; “but it’s a fact. I meant to speak to Sir Francis, for I hate the choice fruit to be touched till it’s wanted for the house; but I said to myself he’s only a schoolboy and he was tempted, and here are the young gentleman’s nail scissors, Sir Francis, that he dropped in his hurry and left behind.”

As Mr Solomon spoke he handed a pair of pearl-handled scissors—a pair of those spring affairs with a tiny knife-blade in each handle—and in the midst of a dead silence laid them on the table before Sir Francis.

“Those are not mine,” said Philip hastily.

“Humph!” ejaculated Sir Francis, picking them up and examining them. “I shall have to order you out of the room, man, if you make that noise,” he cried, as he turned to Ike.

“I weer on’y laughin’, your worship,” said Ike.

“Then leave off laughing, sir,” continued Sir Francis, “and have the goodness to tell me what you were doing down the garden. Were you collecting moths with a dark lantern?”

“Me, your honour! not I.”

“What were you doing, then?”

“Well, your honour’s worship, I was having a bit of a sleep—tired, you see.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Sir Francis. “Now, look here, Grant, you knew that man was down the garden.”

“Yes, Sir Francis.”

“And didn’t you go to join him?”

“Yes, Sir Francis.”

“To get a lot of my pears?”

“No, Sir Francis.”

“Then why did you go?” he thundered.

I was silent.

“Do you hear, sir?”

“Yes, Sir Francis.”

“Then speak, sir.”

I remained silent.

“Will you tell me why you went down the garden to join that man?”

I looked at poor Ike, and felt that if I spoke it would be to get him discharged, so I preferred to remain silent, and said not a word.

“Will you speak, sir?” cried Sir Francis, beating the table with his fist.

“I can’t tell you, Sir Francis.”

“You mean you won’t, sir?”

“Yes, Sir Francis.”

“Why not tell the whole truth, Grant?” said Mr Solomon, reproachfully.

“Because I can’t, sir,” I replied sadly.

“Be silent, Brownsmith,” cried Sir Francis fiercely.

“He’s too good a mate to tell,” said Ike stoutly. “Here, I may as well make a clean breast of it, and here it is. I’m an old soldier, sir, and—well, theer, it got hold of me at dinner-time. ’Stead of having anything to eat I had a lot to drink, having had some salt herrin’ for breakfast, and I suppose I took too much.”

“Herring, my man?”

“No, your worship, beer; and I went to sleep down among the bushes. There, that’s the honest truth, Mr Brownsmith’s brother. Fact as fact.”

“I believe you, Ike,” said Mr Solomon. “He’s a very honest workman, Sir Francis.”

“Thank ye; I call that handsome, I do,” said Ike.

“Stop! this is getting very irregular,” cried Sir Francis. “Now, Grant, once more. Did you not go down the garden thinking you would get some of those pears?”

“No, Sir Francis.”

“To meet that man, and let him take them away?”

“No, Sir Francis.”

“Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you did not go down to join that man?”

“I did go down to join him, Sir Francis,” I replied. “I saw him asleep and tipsy in among the black currants and I left him there, and took this key to-night to wake him up and let him out by the gate in the wall.”

“Why not through the coach-yard?”

“Because I was afraid he would meet Mr Solomon Brownsmith, and get into disgrace for drinking.”

“Thankye, Mars Grant, thankye kindly,” said Ike.

“Silence!”

Plop!

“A nice tale?” said Sir Francis. “We are getting to the bottom of a pretty state of things.”

Just then I saw Courtenay look at Philip as if he were uneasy. Then I glanced at Sir Francis and saw him gnawing at his moustache.

“Lookye here, sir,” said Ike sturdily. “Is it likely as we two would take the fruit? Why, we’re always amongst it, and think no more of it than if it was so much stones and dirt. We ain’t thieves.”

“Look here,” said Sir Francis, suddenly taking a tack in another direction, “you own that you beat my son—my stepson,” he added correctively, “in that way?”

“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said, “I didn’t know who he was in the dark.”

“You couldn’t see him?”

“Only just, Sir Francis; and I hit him as hard as I could.”

“And you, my man, do you own that you struck my other stepson as hard as you could in the chest?”

“No!” cried Ike fiercely; and to the surprise of all he threw off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve, displaying a great red-brown mass of bone and muscle, and a mighty fist. “Lookye here, your worship. See there. Why, if I’d hit that boy with that there fist as hard as ever I could, there wouldn’t be no boy now, only a coroner’s inquess. Bah! I wonder at you, Sir Francis! There’s none of my marks on him, only where I gripped his arms. Take off your jacket, youngster, and show your pa.”

“How dare you!” cried Philip indignantly.

“Take off your jacket, sir!” roared Sir Francis, and trembling and flushing, Philip did as he was told, and at a second bidding rolled up his sleeves to show the marks of Ike’s fingers plainly enough.

Ike said nothing now, but uttered a low grunt.

“He did hit me,” cried Philip excitedly.

“No; I hit you,” I cried, “when I rushed at you first. I followed you after I’d heard you scramble over the wall.”

“Oh!” cried Philip with an indignant look.

“You heard them scramble over the wall?” said Sir Francis sharply.

“Yes, Sir Francis. I think it was by the big keeping-pear that is trained horizontally—that large old tree, the last in the row.”

Sir Francis sat back in his chair for a few moments in silence; and Courtenay said to his brother in a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Did you ever hear anyone go on like that!”

Sir Francis took no notice, but slowly rose from his seat, crossed the room, opened the French window that looked out upon the lawn, and then said:

“Hand me a candle, Brownsmith.”

The candle was placed in his hands, and he walked with it right out on to the lawn and then held it above his head.

Then, walking back into the room, he took up another candlestick.

“Let everyone stay as he is till I come back.”

“Do you mean us to stay here, papa—with these people?” said Courtenay haughtily.

Sir Francis stopped short and looked at him sternly without speaking, making the boy blench. Then he turned away without a word, and followed by Mr Solomon bearing a lighted candle, which hardly flickered in the still autumn evening, he went on down the garden.

“Haw—haw—haw!” laughed Ike as soon as we were alone. “You’re a pair o’ nice uns—you are! But you’re ketched this time,” he added.

“How dare you speak to us, sir!” cried Courtenay indignantly. “Hold your tongue, sir!”

“No use to hold it now,” said Ike laughing. “I say, don’t you feel warm?”

“Don’t take any notice of the fellow, Court,” cried Phil; “and as for pauper—”

“You leave him to me,” said Courtenay with a vindictive look. “I’ll make him remember telling his lies of me—yes, and of you too. He shall remember to-night as long as he lives, unless he asks our pardon, as soon as Sir Francis comes back and owns that it was he who was taking the pears.”

I turned away from them and spoke to Ike, who was asking me about my hurts.

“Oh! they’re nothing,” I said—“only a few scratches and bruises. I don’t mind them.”

The two boys were whispering eagerly together, and I heard Philip say:

“Well, ask him; he’d do anything for money.”

“Look here,” said Courtenay.

I believe he was going to offer to bribe us; but just then there was the sound of voices in the garden and Sir Francis appeared directly after, candle in hand, closely followed by Mr Solomon, and both of them looking very serious, though somehow it did not have the slightest effect on me, for I was watching the faces of Courtenay and Philip.

“Shut that window, Brownsmith,” said Sir Francis, as he set down his candle and went back to his chair behind the table.

Mr Solomon shut the window, and then came forward and set down his candle in turn.

“Now,” said Sir Francis, “we can finish this business, I think. You say, Grant, that you heard someone climb over the wall by the big trained pear-tree?”

“I heard two people come over, sir, and one of them fell down, and, I think, broke a small tree or bush.”

“Yes,” said Sir Francis, “a bush is broken, and someone has climbed over by that big pear-tree.”

“I digged that bit along that wall only yesterday,” said Ike.

“Be silent, sir,” cried Sir Francis; “stop. Come forward; set a candle down on the floor, Brownsmith.”

It was done.

“You, Isaac, hold up one of your feet—there, by the candle. No, no, man; I want to see the sole.”

Ike held up a foot as if he were a horse about to be shod, and growled out:

“Fifteen and six, master, and warranted water-tights.”

“That will do, my man,” said Sir Francis, frowning severely as if to hide a smile; and Ike put down his great boot and went softly back to his place.

“Now you, Grant,” said Sir Francis.

I walked boldly to the candle and held up my heavily-nailed garden boots, so that Sir Francis could see the soles.

“That will do, my lad,” he said. “Now you, Courtenay, and you, Philip.”

They came forward half-puzzled, but I saw clearly enough Sir Francis’ reasons, Ike’s remark about the fresh digging having given me the clue.

“That will do,” said Sir Francis; and as the boys passed me to go back to their places I heard Philip utter a sigh of relief.

“What time did you hear these people climb over the wall, Grant?” said Sir Francis.

“I can’t tell exactly, Sir Francis,” I replied. “I think it must have been about eight o’clock.”

“What time is it now, Courtenay?” said Sir Francis. The lad clapped his hand to his pocket, but his watch was not there.

“I’ve left it in the bed-room,” he said hastily; and he turned to leave the library, but stopped as if turned to stone as he heard Sir Francis thunder out:

“You left it hanging on the Easter Beurré pear-tree, sir, when you climbed down with your brother—on one of the short spurs, before you both left your foot-marks all over the newly-dug bed. Courtenay Dalton—Philip Dalton, if you were my own sons I should feel that a terrible stain had fallen upon my name.”

The boys stood staring at him, looking yellow, and almost ghastly.

“And as if that proof were not enough, Courtenay, Dalton; when you fell and broke that currant bush—”

“It was Phil who fell,” cried the boy with a vicious snarl.

“The truth for the first time,” said Sir Francis. Then bitterly: “And I thought you were both gentlemen! Leave the room.”

“It was Phil who proposed it all, papa,” cried Courtenay appealingly.

“Ah, you sneak!” cried Philip. “I didn’t, sir. I was as bad as he was, I suppose, and I thought it good fun, but I shouldn’t have told all those lies if he hadn’t made me. There, they were all lies! Now you can punish me if you like.”

“Leave the room!” said Sir Francis again; and he stood pointing to the door as the brothers went out, looking miserably crestfallen.

Then the door closed, and the silence was broken by a sharp cry, a scuffle, the sound of blows, and a fall, accompanied by the smashing of some vessel on the stone floor.

Sir Francis strode out into the hall, and there was a hubbub of voices, and I heard Philip cry passionately:

“Yes; I did hit him. He began on me, and I’ll do it again—a coward!”

Then there was a low murmur for a few minutes, and Sir Francis came back into the library and stood by the table, with the light shining on his great silver moustache; and I thought what a fine, handsome, fierce old fellow he looked as he stood frowning there for quite a minute without speaking. Then, turning to Mr Solomon, he said quickly:

“I beg your pardon, Brownsmith. I was excited and irritable to-night, and said what I am sorry for now.”

“Then don’t say any more, Sir Francis,” replied Mr Solomon quietly. “I’ve been your servant—”

“Faithful servant, Brownsmith.”

“Well, Sir Francis, ‘faithful servant,’” said Mr Solomon smiling, “these twenty years, and you don’t suppose I’m going to heed a word or two like that.”

“Thank you, Brownsmith,” said Sir Francis, and he turned to Ike and spoke sharply once more.

“What regiment were you in, sir?”

“Eighth Hoozoars, Captain,” said Ike, drawing himself up and standing at attention.

“Colonel,” whispered Mr Solomon.

“All right!” growled Ike.

“Well, then, Isaac Barnes, speaking as one old soldier to another, I said words to you to-night for which I am heartily sorry. I beg your pardon.”

“God bless you, Colonel! If you talk to me like that arterward, you may call me what you like.”

“Eh?” cried Sir Francis sharply; “then I will. How dare you then, you scoundrel, go and disgrace yourself; you, an ex-British soldier—a man who has worn the king’s uniform—disgrace yourself by getting drunk? Shame on you, man, shame!”

“Go on, Colonel. Give it to me,” growled Ike. “I desarve it.”

“No,” said Sir Francis, smiling; “not another word; but don’t let it occur again.”

Ike drew his right hand across one eye, and the left over the other, and gave each a flip as if to shake off a tear, as he growled something about “never no more.”

I hardly heard him, though, for I was trembling with agitation as I saw Sir Francis turn to me, and I knew that my turn had come.

“Grant, my lad,” he said quietly; “I can’t tell you how hurt and sorry I felt to-night when I believed you to be mixed up with that contemptible bit of filching. There is an abundance of fruit grown here, and I should never grudge you sharing in that which you help to produce. I was the more sorry because I have been watching your progress, and I was more than satisfied: I beg your pardon too, for all that I have said. Those boys shall beg it too.”

He held out his hand, and I caught it eagerly in mine as I said, in choking tones.

“My father was an officer and a gentleman, sir, and to be called a thief was very hard to bear.”

“It was, my lad; it was,” he said, shaking my hand warmly. “There, there, I’ll talk to you another time.”

I drew back, and we were leaving the room, I last, when, obeying an impulse, I ran back.

“Well, my lad?” he said kindly.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Francis; but you said that they should beg my pardon.”

“Yes,” he said hotly; “and they shall.”

“If you please, Sir Francis,” I said, “I would rather they did not.”

“Why, sir?”

“I think they have been humbled enough.”

“By their own conduct?” said Sir Francis. “Yes, you are right. I will not mention it again.”

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