"Oh, David!" cried Tom at last, "how could you touch?"
There was so much agony of spirit in the boy's tones that the gardener
felt moved, and remained for a few moments silent. Then rousing
himself--
"I didn't, Master Tom; I never touched it. Go and swear I didn't 'fore
all the judges in the land."
"Don't tell a lie to hide it," said Tom bitterly.
"Lie! me tell a lie! S'elp me, Master Tom, it's as true as true."
"But you reached over to open the window, and knocked it off, David."
"Swear as I never went a-nigh the window, sir. Don't you go and say it
was me when it was you."
"I?" cried Tom, flushing.
"Well, sir, you say it was me, and I see you reach out, and the blanket
all falled down--now didn't I, sir?"
"Yes; the blanket went down, but the speculum was not in it, or we
should have heard it fall."
"Not if it was all wrapped up in that there blanket, sir."
"I tell you we should," cried Tom, in his angry despair. "You don't
know how heavy it was. What shall I do? What will uncle say?"
"Well, sir, if you put it like that, and own to it fair, I should say as
he'll kick up the jolliest row he ever made since I broke the whole of
the greenhouse light by making it slip right off, and letting it go
smash. And then I'd gone straight to him and told him, as I should
advise you to do, sir, at once. Master don't like to find things out."
"But I did not break it," cried Tom.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, sir. It was an accident, of course; but I'd
go straight to him and tell him."
"David!" cried Tom fiercely, "you're a miserable, cowardly wretch! I
did not break it, and you know it. How can I go and take all the
blame?"
"Well, sir, how can I, as am as innocent as one o' my best blooms?"
cried David. "Well, in all my born days, I never did."
"Why don't you speak out and own to it, sir?" said Tom indignantly.
"It's horrible enough after the way we've worked at that speculum to
have it broken; but you make it ten times worse by denying it."
"I'd say I did it, sir, in a minute," replied David indignantly; "but it
goes hard to see a young gent like you, master's own nevvy, ready to try
and bring the whole business down on a poor working-man's head, and so I
tell you to your face. If any one's cowardly, it arn't me, and I'm
ready to come across to master and tell him so. I'm ashamed of you,
sir, that I am. I thought you was a real gentleman, and was beginning
to like you; but it's all over between us, sir, for you arn't the sort
of lad I thought you. Me break it? You know I never did. Why, I've
never been in the place since you and master have been in here busy.
Shame on you, Master Tom! Go and tell your uncle, like you ought. It's
an accident; but don't you go and make it worse," and with these words
David stumped out of the lower part of the old mill, and made his way
back to his garden, leaving Tom hot with indignation against him, and
half choking with a feeling of misery.
"And uncle has got to know," he said half aloud; "uncle has got to
know."