"It is stopped, uncle: the speculum is broken in three pieces."
"What!" cried Uncle Richard, turning pale.
"Completely spoiled, uncle."
"How, in the name of all that's unfortunate, did you do that, sir?"
It was Tom's turn to start now, for his uncle had immediately jumped to
the conclusion that it was his doing, and his words in answer sounded
lame and inconclusive.
"I didn't break it, uncle; I found it on the floor."
"Found it on the floor!" cried Uncle Richard, sarcastically. "It was
the cat, I suppose. Was the window left open?"
"I found--"
"There, hold your tongue now," said Uncle Richard. "I have something
else to think about. You will have everything ready, Mrs Fidler. I
have been so separated from my brother nearly all my life, that I feel I
owe him every attention."
"I will attend to it all most carefully."
"He may come down to-morrow, for I have written saying he is most
welcome."
"Make yourself quite easy, sir. His room shall be ready. I beg pardon,
sir; is his good lady coming with him?"
"No, he is coming down alone. I have told him to telegraph by what
train, so that I may go and meet him."
The miserable dinner soon came to an end, and Uncle Richard, instead of
chatting pleasantly, never so much as looked at his nephew. But Mrs
Fidler did, with her head on one side; and every time Tom caught her
eye, which seemed to be nearly every minute, she shook her head at him
gently, and gave him such appealing looks, that he felt exasperated at
last, and as if he would like to throw something at her.
"She thinks I did it now," he said to himself; and when his uncle left
the table and went into his study he had full proof, for Mrs Fidler
seized the opportunity, and shaking her head at him again, said in a
whisper--
"Oh, Master Tom, my dear, the truth may be blamed, but can never be
shamed."
"Well, I know that," cried the boy angrily.
"Hush, my dear! I know it's very hard, but do--do go and tell your
uncle the truth, and he'll forgive you."
"I have told him the truth," cried Tom hotly.
"Oh, my dear, my dear, I'm afraid not, or else your face wouldn't be so
dreadfully red and guilty-like, and I'm sure as your uncle thinks you
broke it."
"Yes," cried Tom; "everybody seems to think so."
"Then pray, pray, my dear, be open."
"Don't, Mrs Fidler, don't," cried Tom pettishly. "I feel as if I can't
bear it."
"Now, sir, I'm waiting," said Uncle Richard, suddenly appearing at the
open window. "Come over to the observatory at once."
"Yes, uncle; coming," cried Tom.
"And do, pray, pray tell him all the truth, my dear," whispered Mrs
Fidler.
"Ugh! you stupid old woman," exclaimed Tom to himself, as he ran out
into the hall, got his cap, and followed his uncle, who was walking
sharply on toward the mill-yard, with the keys hanging from his hand.
"And he's thinking all the time that I did it," muttered Tom. "He might
have waited."
"Pst! pst!" came from among the bushes, and the boy turned sharply, to
see David working his arms about like an old-fashioned telegraph.
"Can't stop. What is it?" said Tom roughly.
"I ain't going to stop you, Master Tom; but you go and tell the truth."
"Bah!" cried Tom.
"The truth may be shamed, sir, but can never be blamed," said the
gardener oracularly.
"Get out, you topsy-turvy old humbug," cried Tom wrathfully. "Think I
don't know you?" and he ran on, and caught up to his uncle as he was
passing through the yard gate.
He did not speak, but went on toward the observatory door.
"Shall I open it, uncle?" said Tom eagerly.
"No," was the abrupt reply; and Tom shrank within himself like a snail
touched with the end of a walking-stick on a damp night. Then the key
was rattled into the lock, the door was thrown open, and Uncle Richard,
looking very grave and stern, stalked into the workshop straight to the
table, glanced at the speculum, and pushed the pieces apart, frowning
angrily.
"I'd sooner have given a hundred pounds than that should have happened,"
he said.
"Yes, uncle; it's horrid," said Tom.
"How did you do it?" said Uncle Richard, turning sharply, and fixing him
with his keen eyes, as he had often fixed some deceitful, shivering
coolie, who had looked up to him in the past as master and judge in one.
"I didn't do it," cried Tom passionately. "Everybody misjudges me, and
thinks it was I."
"Then how did it happen?"
Tom told him briefly.
"Was that window left open last night?"
"I don't think so, uncle; I'm almost sure I fastened it."
"Almost!" said Uncle Richard, in the same cold, hard way in which he had
spoken before. "Then, sir, you accuse David of having meddled and
broken it?"
"No, I don't, uncle," said Tom, speaking quite firmly now. "I told you
everything."
"Fetch David."
Tom hurried out, and had no difficulty in finding the gardener, who had
hardly stirred from where he had left him.
"I knowed the master'd want me. Did you own up, sir, like a man?"
"No, I didn't," said Tom angrily. "Come to uncle directly."
"Then--"
David said no more, but gave his old straw hat a smart rap on the crown,
and walked sharply on before Tom, unrolling and shaking out his blue
apron, prior to rolling it up again very tightly about his waist. He
strode along so rapidly that Tom had hard work to keep up with him; and
in spite of his efforts, David strode into the workshop first, pulled
off his hat, dashed it down on the floor, and struck one hand loudly
with his fist.
"What I say is this here, sir. I've sarved you faithful ever since you
come back from the burning Ingies--"
"Silence!"
"And made the garden what it is--"
"Silence!" said Uncle Richard, more sternly.
"And if Master Tom's been telling you a pack o' lies about me--"
"Silence, man!" cried Uncle Richard angrily.
"Why, all I've got to say is--"
"Will you hold your tongue, sir? My nephew has not even accused you.
He has merely told me his own version of the accident."
"Oh!" said David, looking from one to the other, thoroughly taken aback.
"Now give me your account, sir," continued Uncle Richard.
David threw in a few pieces of ornamentation about his narrative, but
its essence was precisely the same as Tom's.
"Humph!" said Uncle Richard. "It looks as of one of you must be in
fault."
"I take my solemn--"
"Silence, sir! you have spoken enough. Tell me this, as the man I have
always been a good master to, and have always trusted. I know it is a
serious thing, but I want the simple truth. Did you have an accident,
and break that glass?"
"I wish I may die this minute if I did, sir," cried David; "and that's
an awful thing to say."
"Thank you, David; I believe you," said Uncle Richard quietly, and the
gardener's face glowed as he turned his eyes on Tom, and then frowned,
and jerked his head, and seemed to say--
"Now out with the truth, my lad, like a man."
Tom was darting back an angry look, when his uncle turned to him, with
eyes that seemed to read him through and through.
"I thought it was your doing at first, Tom, in my vexation," he said.
"Then I suspected poor David here, very unwillingly. But you see we are
at fault."
"Yes, uncle," cried Tom eagerly, for there was something in his uncle's
tone, stern as it sounded, that was like a friendly grasp of the hand,
and turning towards him, in quite an excited burst, he cried, "Then you
don't think I did it?"
"Of course not, my boy. What have you ever done that I should doubt
your word?"
Tom could not speak, but he made a snatch at his uncle's hand, to feel
it close warmly upon his own.
David looked from one to the other, and then stooped and picked up his
hat, put it on, recollected himself, and snatched it off again.
"Well," he said softly, "it's a rum 'un. If I didn't feel quite
cock-sure as it was you, Master Tom, that I did. Then it warn't you,
arter all! Then who was it? that's what I want to know."
"That's what we all want to know, David," said Uncle Richard, as he laid
his hand now upon his nephew's shoulder, the firm pressure seeming to
send a thrill of strength and determination through the boy's heart.
"One thing is very plain--it could not have broken itself."
"But don't you think, Master Tom, as it might have gone down when you
leaned over the wrapper?"
"Impossible," said Uncle Richard quickly. "The glass was far too heavy,
as we well know, eh, Tom? Here, let's look out outside."
He led the way through the open door, and round to the window beneath
which the speculum had lain upon the bench, and examined the lately made
flower-bed, in which various creepers had been planted to run up the
wall.
"There's no need to be in doubt," said Uncle Richard, pointing; and Tom
uttered an excited cry, for there, deeply-marked beneath the window were
the prints of heavy-nailed boots, doubled--by the toes pointing toward
the mill, and by the appearance as of some one stepping partly into them
again.
"Are those your footmarks, David?" said his master.
"Mine, sir? No. Mine's got tips on the toes. Look."
He lifted one leg across the other, as if he were going to be shod by a
blacksmith, showing that his soles would have made a very different
impression upon the soft earth.
"Why, sir," continued David with a smile, "I never leaves no footmarks.
Natur' meant a man's hands to be used as rakes, or they would not 'a
been this shape. I always gives the place a touch over where I've
been."
"Yes," said Uncle Richard, nodding. "I have seen you."
"You ayve, sir, many times," said David, bending down; "and these here
couldn't have been made by Master Tom, anyhow."
"Lend me your knife, David," said Uncle Richard.
"Knife, sir? Oh, I'll soon smooth them marks out."
"Stop!" cried Uncle Richard, and only just in time, for David's
finger-rake was within an inch. "We may want to compare those with
somebody's boots."
"Why o' course, sir," said the gardener, handing his knife already
opened; when, placing one foot close against the bricks, Uncle Richard
leaned across the bed, inserted the blade of the knife beside the iron
casement frame, and with it lifted the fastening with the greatest ease.
David gave his leg a heavy slap.
"That was some 'un artful, sir, and he got in."
"Slipped in descending inside, and dragged the speculum on the floor,"
said Uncle Richard, frowning. "Now the question is, who was it?"
"Ah, who was it, sir?" said David. "Arn't such a great many folk in
Furzebrough, and I should say as it lies between Parson Maxted and Pete
Warboys, and it warn't parson, 'cause of the boots."
"I don't like to suspect unjustly," said Uncle Richard, "so don't say
anything, David. I'll go down to the lad's home with my nephew here,
and we'll see if we can find out whether he has been about here since
yesterday."
"And you'll have your work cut out, sir," said David; "for that chap
goes hawking about more like a ferret than aught else; but if it warn't
him, Master Tom, I'll heat my head."