MAKING AMENDS.
WHEN Mrs. Glanville called at her neighbour's house on the following
afternoon, she found that Tim was not at home; but she saw Mr.
Shuttleworth and explained her mission to him. He had not the faintest
idea where his nephew had gone, he informed her, and greatly regretted
his absence. "For I should like him to be friendly with your young
people," he said cordially.
"I thought perhaps I should have persuaded him to return with me, and
make their acquaintance now," Mrs. Glanville replied. "But, since he is
not here and you do not know what time he will be back, will you let
him come to tea with us to-morrow? Please let him come early so as to
spend a long afternoon with us."
"Certainly," Mr. Shuttleworth agreed readily. "You are very kind and I
have much pleasure in accepting your invitation for Tim." And thus it
was settled.
Meanwhile Tim had gone on a secret errand. Since his interview with
Kitty, he had been possessed with a strong desire to make good the bad
turn he had done her, as far as lay in his power, by giving her another
rabbit. With that idea he had asked the butcher boy, at the back door
earlier in the day, if he knew any one who had rabbits for sale, and
the butcher boy had told him of a shop, kept by an old man named Jacob
Dottin, in a back street of the town, where all sorts of animals and
birds might be purchased. So whilst Mrs. Glanville was interviewing
his uncle, Tim was making for the abode of Mr. Dottin. An obliging
policeman had shown the little boy the way to go; and, at length, after
traversing several narrow, dirty streets, he found himself before the
shop he wanted.
Tom stood for a few minutes gazing into the window at rows of cages
containing birds of all sorts and descriptions, and, so engrossed was
he in watching them that he did not notice the shop door open, and he
started when a voice at his side addressed him:—
"Would you like to come and have a look at my little family, young
gentleman."
Tim turned quickly and looked at the speaker—a spare, bent-shouldered
old man, with grizzled hair which was so thick, as was his beard, that,
with a cap drawn far over his forehead, but little of his face was
visible except a pair of sharp, black eyes and a hook nose. Tim smiled
involuntarily, for he thought the old man was like an animal himself,
an animal that was a mixture of a baboon and a parrot with his hairy
face, and hook nose, and claw-like fingers, which he twisted together
as he blinked and smiled in what he evidently intended to be an amiable
manner.
"Mr. Tottin?" said Tim, inquiringly.
"Aye—Jacob Dottin, young gentleman, at your service," was the response.
"I wanted to see you, so I will come in," and Tim followed the old man
into the shop.
His first impulse was to retrace his footsteps, for the air in the shop
was close and unpleasant, and he felt he could not breathe there; he
did not retreat, however, as, on glancing around him, he was fascinated
by the sight of a big monkey asleep in a corner with a small,
terrier puppy cuddled in its arms, and various other animals such as
guinea-pigs, rabbits, mice and rats, ranged in hutches around the
walls. Several parrots screamed in cages suspended from the ceiling,
and a raven croaked on a shelf over the door. Tim grew accustomed to
the babel of sounds in a few minutes, and did not so much notice the
offensive atmosphere, and, as the old man desired him politely to look
around, he did so at his leisure, finally drawing up before a hutch in
which were several young rabbits with beautifully thick, white hair.
"Ah, those are worth looking at," remarked Mr. Dottin; "pure-bred
Angoras, they are. Maybe you're a rabbit fancier?" he questioned,
regarding his visitor shrewdly.
"No," Tim answered, "but I want to buy a rabbit for a—a—some one I
know. What would be the price of one of those, now?"
"Five shillings," was the unhesitating response.
"Five shillings!" echoed Tim, his face clouding over. "Oh dear, so much
as that? Then it's out of the question my buying one to-day, thank you."
He turned towards the door as he spoke, but the old man stopped his
exit by saying hastily:
"Wait a minute, sir; don't be in such a hurry; perhaps we may be able
to come to terms."
"I'm afraid not," Tim replied regretfully. "For I haven't five
shillings in the world; that is the truth."
"Well, well, you're frank, and I like you for it. They're beautiful
creatures and pure-bred, as I said just now," Mr. Dottin observed
thoughtfully, surveying the rabbits and then Tim with his head on one
side.
"But I'd wish to oblige you and make a new customer, who'd no
doubt recommend me to his friends. Would three shillings be nearer
your prize? Well, then," as the little boy shook his head, "say
half-a-crown? Half-a-crown for a pure-bred Angora rabbit, why, it's
absurd; nevertheless, you shall have that little one for half-a-crown.
What do you say?"
Tim reflected. He was a shrewd boy, and it struck him that Mr. Dottin
had lowered his price very quickly. He also remembered that Kitty had
said she had given a shilling for the rabbit he had killed, so, though
half-a-crown was the exact amount of money he had in his pocket, he
determined to try to get what he wanted for less.
"I'll give you eighteen-pence for that little rabbit, it's the smallest
of the lot, I see," he said. "I don't believe it's worth more."
"Not worth more. Eighteen-pence for a pure-bred Angora! Why, you can't
know what you're talking about, young gentleman!" Mr. Dottin cried, in
shrill accents of protestation.
"Oh, yes I do," Tim returned, confidently. "I price the rabbit at
eighteen-pence."
"And I price it at half-a-crown," the old man retorted. "Stop, stop,"
he proceeded, as Tim again moved toward the door. "You are too
impetuous, sir, too impetuous by half. I'll tell you how we'll settle
the matter, we'll split the difference."
"Split the difference?" echoed Tim doubtfully. "I don't understand. You
mean—"
"That you shall have the rabbit for two shillings—ready money,
of course. You price the rabbit at eighteen-pence, I price it
at half-a-crown. Eighteen-pence from a half-a-crown leaves a
shilling—split that shilling and the price of the rabbit is two
shillings. See? There now, that's fair, isn't it?"
"Yes, I think it is," Tim answered, smiling. "I'll give you two
shillings for the rabbit."
"You've a business head on your shoulders. I perceive," observed Mr.
Dottin, as he proceeded to open the hutch, "and I like you the better
for it. Have you anything to put the rabbit in?"
"No; but I can easily carry it inside my coat, it will be quiet there,
won't it?"
"Quiet enough, but mind not to squeeze it—these white rabbits are
delicate creatures. Well, I'm pleased to have done business with you
and I shall hope to see you again. You're a stranger in the town, I
take it? Ah, I thought as much; if you'd lived long in the place you'd
have found me out before. Any time you find yourself this way come
in and have a look round, I shall be glad to see you, and bring your
friends."
"Thank you," Tim replied; "I have no friends in the town, though I may
have some later on. Perhaps I may call in again on another occasion as
you've been so kind as to ask me."
The little boy paid his money, and unfastening a couple of buttons of
his double-breasted coat, he put the rabbit inside, where it appeared
quite comfortable and happy. Then he said good-bye to Mr. Dottin,
who parted from him most affably, and set out for home. As he went,
he turned over in his mind ways and means of conveying the rabbit to
Kitty. He wanted the little girl to have it without knowing, in the
first place, whom it came from. And, later on, he intended to tell her
that he was the donor. After which, he assured himself sanguinely,
she and her brother would gladly—and gratefully—allow him to be their
friend.
Tim planned everything very carefully. That night, he meant to get over
the partition wall, by means of the ladder, and put the rabbit in the
hutch, which he had perceived had been placed near the back door of the
house. No one would see him do it after dark; and to-morrow morning
Kitty and Bob would discover the rabbit; then, on the first favourable
opportunity, he would confess that he had bought the rabbit to replace
their dead pet. How surprised they would be and how kind they would
consider him, whilst he would have salved his conscience to a very
great extent.
It was nearly tea-time when Tim arrived at home, so he ran straight
upstairs and put the rabbit into one of the drawers in the set in his
bedroom, leaving the drawer a little open to admit the air. Then, after
washing his hands and brushing his hair, he went downstairs and joined
his uncle, who immediately told him of Mrs. Glanville's visit and the
purport of it.
"Mrs. Glanville knew mother years ago, and she has asked me to
tea to-morrow!" he exclaimed delightedly, his eyes sparkling with
excitement, after he had listened to Mr. Shuttleworth's tale. "Oh,
Uncle John, how jolly of her!"
"But I thought you didn't think much of the next door children,"
remarked Mr. Shuttleworth, with an amused smile. "If I remember rightly
you said you considered them stuck-up."
"That was because they wouldn't have anything to do with me; but now it
will be all right. We shall soon be good friends, you will see."
"I hope so," Mr. Shuttleworth replied. "You are to go early to-morrow
afternoon, remember."
"Oh, I will not forget," Tim returned. "No fear of that!"
After tea, he waited impatiently for darkness. The evenings were light
until seven o'clock now, consequently it was nearly eight before he
ventured to fetch the rabbit from the drawer and steal out of doors
with it. In the tool-house he found a basket with a cover, into which
he placed the little animal with some bits of bread he had smuggled
from the tea-table, remembering it would require food during the night.
And then, he procured the ladder, and a minute later, basket in hand,
he was sitting astride the partition wall. It was the work of another
minute only to transfer the light ladder from one side of the wall to
the other, and to descend in the Glanville's garden.
For a few seconds Tim stood quite still listening intently. No one
was about; the servants were in the kitchen, for he could see the
reflections of two figures on the kitchen blind, and the rest of the
household, he guessed, would be in the front part of the house. Very
slowly and cautiously the little boy felt his way to the spot where
he knew the rabbit hutch to be, and, having found it, he removed the
rabbit and its supper from the basket to the hutch in safety, and
closed down the lid. His errand thus accomplished, he was startled to
hear Snip begin to bark furiously close inside the back door. Not a
second was now to be lost, he told himself; and, with a wildly beating
heart, he was making a hasty retreat towards the ladder when, to his
dismay, the back door was flung suddenly open, and out flew Snip with
the series of angry "yaps" to which he never failed to give utterance
when in a hot pursuit of a cat.
Tim's dash for the ladder was favoured by success, and he had reached
it and placed his right foot on the first rung of it before the little
dog could scent him and discover his whereabouts in the darkness. But
if the boy's movements were quick, master Snip's were quicker, and,
springing at the intruder, he caught him by one of the legs of his
trousers, fastening his teeth into it with so firm a grip that Tim knew
no amount of kicking and shaking would induce him to drop off.