Dexter watched his chance one afternoon when the study was empty, and
stole in, looking very guilty.
Maria saw him going in, and went into the kitchen and told Mrs Millett.
"I don't care," she said, "you may say what you like, but it's in him."
"What's in him!" said the old housekeeper, raising her tortoise-shell
spectacles so as to get a good look at Maria, who seemed quite excited.
"Master may have tutors as is clergymen to teach him, and Miss Helen may
talk and try, but he's got it in him, and you can't get it out."
"Who are you talking about, Maria," said the old lady testily.
"That boy," said Maria, shaking her head. "It's of no good, he's got it
in him, and nothing won't get it out."
"Bless my heart!" cried Mrs Millett, thinking first of mustard and
water, and then of castor-oil, "has the poor fellow swallowed
something?"
"No-o-o-o!" ejaculated Maria, drawing the word out to nearly a foot in
length.
"But you said he'd got something in him, Maria. Good gracious me, girl!
what do you mean!"
"Sin and wickedness, Mrs Millett. He comes of a bad lot, and Dan'l
says he's always keeping bad company."
"Dan'l's a chattering old woman, and had better mind his slugs and
snails."
"But the boy's always in mischief; see how he spoiled your silk dress."
"Only spotted it, Maria, and it was clean water. I certainly thought it
rained as I went under his window."
"Yes, and you fetched your umbrella."
"I did, Maria. But he's better now. Give him his physic regular, and
it does him good."
"Did you find out what was the matter with those salts and senny!"
"No, Maria, I did not. I had to break the glass to get it out; set hard
as a stone. It was a good job he did not take it."
Mrs Millett never did find out that Dexter had poured in cement till
the glass would hold no more, and his medicine became a solid lump.
"Ah, you'll be tired of him soon," said Maria.
"No, I don't think I shall, Maria. You see he's a boy, and he does
behave better. Since I told him not, he hasn't taken my basting-spoon
to melt lead for what he calls nickers; and then he hasn't repeated that
wicked cruel trick of sitting on the wall."
"Why, I see him striddling the ridge of the old stable, with his back to
the weathercock, only yesterday."
"Yes, Maria, but he wasn't fishing over the wall with worms to try and
catch Mrs Biggins's ducks, a very cruel trick which he promised me he
wouldn't do any more; and he hasn't pretended to be a cat on the roof,
nor yet been to me to extract needles which he had stuck through his
cheeks out of mischief; and I haven't seen him let himself down from the
stable roof with a rope; and, as I told him, that clothes-line wasn't
rope."
"Ah, you always sided with the boy, Mrs Millett," said Maria; "but mark
my words, some of these mornings we shall get up and find that he has
let burglars into the house, and Master and Miss Helen will be robbed
and murdered in their beds."
"Maria, you're a goose," said the old housekeeper. "Don't talk such
rubbish."
"Ah, you may call it rubbish, Mrs Millett, but if you'd seen that boy
just now stealing--"
"Stealing, Maria?"
"Yes 'm, stealing into Master's study like a thief in the night--and
after no good, I'll be bound,--you wouldn't be so ready to take his
part."
"Gone in to write his lessons," said Mrs Millett. "There, you go and
get about your work."
Maria snorted, stuck out her chin, and left the kitchen.
"Yes, she may talk, but I say he's after no good," muttered the
housemaid; "and I'm going to see what he's about, or my name ain't what
it is."
Meanwhile Dexter was very busy in the study, but in a furtive way
writing the following letter in a bold, clear hand, which was, however,
rather shaky in the loops of the letters, while the capitals had an
inclination to be independent, and to hang away from the small letters
of the various words:--
Sir,
Me and a friend have borrowed your boat, for we are going a long
journey; but as we may keep it all together, I send to you fourteen
shillings and a fourpny piece, which I have saved up, and if that isn't
quite quite enough I shall send you some more. I hope you won't mind
our taking your boat, but Bob Dimsted says we must have it, or we can't
get on.
Yours af--very truly,
Obed Coleby, or To Sir Jhames Danby, Dexter Grayson.
Dexter's spelling was a little shaky here and there, but the letter was
pretty intelligible; and, as soon as it was done, he took out his money
and made a packet of it, and doubled it up, a task he had nearly
finished, when he became aware that the door was partly opened, and as
he guiltily thrust the packet into his pocket the door opened widely,
and Maria entered, with a sharp, short cough.
"Did I leave my duster here, Master Dexter!" she said, looking round
sharply.