CONCERNING THE COVERED BASKET.
AFTER Tim Shuttleworth's formal introduction to the Glanville family
his time no longer hung on his hands, for he was now always sure of a
welcome next door; and, during the remainder of Bob's holidays, the two
boys were constantly together. Bob, who had certainly been prejudiced
against Tim at first, soon grew to like him, for he proved a congenial
companion, being very good-natured; and, although he owned a passionate
temper, it could not be called a bad one, as Bob was not long in
finding out.
Kitty watched the growing friendship between her brother and Tim with
anything but approval. She could not overcome her prejudice against the
plain-faced, red-headed boy, and, perhaps, she was a little jealous of
him, too, for monopolising so much of Bob's society; besides which,
she still believed he was not guiltless concerning the death of her
first rabbit—for, though two years the junior of her brother, she was
far more observant than he was, and she had noticed something strange
in Tim's manner when he had been shown Fluffy on the night when he had
first seen their guest. Tim could not help perceiving that Kitty was
not altogether well-disposed towards him, so he tried to propitiate
her, and frequently with such success that she forgot her suspicion
against him and treated him with the same good-comradeship she
exhibited towards her brother.
It made Tim very happy to be on friendly terms with the family next
door, and before the time came for Kitty and Bob to return to school,
he was as much at home in their house as in his uncle's. On several
occasions he had noticed the covered basket he had dropped by the
rabbit hutch hanging on a peg behind the scullery door, and had
heard Kitty and Bob wondering why it had not been fetched; but, of
course, he could not lay claim to it, and it was not until, one day,
he heard Deborah—his uncle's elderly servant, who was housekeeper as
well—grumbling because she could not find it, that the thought occurred
to him that he ought to try to get it back.
"I suppose you've not seen my basket by any chance, Master Tim,"
Deborah said, coming out of the tool-house, where she had been
searching for the missing article. "It's a covered basket—the one I
take to market every Saturday." It was Saturday afternoon, and Deborah,
wearing her bonnet and cloak, was ready to start to make her weekly
purchases.
"I believe I did see it a few days ago," Tim replied evasively, turning
red as he spoke. "Do you want it particularly now, Deborah?"
"Why, yes, Master Tim, I do. I always keep it in one place—on the shelf
just inside the tool-house door—so someone must have moved it." She
regarded Tim accusingly, noting his heightened colour.
"Perhaps I did," he admitted. "I—I tidied the tool-house yesterday."
"Didn't you see it then?" she inquired.
"No; but I'll promise to have a look for it and try to find it
by-and-by. I—I can't stay now, for I'm going in town with Bob
Glanville, Can't you manage to do without it for once, Deborah?"
"I suppose I've no choice, Master Tim, as it can't be found; but I
haven't another basket so suitable for carrying butter and eggs in.
However, I must do the best I can." And Deborah went into the house
muttering something about boys being always meddlesome.
"I believe she thinks I've had the basket—and, of course, I have,"
thought Tim, uneasily. "I'm glad she didn't ask me what I'd done with
it. Somehow or other I'll have to get it back."
But how? That was the question occupying his mind all that afternoon
which he spent in company with Bob Glanville. He could not ask for the
basket, he did not like to take it, and he was sorely puzzled what to
do. He was aware that Kitty still suspected him of knowing how her
first rabbit had met with its death; and now he was friendly with the
Glanvilles, he was more than ever anxious that they should not learn
the truth, which, he believed, if they knew, they would never speak to
him again. He was appeased to see how fond Kitty was growing of her new
pet, and thought regretfully of the circumstances which had prevented
his acknowledging that he had bought it for her. But he still hesitated
to set the matter on a right footing, doubting if his word would be
taken against that of Tom Hatch, of whom Kitty now always spoke with
the deepest gratitude, which made it all the more difficult for Tim to
undeceive her and declare that Bob's school-fellow, on whose kindness
and generosity she was continually harping, had gone from his promise.
Saturday was always the busiest day of the week at B—, and on
this afternoon the streets were thronged with farmers who jostled
good-naturedly against each other as they discussed cattle and crops,
whilst their wives and daughters stood behind the long rows of stalls,
in the butter and poultry market, gossiping and doing business by turns.
"I always like the town best on a market day," remarked Bob to Tim, as
they stood watching a cheap-jack selling umbrellas, and marvelling at
his flow of words, which never seemed to fail. "It's fun watching the
country people; they seem to be having such a good time. Oh, I say,
Shuttleworth, do look at that old chap over there with those white
rats. You haven't seen him, have you? Let us go and watch what he is
doing. He's here every week."
They elbowed their way through the crowd until they found themselves
close to a stall, behind which a hook-nosed old man, whom Tim
recognised at once as Mr. Jacob Dottin, was haranguing several young
farmers who were listening and laughing. Out of a box he had taken
several white rats, one of which had perched itself on his shoulder,
whilst another had hidden in his sleeve and the head of a third peeped
out of the breast pocket of his coat; and ranged before him on the
stall were scores of little blue paper packets.
"Isn't he a queer old chap?" whispered Bob. "His name is Dottin, and he
has a shop in the place—in a back street it is."
"I know," Tim responded. "I've seen it. I suppose he is trying to see
those rats?"
"Yes; and he sells rat poison, too—some patent stuff he makes himself.
See, that farmer is going to have several packets. I'm not afraid of
rats, but I shouldn't care to let them run over me like that, should
you?"
Tim was about to reply when Mr. Dottin caught sight of him and
recognised him with a most affable nod.
"You know him?" Bob exclaimed in surprise, as Tim, colouring, returned
the old man's salutation.
"Yes," Tim answered, moving away from the stall, for he did not wish
to give Mr. Dottin an opportunity of speaking to him, fearing he
might refer, in Bob's presence, to the purchase of the rabbit. "I
was standing outside his shop one day last week when he came out and
invited me to look at his 'little family,' as he called his animals."
"That was really very jolly of him! He has quite a menagerie, I've
heard."
"Yes, he has."
"Some of the Grammar School boys buy pets from him, but they say he's a
regular old sweep—will take them in if he can, you know. What an oddity
he looks, doesn't he?"
"Yes; but I don't think he's a bad sort of old fellow."
"I dare say not; he must be good-natured or he wouldn't have had you in
to look at his stock. Wouldn't Kitty have liked to have been in your
shoes! She's just crazed about animals."
"Mr. Dottin said I was welcome to have a look round his shop any time,
and bring my friends," Tim explained, "so perhaps you and Kitty would
like to pay the old fellow a visit with me, would you?" As he made this
suggestion, he reflected that he could easily make a point of seeing
Mr. Dottin beforehand, and ask him not to mention that there had been a
business transaction between them.
"We should both like to have a good look at his animals, I'm sure,"
Bob rejoined eagerly, "but it can't be for a bit. You know the schools
reopen next week—the Grammar School on Monday and Kitty's school on
Thursday. We might go and see Mr. Dottin one Saturday afternoon."
"All right," agreed Tim.
Accordingly the plan was left in abeyance.
"I wish I was going to have a term's holiday, like you," said Bob
a short while later, as they left the market-place and turned
homewards. "It's so jolly to be able to do just what one likes, and Mr.
Shuttleworth doesn't interfere with you in any way, does he?"
"Oh, no," Tim rejoined. "Sometimes I wish he did. He spends most of his
days shut up in his study. He's writing a book—a tremendously clever
book it is, I expect—but what about I haven't the least notion. He was
always very learned even when he was a boy, I've heard father say. And
he hasn't got to work for his living, so he can please himself how he
spends his time."
"Is he better off than your father, then?" asked Bob, somewhat
diffidently, for he did not know how his companion would take the
question.
"Yes," Tim answered calmly, "he has money which an uncle left him. It
was very kind of Uncle John to ask me here, but I wish he was more like
father," he concluded with a regretful sigh.
"You are to have tea with us," announced Bob, as they came within sight
of home. "Mother said I was to bring you in. You'll come, won't you?"
"But I had tea with you yesterday," demurred Tim, his face flushing
with pleasure, "I seem to be half my time in your house now."
Nevertheless he was easily persuaded to enter the Glanvilles' door
instead of his uncle's. Kitty met the two boys in the hall, curious
to ascertain where they had spent the afternoon; she herself had been
shopping with her mother. Bob explained where they had been, and told
her that Tim was acquainted with the vendor of rat poison who attended
the weekly market, and that she was to be taken to see the old man's
collection of animals and birds one Saturday afternoon "if she was a
good girl, and behaved herself."
"If I behave myself, indeed!" she cried, with a toss of her fair head.
"I dare say he would show them to me if I went alone."
"Mother wouldn't like you to do that," returned Bob, "for he lives in a
very poor part of the town, in a back street."
The children were obliged to content themselves in the house after
tea, for a drizzling rain came on; they managed to enjoy themselves,
however, and at eight o'clock Tim went home.
Half an hour later, when Kitty ran upstairs to tidy herself before
supper, she opened her bedroom window—her room was at the back of the
house—and leaned out to ascertain if it still rained. It was dry now,
and the moon, a silver crescent, was shining between the clouds. The
little girl was about to draw in her head when a faint movement below
caused her to pause and listen attentively. Some one was close to the
back door, apparently leaning into the scullery window, which had been
left open.
"Why, it's a boy!" thought Kitty; "I wonder what he can be doing
here? Perhaps it's Bob. No, Bob's in the dining-room. Why, goodness,
I believe it's Tim! And yet, I suppose it cannot be, for he went home
ages ago."
At that instant the figure began to move stealthily away, carrying
something which looked, Kitty thought, like a basket. Fascinated, she
watched it as it cautiously hurried round the side of the house; then,
rushing downstairs, she passed like a whirlwind through the kitchen and
into the scullery beyond.
Yes, the idea which had flashed upon her had been right—it was the
unclaimed basket which had gone, and that horrid, cheeky boy next door,
she felt certain, was the thief.
Full of indignation at his daring and dishonesty, she dashed into the
dining-room to her parents and Bob, and amazed them by a panting and
excited account of the discovery she had made.