Tom Blount did not make a very good tea that evening, for he was excited
by thoughts of the coming watch.
He was not in the least afraid, but his face felt flushed, and there was
a curious tingling in the nerves which made him picture a scene in the
garden, in which he was chasing Pete Warboys round and round, getting a
cut at him with the stick from time to time, and at last making him turn
at bay, when a desperate fight ensued.
It seemed a long time too till half-past eight, and though he took up a
book of natural history full of interest, it seemed to be as hard
reading as _Tidd's Practice_, in Gray's Inn.
"Seat uncomfortable, Tom?" said his uncle at last.
"No, uncle," said the boy, colouring. "Why?"
"Because you can't sit still. Oh, I understand. You are thinking of
going out to watch."
"Yes, uncle."
"Humph! More than the pears are worth, Tom."
"Do you think so, uncle?"
"Decidedly. But there, the thief deserves to be caught--and thrashed;
but don't be too hard upon him."
Tom brightened up at this, and looked at the clock on the mantel-piece.
"Why, it's stopped," he said.
"Stopped? Nonsense," said Uncle Richard, looking at his watch.
"But it must have stopped. I don't think it has moved lately."
"The clock is going all right, Tom, but not so fast as your desires.
There, try a little patience; and don't stop after ten. If the
plunderer is not here by that time he will not come to-night--if he
comes at all."
"Very well, uncle," said Tom, and after another glance at the clock,
which still did not seem to move, he settled down with his head resting
upon his fists, to study the giraffe, of which there was a large
engraving, with its hide looking like a piece of the map of the moon,
the spots being remarkably similar to the craters and ring-plains upon
the moon's surface, while the giraffe itself, with its long sprawling
legs, would put him in mind of Pete Warboys. Then he read how it had
been designed by nature for its peculiar life in the desert, and so that
it could easily reach up and crop the leaves of trees from fifteen to
twenty feet above the ground; but it did not, as he pictured it in his
mind, seem to be picking leaves, but Marie Louise pears, while David was
creeping up behind with his elastic hazel stick, and--
_Ting_.
Half-past eight by the dining-room clock, and Tom sprang up.
"Going, my boy?"
"Yes, uncle, David will be waiting."
Uncle Richard nodded, and taking his cap and the hazel stick he had
brought in, the boy went out silently, to find that it was a very soft
dark night--so dark, in fact, that as soon as he had stepped on to the
lawn he walked into one of the great bushes of laurustinus, and backed
out hurriedly to reconsider which was the way. Then he stepped gently
forward over the soft damp grass of the lawn, with his eyes now growing
more accustomed to the darkness.
Directly after there was a low whistle heard.
"Where are you, David?"
"Here, sir. Come down between the raspberries."
"Where are they, David? All right, I see now," whispered Tom, and he
stepped as far as he could across the flower-bed, which ran down beside
the kitchen-garden, and the next minute felt the gardener's hand
stretched out to take his.
"Got your stick, sir?"
"Yes; all right. He hasn't come then yet."
"Not yet, sir. Here you are; now you can kneel down alongside o' me.
Mustn't be no more talking."
Tom knelt on the soft horse-cloth, feeling his knees indent the soil
beneath; and then with his head below the tops of the black-currant
bushes, whose leaves gave out their peculiar medicinal smell, he found
that though perfectly hidden he could dimly make out the top of the
garden wall, where the pears hung thickly not many feet away, and the
watchers were so situated that a spring would take them into the path,
close to any marauder who might come.
"One moment, David," whispered Tom, "and then I won't speak again.
Which way do you think he'll come?"
"Over the wall from the field, and then up along the bed, so as his feet
arn't heard. If I hear anything I nips you in the leg. If you hear
anything, you nips me."
"Not too hard," said Tom, and the watch began.
At first there was the rattle of a cart heard coming along the road, a
long way off, and Tom knelt there sniffing the odour of the
blackcurrants, and trying to calculate where the cart would be. But
after a time that reached the village and passed on, and the tramp of
the horse and the rattle of the wheels died out.
Then he listened to the various sounds in the village--voices, the
closing of doors, the rattle of shutters; and all at once the church
clock began to strike, the nine thumps on the bell coming very slowly,
and the last leaving a quivering, booming sound in the air which lasted
for some time.
After this all was very still, and it was quite a relief to hear the
barking of a dog from some distance away, followed by the faintly-heard
rattle of a chain drawn over the entrance of the kennel, when the
barking ceased, and repeated directly after as the barking began again.
Everything then was wonderfully still and dark, till a peculiar cry
arose--a weird, strange cry, as of something in pain, which thrilled
Tom's nerves.
"Rabbit?" he whispered.
"Hedgehog," grumbled David hoarsely; "don't talk."
Silence again for a minute or two, and the peculiar sensation caused by
the cry of the bristly animal still hung in Tom's nerves, when there was
another noise which produced a thoroughly different effect, for a donkey
from somewhere out on the common suddenly gave vent to its doleful
extraordinary bray, ending in a most dismal squeaking yell, suggestive
of all the wind being out of its organ.
Tom smiled as he knelt there, wondering how Nature could have given an
animal so strange a cry, as all was again still, till voices arose once
more in the village; some one said "Good-night!" then a door banged,
and, _pat pat_, he could hear faintly retiring steps, "Good-night"
repeated, and then close to his elbow--
_Snor-rr-re_.
"David!" he whispered, as he touched the gardener on the
shoulder--"David!"
"Arn't better taters grow'd, I say, and--Eh? Is he comed?"
"No! Listen," said Tom, thinking it as well not to allude to his
companion's lapse.
"Oh ay, I'm a-listenin', sir, with all my might," whispered the
gardener; "but I don't think it's him yet. Wait a bit, and we'll nab
him if he don't mind."