Tom saw very little of Pete Warboys during the next fortnight or so.
The fruit kept on ripening, and twice over raids were made upon the
garden, but whoever stole the fruit left no clue but a few footmarks
behind, and these were always made by bare feet.
"It's that there Pete," said David; "but foots is foots, and I don't see
how we can swear as they marks is hisn."
Meanwhile the telescope progressed, and busy work was in progress in the
mill, where a large tube was being constructed by securing thin narrow
boards planed very accurately to half-a-dozen iron hoops by means of
screws and nuts.
Then came a day when Uncle Richard found that he must go to town again
to get sundry fittings from an optician, and Tom was left the task of
grinding three small pieces of plate-glass together, so as to produce
one that was an accurate plane or flat.
It was understood that Uncle Richard would not be back for three days,
and after seeing him off, Tom felt important in being left in full
charge, as he was in the lower part of the mill polishing away when the
door was darkened.
"How are you getting on, sir?" said David, as he stood there smiling.
"Pretty well; but this is a long job."
"What are you doing, sir?"
"Polishing these glasses together so as to get one of them perfectly
flat."
"Tchah! that's easy enough. What d'yer want 'em so flat for?"
"So as to make a reflector that will send back a ray of light quite
exact--a perfect mirror."
"That's a looking-glass, arn't it, sir?"
"Yes."
"I wish you'd make one, sir, as would work o' nights, and show us when
Pete Warboys comes arter my pippins. That'd bang all yer
tallow-scoops."
"Impossible, David."
"Yes, sir, s'posed so when I said it. But I say, Master Tom."
"Yes."
"That chap's sure to know as your uncle's gone to London for two or
three days."
"Yes; you can't move here without its being known, David," said Tom,
polishing away, and making his fingers dirty.
"Then, don't you see, sir?"
"No; what?"
"Pete'll be coming to-night, as sure as there's meat in eggs."
"Think so?" said Tom, who felt a peculiar thrill run through him.
"I'm sure on it, sir. There is a deal o' fruit left to pick yet, and
you and me can do that little job better than Pete Warboys."
"Let's go down and watch then."
"Will you, sir?"
"Yes, David, I'll come. But don't go to sleep this time."
"Nay, I won't trust you," said the gardener, laughing softly. "You'll
get hitting at me again instead of at Pete. I arn't forgetted that
swipe you give me that night."
"Well, you gave it back to me with interest," said Tom.
"Ay, that's so, sir; I did. But it wouldn't do for master to come and
find all our late apples gone."
"What time shall we begin then?"
"Not a minute later than six, sir."
And punctually to that hour Tom stole down the garden and found David,
who began to chuckle softly--
"Got yer stick, Master Tom?"
"Yes; got yours?"
"No, sir, I've got something better. Feel this."
"A rope?"
"Yes, sir, and a noose in it, as runs easy."
"To tie him?"
"To lash-show him, sir. We'll go down to the bottom where he's most
likely to come over, and then I'll catch him and hold him, and you shall
let him have it."
The ambush was made--a gooseberry ambush, Tom called it--and for quite
an hour Tom knelt on a sack waiting patiently, but there was not a
sound, and he was beginning to think it a miserably tiresome task, when
all at once, as they crouched there securely hidden, watching the wall,
some eight feet away, it seemed to Tom that he could see a peculiar
rounded black fungus growing out of the top.
It was very indistinct, and the growth was very slow, but it certainly
increased, and the boy stretched out his hand to reach over an
intervening gooseberry-bush so as to touch David, but he touched an
exceedingly sharp thorn instead and winced, but fortunately made no
noise.
Hoping that David had seen what was before him, Tom waited for a few
moments, with the dark excrescence still gradually growing, till he
could contain himself no longer, and reaching this time with his stick,
he gave the gardener a pretty good poke, when the return pressure told
him that this time his companion was well upon the alert.
All at once, when the dark object had grown up plainly into a head and
shoulders, it ceased increasing, and remained perfectly motionless, as
if a careful observation was being made by some one watchful in the
extreme.
"Why don't David throw?" thought Tom, who held himself ready to spring
forward at a moment's notice, "He could not help catching him now."
But David made no signal, and Tom crouched there with his nerves
tingling, waiting in the darkness for the time when he must begin.
At the end of about ten minutes there was a quick rustling sound, the
dark shadow altered its shape, and Tom saw that whoever it was lay
straight along upon the wall perfectly motionless for a few minutes
longer as if listening intently. Then very quickly there was another
motion, a sharp rustling, and the intruder dropped upon the ground.
It was too dark to see what followed, but Tom knew that David had risen
slowly upright, and uttered a grunt as he threw something, evidently the
lasso; for there was a dull sound, then a rush and a scrambling and
crashing, as of some one climbing up the wall, and lastly David
shouted--
"Got him, sir. Let him have it."
Tom darted forward and came in contact with the rope, which was strained
tightly from where David hung back to the top of the wall, the lassoed
thief having rushed back as soon as touched by the rope, reached the top
of the wall, and threw himself over, to hang there just below quite
fast, but struggling violently, and making a hoarse noise like some wild
beast.
"At him, Master Tom! Give it him!"
Tom wanted no urging; he seized the rope and tried to draw the captive
back into the garden, but the effort was vain, so leaving it he drew
back, took a run and a jump, scrambled on to the top of the wall, so as
to lean over, and then began thrashing away with his stout hazel as if
he were beating a carpet.
_Thud, thud--whack, whack_, he delivered his blows at the struggling
object below, and at every whish of the stick there was a violent kick
and effort to get free. Once the stick was seized, but only held for a
moment before it was dragged away, and then, _thud, thud, thud_, the
blows fell heavily, while, in an intense state of excitement, the
gardener kept on shouting--
"Harder, harder, Master Tom! Sakes, I wish I was there! Harder, sir,
harder! Let him have it! Stop him! Ah!"
There was a rustling, scrambling sound on Tom's side of the wall, and
the cracking of the stick, which had come in contact with the bricks,
for the prisoner had escaped, and his footsteps could be faintly heard,
as he dashed over the grassy field into the darkness, where Tom felt it
would be useless to pursue.
But just then he did not possess the power, for he could only lean there
over the wall, and laugh in a way that was quite exhausting, and it was
not until David had been growling and muttering for some minute or two
that he was able to speak.
"What made you let him go, David?" he panted at last.
"Let him go, sir? I didn't let him go. He just jerked the rope out of
my hands, after dragging me down and over the gravel path. There's no
end o' bark off my knuckles and nose."
"Oh, don't say you're hurt, David," said Tom, sitting up astride of the
wall.
"Why not, sir? Yes, I shall. I'm hurt horrid. Arms feel 'most jerked
out o' the sockets, and skin's off the palms of my hands, leastwise it
feels like it. Going to run arter him?"
"Oh no, it's of no use. I gave him an awful thrashing though."
"I wish you'd give him ten times as much, my lad--a wagabone. It was
Pete Warboys, wasn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know; I couldn't tell. It was like something in a long
sack kicking about there. I hit him nearly every time."
"Well, that's something, sir. Do him more good than a peck out o' our
apples. Better for his morials. He ought to have had twice as much."
"But he had enough to keep him from coming again."
"Mebbe, sir; but there's a deal o' wickedness in boys, when they are
wicked, and they soon forgets. Here, chuck me the rope, and I'll coil
it up."
"Rope! I have no rope."
"Why, you don't mean to say as you've let him cut off with it, sir?"
"I!" cried Tom. "Why you had it."
"Ay, till he snatchered it away, when I was down. Hff! My elbows."
"Then he has run away with it, David."
"Ay, and he'll go and sell it; you see if he don't. Nice nooish bit o'
soft rope as it were too."
"Never mind the rope, David," said Tom, jumping down, after listening
intently for a few minutes.
"Ah, that's werry well for you, sir; but what am I to say when master
arkses me what's become on it?"
"I'll tell him, David. There, it's nearly ten again. I say, you didn't
go to sleep to-night."
"No, nor you nayther, sir," said David, with a chuckle. "I'm sorry
'bout that rope, but my word, you did let him have it, sir. Can't be
much dust left in his jacket."
David burst into a hoarse fit of laughter, and Tom joined in, laughing
till the tears ran down his cheeks.
"Say, Master Tom," cried David. "Pippins!"
There was another burst of laughter, and then David suggested
Wellingtons, and followed up with Winter Greenings, each time roaring
with laughter.
"He's got apples this time, and no mistake, sir," he said.
"Yes, David; striped ones."
"Ay, sir, he have--red streaks. But think he'll come again to-night?"
"No, David; so let's get back and think of bed."
"Yes, and of my bed here, sir. There's a nice lot o' footprints I know,
and I come down first over a young gooseberry-bush, and feels as if here
and there I'd got a few thorns in my skin."
Tom listened again, but all was still, and the garden was as quiet ten
minutes later, the ripening apples still hanging in their places.