"Now, I don't care whether you gets punished or not; but I means to tell
master, for you all oughter know better, and it ain't right."
"But I tell you we didn't do it, Sam," said Harry.
"Ah! don't tell me; I knows you did. There's footmarks all along from
the gap, right across the potato piece, and everybody else will begin to
go the same way, and make a regular path of it."
"But we didn't go that way," chorussed the boys.
"Why, what an old stupid it is," said Philip; "he won't believe
anything."
Sam's trouble was a trampled track across a newly-enclosed piece of
ground, which Mr Inglis had lately purchased near the village, and Sam
had planted with potatoes for home consumption. It certainly was
annoying, for a ditch had been cut round it, a bank made, and, on the
top, a neat little hedge of hawthorn planted; but some idle people were
in the habit of jumping across the ditch, trampling down the little
hedge, and then making a track right across the corner of the field to
the other side, where, in getting out, they trampled the hedge and bank
down again, and all just to save themselves a walk of about fifty yards
round, where there was a good path. But so it was: the property had
lain in dispute for many years, during which time people had cut off the
corner, and made themselves a track; and now that it was purchased, and
had become private property, it seemed that there were some two or three
obstinate, unpleasant people, who would not alter their plans, but took
delight in the paltry piece of mischief of destroying what had been so
carefully put in order. But Sam had always one complaint string upon
which he fiddled or harped; and so sure as anything like mischief was
done anywhere, he always declared it was "them boys," who were "always
up to suthin, drat 'em." It was so when the walnuts were stolen, and
the tree, broken about. Sam was sure it was "them boys," and he went
and told his master of Harry and Philip's "capers," as he called them.
But Sam was wrong then, as upon many other occasions, and also upon this
one, for a sad story hangs to that affair about the walnuts; and I do
not think it will be out of place if I go back about a year and nine
months, and leave the trampled path for the present, while I take up
another.
Mr Inglis had standing in one of his fields, about fifty yards from the
lane which led down to the mill, a very fine walnut-tree. The tree was
not only fine in size, but noble in appearance, and the walnuts that it
bore were of the largest and sweetest grown anywhere for miles round,
and Mr Inglis rather prized these nuts, for they kept well, and might
be seen upon his dessert-table long after Christmas time.
Now, it so happened that just as the nuts were getting ripe, and the
first ones began to fall, breaking their green husk when they touched
the ground, and setting the clean pale-brown shell at liberty,--it was
just at this time that Sam found out that some one had been up the tree
picking the walnuts, for not only were a great number missing, but the
ground beneath was strewed with leaves, broken twigs, and walnut husks,
with here and there a brown-shelled nut which the plunderer had looked
over in his hurry.
No sooner did Sam see the mischief than he hurried off to the house, and
bursting breathlessly into the breakfast-room, announced that Masters
Harry and Philip had been taking all the walnuts.
Mr Inglis frowned, and told Sam, rather sharply, to knock before
entering another time, and then turned to his sons, and asked them if
what Sam said was true.
"No, Papa," they both exclaimed indignantly, "we have not touched them."
"Only," said Harry, recollecting himself, "I did throw a stone in the
tree yesterday, as we went down the lane, but it didn't knock any down,
and I should not have thrown only Phil said I couldn't throw so far."
"Ah! but I'm sure it was them," said Sam.
"Hush! Sam," said Mr Inglis; "and now leave the room. I'll
investigate the affair after breakfast."
Sam left the room anything but pleased, for he thought that he ought to
have been praised for his energy, and so he told Cook in the kitchen
when he went through, and then stopped and told her all about it; when
Cook declared it was a shame, and gave Sam a cup of tea to mollify him,
for Cook and Mary were just having breakfast. As soon as Sam had closed
the door, Mr Inglis turned to his sons, and asked them if they knew
anything about the tree, or who was likely to have taken the walnuts;
for in this quiet district an act of theft was of such rare occurrence,
that it caused great excitement; besides which, Mr Inglis was
deservedly so well respected by the poor people round, that, sooner than
touch anything belonging to him, they would have formed themselves into
special constables to protect his property.
But neither Harry nor Philip could give the slightest information, so
the breakfast was finished, and, in the course of the day, Mr Inglis
had his suspicions directed towards the scapegrace son of an old woman
in the village. This young man had been employed in the neighbouring
town, but for a most flagrant act had been tried, and sentenced to five
years' penal servitude. He was at this time at home upon what is called
a "ticket of leave;" that is, he had a portion of his sentence remitted
for good conduct in prison, and he was now in the village. But Mr
Inglis was averse to proceed upon suspicion; in fact, he was averse to
punishing the culprit at all, even if he brought the theft home to him;
and therefore he took no steps in the matter.
Two nights after, a quantity of the walnuts were again stolen; and on
Mr Inglis being informed of this new attack upon his crop, he told Sam
that he would have them all thrashed on the following day, and place
them under lock and key.
"Hum!" said Sam to himself; "and then they'll have a go at the apples.
I knows it's them youngsters. Now, then," he said, for Harry and Philip
just came up in the midst of the old man's soliloquy, "now, then,
where's all them nuts?"
"Get out," said Harry, "we never touched them. But it's no use to tell
such an old unbeliever as you are. We didn't touch them; did we, Phil?"
Phil followed his brother's example, and strenuously denied the
impeachment; but Sam would not be convinced, and went muttering and
grumbling away to his work, while Philip stood with tears in his eyes,
for he could not bear the idea of his word being doubted. Harry did not
mind it much; but Philip was obliged to go behind the large clump of
laurustinus and pull out his handkerchief and blow his nose a great
deal, and wipe the eyes that would brim over.
"What's the matter, Philip?" said his father, who had come up
unobserved.
Philip could not speak for a moment, for the tears would come faster,
and a round sob seemed to stick in his throat, and would not go either
up or down. At last, however, he told his father the cause of his
tears; and Mr Inglis was very angry, saying that he would not have the
honour of his boys doubted, for he had perfect reliance in their word,
knowing that they had always been truthful; and therefore he would not
have another word said about the walnuts; and the consequence was, that
Mr Sam came in for a very sharp reprimand that morning; but, for all
that, he looked at the boys the next half-hour, when he met them, as
much as to say, "I know you got the walnuts," though he did not say so.
But old Sam was wrong, as was, sad to state, _very_ soon proved; for the
next day being very wet, the walnuts were not thrashed, the weather
necessitating the nut harvest being deferred for another day.
Upon the following morning, while Mr and Mrs Inglis and their sons
were sitting at breakfast, Mr Inglis knit his brows, for old Sam,
without studying the lesson upon decorum that his master had given him
but a few days before, burst into the breakfast-room again, but this
time through the French window opening on the lawn.
"Sam," said Mr Inglis, sternly, "what can--" but he interrupted himself
upon seeing that the old man was all in a tremble, and that the
perspiration stood in great drops upon his forehead. "Why, what is it,
man, speak out!"
But Sam could not speak out, for he was too excited, and though his lips
moved no sound came from them. However, he caught his master by the
sleeve, drawing him towards the window, and Mr Inglis followed him.
Harry and Philip rose from their seats, but Mr Inglis motioned Mrs
Inglis and them to keep their places, and closed the window as he went
out. Sam led the way down the garden towards the fields, and said
something to his master which made him quicken his steps until they
reached the great walnut-tree, where, beneath one of the largest boughs,
lay the body of a man, with his head turned in a very unnatural
position, and one of his arms bent under him.
Upon first looking at the figure, Mr Inglis thought the man was dead;
but on touching him he gave a slight groan upon which Sam was despatched
for assistance, while his master placed the sufferer in an easier
position, during which he moved slightly and groaned again, but remained
perfectly insensible. While waiting for the return of Sam, Mr Inglis
saw but too plainly the cause of the accident: scattered about upon the
grass were walnuts, twigs, and leaves; while tightly clutched in the
man's hand was a red cotton handkerchief nearly full of the fruit; and
his trousers and jacket pockets were filled as full as they could hold.
There was no doubt _now_ as to who was the culprit, but Mr Inglis felt
a sinking at the heart as he thought of the severe punishment that had
fallen upon the offender, who proved to be none other than the man home
with a ticket of leave, but who had not been cured of his dishonest
propensity.
Sam soon returned with two or three farming men, who, under the
direction of Mr Inglis, lifted a gate off its hinges, and laid the man
as gently as they could upon it, and then, one at each corner, bore him
out through the open gateway into the lane, and so to the village inn, a
boy in the meantime being despatched for the doctor. Mr Inglis would
have taken the poor fellow to the Grange, but for the reflection that it
would only be a great shock to Mrs Inglis, and the ends of humanity
would not in any way be served, for assistance could not be obtained a
bit sooner, but rather the reverse.
With some difficulty the man was carried into a room at the inn, and it
being found impossible to carry him upstairs, a mattress was brought
down, and he was laid upon it. He groaned slightly upon being moved,
tenderly as the men handled him, but remained quite still upon the
mattress upon being laid there.
He was a fine-looking, sun-browned young fellow, but his face was now
disfigured by the fall and contracted with pain; and Mr Inglis could
not but feel sad to look upon so pitiable a sight--a fine, hearty young
man stricken with death through the act of petty theft of which he had
been guilty.
At length the doctor arrived--the same gentleman who had attended poor
Fred in his narrow escape from drowning. He made his examination, and
found that one arm was broken, and the neck so injured that he shook his
head, and whispered to Mr Inglis that the bones were dislocated; and in
reply to the inquiry whether there was any hope, he shook his head
again. He then did all that was possible in such an extreme case, and
sat down in company with Mr Inglis to see if the poor fellow would
revive; but they waited in vain, for after about an hour had passed,
during which the doctor had watched every change, he suddenly rose up
from leaning over the injured man, laid his hand upon Mr Inglis's
shoulder, and walked out of the room with him, whispering some words
that caused Mr Inglis to sigh, and then to slip a sovereign into the
hands of the poor old woman, the mother, who was sobbing upon the settle
in the common room of the inn.
The death caused a great stir in the village, and many people said that
it was a judgment upon the man for his sin; but Mr Inglis was deeply
grieved, and said that he would rather that all the fruit in the garden
had been stolen than such an awful punishment should have befallen the
man.
And now to return to the beaten path: Sam persisted that it was our
young friends, so they went to look at the trampled place, and one and
all declared it was a shame.
All at once Harry made a proposition which caused old Sam's mouth to
expand into a grin, after which he gave a series of hearty chuckles, and
slapping the boy on the shoulder, exclaimed, "Well, it couldn't a been
you arter all, Master Harry--(chuckle, chuckle, chuckle)--we'll do it
this very night, we will."
What they did that very night will come out in due course.