TIM'S REVENGE.
A SECOND survey of his garden did not lessen Tim Shuttleworth's
indignation in the least; and too angry to endeavour to repair the
mischief done, he marched into the house and took up his position
behind the lace curtains in the dining-room, through which he kept a
watchful eye on the Glanvilles' back garden, his mind full of wild
plans for revenge.
What could there be in the box which had been placed against the
partition wall, Tim pondered? It had not been there yesterday; but that
it contained something very attractive was evident, for Mr. and Mrs.
Glanville, and the cook, and housemaid, and later the boot boy, all
visited it one by one.
"I expect they've been given some potting plants," Tim decided at
length. "Yes, that must be it, for they've put the box against the
sunny wall. How would they like it, I wonder, if someone else's dog
came into their garden and dug big holes in their flower-beds? I've a
great mind to make a complaint against them to uncle; but no, I won't
be a sneak. I'll find some way of paying them out myself."
Later in the morning—which was cold and windy for the end of April—Tim
went for a stroll in the town, and as he walked up the main street
feeling very lonely, and longing for congenial society, he encountered
Kitty and Bob coming out of a sweet shop, followed by Snip. He gave
them one swift glance in passing, and noticed that Kitty, who had
turned rosy red, was pretending not to see him, and that Bob was
regarding him with eyes which twinkled humorously. It flashed upon him
that his exhibition of temper had caused the other boy amusement, and
the knowledge only made him more angry. He felt it was adding insult
to injury to laugh at him; and when Snip, evidently recognising him,
obtruded himself on his notice by jumping against him, he gruffly told
him to get away.
"Come here, Snip," commanded Bob, in a voice which betrayed merriment.
"Come here, sir, im—mediately!"
So Snip, looking decidedly crestfallen, turned his attention once
more to his young mistress and master; and Tim went on, his head held
haughtily, his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets.
"Don't you think we ought to have told him that it was not our fault
that Snip did harm to his garden?" asked Kitty of her brother,
glancing over her shoulder at Tim's retreating form. She spoke rather
indistinctly, because her mouth was full of sweets.
"What! After the way he spoke to us?" cried Bob. "Not likely. Let the
fellow think what he likes."
"It doesn't seem right to let him think what isn't true, though, does
it?"
"I don't see that it matters."
"No, I don't know that it does." Kitty agreed, as usual coming round to
her brother's way of reasoning. "How crossly he spoke to Snip, didn't
he? Poor little Snip, he meant no harm."
Meanwhile, Tim having reached the corner of the street, looked back and
saw that the Glanvilles were not going home, but had turned down a side
road leading in the opposite direction. A sudden, malicious thought
flashed through his mind, which caused him to turn and hastily retrace
his footsteps. On his arrival at his uncle's house he went immediately
to the back garden, and, armed with a spade, he mounted the ladder,
which he had left against the wall, and peered cautiously around the
Glanville's garden. No one was in sight, and, being assured that he
was unobserved, Tim leaned over the wall, the better to view the box
beneath; and then, with the aid of the spade, he tried to lift the lid,
but failed in the attempt. However, it did not matter what was inside,
he told himself; if it was something breakable so much the better.
For a few minutes Tim hesitated, his conscience telling him he was
about to act very wrongly; but the remembrance of the grievance, he
believed he had every right to cherish against Kitty and Bob nerved
him to do that which he afterwards bitterly repented having done. And,
with a vigorous shove from the spade, he overturned the box with a
jerk, descended the ladder hastily, and hurried back to the house, his
feelings those of mingled fear and exultation—fear lest he might have
been seen after all, and exultation because he believed he had now
scored off the next door children.
When uncle and nephew met at the mid-day meal that day, it occurred to
Mr. Shuttleworth to ask Tim how he had spent the morning.
"Oh, I've been in town," Tim answered, flushing, "and—and in the
garden. I don't think much of the shops here, Uncle John; they're not
to be compared with ours in Dublin."
"No, of course not. You must remember this is only a small country
town—not to be compared in any way to 'Dublin's fair city,'" Mr.
Shuttleworth replied with a smile. He was a tall man with stooping
shoulders, and near-sighted eyes which peered at Tim very kindly
through spectacles, and he was very clever; but with all his
cleverness, he did not understand children, which was a pity for Tim.
"Have you spoken to the young folks next door yet?" he inquired.
"Oh, yes," assented Tim, trying to respond in a careless tone. "I've
spoken to them; but I don't think much of them, Uncle John."
"Dear me. Why not?" There was surprise in Mr. Shuttleworth's voice.
"They're stuck-up," Tim asserted, after a moment's reflection.
"Stuck-up? You astonish me. I don't know much of my neighbours, but
Mr. and Mrs. Glanville seem pleasant people to talk to, and the
children—though I have never spoken to them—always struck me as being
well behaved. They go to school, I believe; but I suppose it is
holiday-time now. Don't you think you'll be friendly with them, then?"
Tim shook his head decidedly, and his uncle dropped the subject,
telling himself that perhaps his nephew, like himself, preferred his
own company.
As soon as Mr. Shuttleworth had returned to his study, and the servant
had cleared the table, Tim took up his post at the window, on the alert
to see what would happen when Kitty and Bob paid their next visit to
the back garden. It was less cold than it had been earlier in the day,
and the wind had gone down, so he opened the window, and it was not
long before he heard voices, and the sister and brother appeared, the
former carrying something very carefully in a saucer.
Tim's heart beat unevenly as he watched the children. As he had
anticipated, they made straight for the box, and great was the
consternation depicted on their faces when they found it had been
overturned.
"Oh, Bob, what can have happened?" cried Kitty; and the listener at the
window caught a note of alarm in her voice. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
"Don't be frightened," Bob answered reassuringly. "It's only upset;
I'll soon put it right. I hope a dog hasn't been here; it wouldn't have
been Snip, anyway, for we warned him off, and he quite understood. Oh,
be careful, Kitty! You're spilling the bread and milk all over your
frock."
"Never mind," broke in Kitty hastily. "It's an old frock, and—oh, Bob,
do be quick and see it's not hurt."
Bob had set the box right side up by this time, and was trying to open
the lid; but it had become jammed, and it took him a few minutes to
prise it open with his pocket-knife.
Tim now saw that the front of the box had been knocked out and a piece
of wire netting put in its place, and that he had not been able to see
from the top of the wall. He began to feel anxiety as well as curiosity
to ascertain what the box contained. Was it something living—some
animal? It might be a pet of some kind, and that would account for
Kitty's saucer of bread and milk.
Bob had succeeded in opening the box now, and he and his sister were
bending over it, their fair, curly heads close together. A strange
quietude seemed to have fallen upon them, and when a minute later they
stood upright and looked at each other, Tim observed that the colour
had fled from both young faces, and that the tears were rolling down
Kitty's cheeks. At length Bob spoke in a voice which sounded rather
husky.
"I say, don't cry like that, old girl!" he said kindly. "I'll go in
and ask father to come out and look at it." And he rushed off into the
house.
Meanwhile Kitty stooped over the box again, and took therefrom
something white, which she cuddled in her arms and wept over in
bitterest grief.
The onlooker at the window watched her in consternation, a choking
sensation in his throat. Although he had not yet fully realized the
cause of her trouble, he sympathized with her, for he owned a very
warm heart, and the sight of the little girl's tears touched him
immeasurably. What had he done to cause this grief?
He was soon to know, for in a very short while Bob returned, followed
by his parents, and the two servants, who all congregated around Kitty,
and presently Tim heard Mr. Glanville say, "No dog did it, so Snip is
guiltless, at any rate, although of course he might have overturned
the box, but I don't think he could have done that. It must have been
instantaneous death for the poor thing. You can be sure it did not
suffer at all, Kitty, and that thought is very comforting, so dry your
eyes, there's a good girl. Doubtless, when the box was turned over the
little creature was thrown against the side, and received a blow on the
head. It takes but a small knock to kill a rabbit, especially a young
one like this."
Tim knew what he had done at last, and he was both shocked and
frightened. He was anything but a cruel boy, and he was exceedingly
fond of all animals, and now that he realized that the white, fluffy
object poor Kitty held so tenderly in her arms was a little baby
rabbit, which he in his wicked, revengeful temper had killed, he felt
like a murderer. His first impulse was to push back the lace curtain,
and shout out to the group in the next garden that he was responsible
for the rabbit's death; but a minute's reflection made him change his
mind, and determine to keep his secret. In an agony of contrition, he
watched Bob get a spade and dig a hole under the big apple tree which
grew at the bottom of the garden, whilst one of the servants fetched
a shoebox, into which Kitty placed the rabbit, and then followed the
funeral. Afterwards Bob made a little mound over the grave, and planted
a forget-me-not root upon it. And he told Kitty he would try to get her
another rabbit very soon.
Mr. and Mrs. Glanville and the servants had returned to the house, but
the sister and brother lingered in the garden. They were conversing in
low tones, so Tim could not hear what they were saying; but his guilty
conscience suggested to him that they might be discussing by what means
the rabbit's hutch had been overturned, and perhaps arriving at the
truth.
Suddenly Kitty looked up and saw the curtains in Mr. Shuttleworth's
dining-room window move, and it flashed upon her that Tim was behind
them.
"That boy next door—he is watching us again!" she whispered excitedly
to her brother. "Oh, Bob, I wonder if he knows who killed my dear, dear
little rabbit. You don't think he could have thrown over the hutch to
spite us, do you?" she suggested with a condemning glance in Tim's
direction.
Bob shook his head—he thought the idea most unlikely; and a few minutes
later he and Kitty went indoors, little dreaming how uneasy Tim was
feeling, for he had known they had guessed he was at the window, and
Kitty's incriminating glances had not been lost upon him.
Poor Tim! He was utterly miserable for the remainder of the day, and so
dispirited and dejected did he look that even Mr. Shuttleworth noticed
it, and asked him if he was ill.
Ill? No, he was not ill, he declared; and oh, how he longed to unburden
his heart to his uncle! But he shrank from doing so. And, saying he
was tired, remarked he thought he would go to bed early, which he
accordingly did.
The clocks in the house struck many times before he was able to get any
sleep, so tormented was he by his guilty conscience and the fear that
the sharp-looking children next door were beginning to have suspicions
respecting him. And when at last slumber overcame him, and he fell into
a troubled doze, he was confronted in his dream by a vision of Kitty
Glanville, her blue eyes full of angry tears, whilst in a voice shrill
with accusation, she cried, "Ah, I've found you out now! It is you who
killed my rabbit."