The rough loft had been turned into a kind of dwelling-place, for there
was a bed close under the tiles, composed of hay, upon which, neatly
spread, were a couple of blankets. On the other side were a plate, a
knife, a piece of bread, and a jam-pot, while in the centre were some
rough boxes and an old cage, on the top of which sat the ragged
squirrel.
"There," said Peter triumphantly, as he pointed to the squirrel.
The doctor was looking eagerly round in search of the dweller in this
dismal loft, but there was no one visible.
"Found him, sir?" came from below.
"No, not yet," replied the doctor. "Here, Peter, go up that other
place."
There was no hesitation on the groom's part now. He sprang up the
second ladder and went along under the roof, but only to come back
shaking his head.
"No one up there, sir."
"Are you sure he did not come down!" cried the doctor, as Peter lifted a
rough trap at the side, through which, in bygone days, the horses' hay
had been thrust down.
"Quite sure, sir," shouted back Dan'l. "I just see his legs coming
down, and he snatched 'em up again, and slammed the trap."
"The young rascal!" said the doctor; "he's here somewhere. There must
be some loose boards under which he is hidden."
But there was not a loose board big enough to hide Bob Dimsted; and
after another search the doctor rubbed his head in a perplexed manner.
"Shall I come up, sir, and have a look?" said Dan'l.
"No, no. Stay where you are, and keep a sharp look-out," cried the
doctor. "Why, look here," he continued to Helen; "the young scoundrel
has been leading a nice life here, like a Robinson Crusoe in an
uninhabited island. Ah! at last!" shouted the doctor, staring straight
before him; "there he is. Here, Peter, hand me the gun!"
Peter stared at his master, whose eyes twinkled with satisfaction, for
his feint had had the desired effect--that of startling the hiding
intruder.
As the doctor's words rang out there was a strange rustling sound
overhead; and, as they all looked up, there came a loud crack, then
another and another, and right up, nearly to the ridge of the roof, a
leg came through, and then its fellow, in company with a shower of
broken tiles, which rattled upon the rough floor of the loft.
The owner of the legs began to make a desperate effort to withdraw them,
and they kicked about in a variety of peculiar evolutions; but before
they could be extricated, Peter had climbed up to an oaken beam, which
formed one of the roof ties, and from there reached out and seized one
of the legs by the ankle.
"I've got him," he cried gleefully. "Which shall we do, sir--pull him
through, or get the ladder up to the roof and drag him out?"
"Here, Daniel! Come up," said the doctor.
The old gardener came up eagerly; and one of his cast-iron grins
expanded his face as he grasped the situation.
"Brayvo, Peter!" he cried. "That's the way to ketch a ghost. Hold him
tight, lad!"
The doctor smiled.
"Don't let them hurt him, papa," whispered Helen.
"Oh no; they shall not hurt him," said the doctor quietly. Then,
raising his voice--"Now, sir, will you come down quietly, or shall I
send for the police to drag you out on to the roof?"
An indistinct murmur came down, after a vigorous struggle to get free.
"Woho! Woho, kicker!" cried Peter, speaking as if to a horse.
"What does he say!" said the doctor.
"Says he'll come down if I'll let go."
"Don't you trust him, sir," cried Dan'l excitedly.
"I do not mean to," said the doctor. "Will you come down quietly?" he
shouted.
There was another murmur.
"Says `_yes_,' sir," cried Peter.
"Then, look here," said the doctor, "you hold him tight, and you," he
continued to the gardener, "climb up on that beam and push off a few
tiles. Then you can draw him down through there."
"All right, sir," cried Dan'l; and as Peter held on to the leg, the old
gardener, after a good deal of grunting and grumbling, climbed to his
side, and began to let in daylight by thrusting off tile after tile,
which slid rattling down the side of the roof into the leaden guttering.
The opening let in so much daylight that the appearance of the old loft
was quite transformed, but the group on the worm-eaten beam was the
principal object of attention till just as Dan'l thrust off the fourth
tile, when there was a loud crack, a crash, and gardener, groom, and
their prisoner lay in a heap on the floor of the loft, while pieces of
lath and tile rattled about their heads.
The old tie had given way, and they came down with a rush, to the
intense astonishment of all; but the distance to fall was only about
five feet, and the wonder connected with the fall was as nothing to that
felt by Helen and her father, as the smallest figure of the trio
struggled to his feet, and revealed the dusty, soot-smeared face of
Dexter, with his eyes staring wildly from the Doctor to Helen and back
again.
"Dexter!" cried Helen.
"You, sir!" cried the doctor.
"Well, I _ham_!" ejaculated Peter, getting up and giving his thigh a
slap.
Dan'l sat on the floor rubbing his back, and he uttered a grunt as his
face expanded till he displayed all his front teeth--a dismal array of
four, and not worth a bite.
"Are you hurt?" cried Helen.
Dexter shook his head.
"Are either of you hurt?" said the doctor frowning.
"Screwed my off fetlock a bit, sir," said Peter, stooping to feel his
right ankle.
"Hurt?" growled Dan'l. "Well, sir, them's 'bout the hardest boards as
ever I felt."
"Go and ask Mrs Millett to give you both some ale," said the doctor;
and the two men smiled as they heard their master's prescription. "Then
go on and tell the builder to come and patch up this old roof. Here,
Dexter, come in."
Dexter gave Peter a reproachful look, and limped after the doctor.
"Well, let's go and have that glass o' beer Peter," said Dan'l. "Talk
about pickles!"
"My!" said Peter, slapping his leg again. "Why, it were him we see
every night, and as swum across the river. Why, he must ha' swum back
when I'd gone. I say, Dan'l, what a game!"
"Hah!" ejaculated the old gardener, wiping his mouth in anticipation.
"It's my b'lief, Peter, as that there boy'll turn out either a reg'lar
good un, or 'bout the wust as ever stepped."
"Now, sir!" said the doctor, as he closed the door of the library, and
then with a stern look at the grimy object before him took a seat
opposite Helen. "What have you to say for yourself!"
Dexter glanced at Helen, who would not meet his gaze.
"Nothing, sir."
"Oh, you have nothing to say! Let me see, now. You were sent to a good
school to be taught by a gentleman, and treated as a special pupil. You
behaved badly. You ran away. You came here and made yourself a den;
you have been living by plunder ever since, and you have nothing to
say!"
Dexter was silent, but his face was working, his lips quivering, and his
throat seemed to swell as his breath came thick and fast.
At last his words came in a passionate appeal, but in a broken,
disjointed way; and it seemed as if the memory of all he had suffered
roused his nature into a passionate fit of indignation against the
author of all the trouble.
"I--I couldn't bear it," he cried; "I tried so hard--so cruel--said he
was to break my spirit--that I was bad--he beat me--seven times--I did
try--you wanted me to--Miss Grayson wanted me to--I was always trying--
punished me because--so stupid--but I tried--I took a bit of candle--I
was trying to learn the piece--the other boys were asleep--he came up--
he caned me till I--till I couldn't bear it--break my spirit--he said
he'd break it--I dropped from the window--fell down and sprained my
ankle--but I walked--back here--then I was--afraid to tell you, and I
hid up there."
There were no tears save in the boy's voice; but there was a ring of
passionate agony and suffering in every tone and utterance; and, as
Helen read in the gaunt figure, hollow eyes, and pallor of the cheeks
what the boy must have gone through, she turned in her chair, laid her
arm on the back, her face went down upon it, and the tears came fast.
The doctor was silent as the boy went on; his lips were compressed and
his brow rugged; but he did not speak, till, with wondering eyes, he saw
Dexter turn, go painfully toward where Helen sat with averted face, look
at her as if he wanted to speak, but the words would not come, and, with
a sigh, he limped toward the door.
"Where are you going, sir!" said the doctor roughly.
"Up there, sir," said Dexter, in a low-toned weary voice, which sounded
as if all the spirit had gone.
"Up there!" cried the doctor.
"Yes," said Dexter feebly; and without turning round--"to Mr Hippetts,
and to Mr Sibery, sir. To take me back. It's no good. I did try so--
hard--so hard--but I never had--no mother--no father--not like--other
boys--and--and--"
He looked wildly round, clutching at vacancy, and then reeled and fell
heavily upon the carpet.
For Mr Mastrum had done his work well. His system for breaking the
spirit of unruly boys, and making them perfectly tame, seemed to have
reached perfection.
With a cry of horror Helen Grayson sprang from her seat, and sank upon
her knees by Dexter's side, to catch his head to her breast, while the
doctor tore at the bell.
"Bring brandy--water, quick!" he said; "the boy has fainted."
It was quite true, and an hour elapsed before he looked wildly round at
those about him.
He tried to rise, and struggled feebly. Then as they held him back he
began to talk in a rapid disconnected way.
"'Bliged to take it--so hungry--yes, sir--please, sir--I've come back,
sir--come back, Mr Sibery, sir--if Mr Hippetts will let me stay--
where's Mother Curdley--where's nurse!"
"O father!" whispered Helen excitedly! "Poor, poor boy! what does this
mean?"
"Fever," said the doctor gently, as he laid his hand upon the boy's
burning forehead and looked down in his wild eyes. "Yes," he said
softly, "fever. He must have suffered terribly to have been brought to
this."