"I say, Mother, don't hurry off, wait a jiff, won't you?"
The morning "confab" was over; the boat was pulled up close to the
bank, and Mrs. Vaughan stood at the river-side; she was just turning
to go back to the Chase when Robin's voice detained her. "What is
it?" she asked, "Anything wrong? Are you sick of camping?
"Rather not. It's something jolly different. It's----" Robin
hesitated. "We're gradually finding out something," he said, "and we
want to go on. It's about---- Mother, have we got an Uncle Derrick?
For, if so, is there anything mysterious about him?"
There was a minute's pause, then Mrs. Vaughan looked straight at the
boys. "Who told you about him?" she asked slowly.
"I'm afraid it was me. I didn't----" began Donald.
"Mother, don't listen to him, it wasn't him," burst in Peter; "at
least, just at the end, he told us that was who the photograph was
of. But we've suspected something all along. Brownie's knowing
something, and trying so hard not to let us twig, _that's_ what has
given it away. Then up in the attic there's Hooker's things!"
"Hooker?" Mrs. Vaughan started, "what have you found out about him?"
"Only that if there _is_ an Uncle Derrick, he was Uncle Derrick's
friend; that he was keeper in Grandfather's time, and that he was
dismissed. And--Brownie won't tell us where he is," Robin spoke
slowly.
"Also that he was a jolly sporting sort, the room's got ripping
little engines and machinery sort of things about; he ought to have
been a Scout. And that he could take jolly snapshots when you come
to think that this has been lying round for fifteen years; and----"
Peter stopped and held out the picture. "We found this, Mother," he
said.
"Yes . . . it's poor Uncle Derrick," said Mrs. Vaughan; she looked
sadly at the picture for a minute, then she turned to the group.
"Your father and I did not tell you," she said, "we wanted to keep
sad things from you as long as we could. But perhaps we were not
wise; Donald and Dick have evidently been told more than you know.
Brown and his wife, too, know all the sad story, but--oh, I cannot
tell you now, this is neither the time nor the place. Donald may
tell you what his mother has told him; and you may ask Brownie. For
every one loved your Uncle Derrick, and you will hear the story just
as lovingly told by the old servants as I can tell it to you myself."
Mrs. Vaughan turned, and still holding the little picture, she walked
towards the Chase without turning, while the boat was rowed silently
back to the other side of the water.
It was not until after tea that old Brownie's story was told; all day
the campers had half dreaded and half longed to hear the tale, for
Donald knew little more than he had told them already, that there had
been an Uncle Derrick, that there _was_ an Uncle Derrick. Beyond
that, the story was a mystery to him and Dick, as well as to the
Vaughans. "Mother said we should know more some day," he told his
cousins, "but I've never liked to ask."
"Oh, my dears," said old Brownie when they gave her the message,
"tell you? Oh, my dears. But happen it's better not to keep the sad
things hid, for they cut so deep, so deep! Your Uncle Derrick, my
dears,--oh! he was the gayest, most open-handed that the sun shone
on, handsome, kind and good to rich and poor. Aye, and true," the
old woman nodded her head, "aye and _true_!
"Him and Hooker was the same age; friends they'd been, though Hooker
was but a village lad, from babyhood as you might say. But Master
Derrick was like that. Together always, like David and Jonathan,
both with the same passion, as boys, for fitting together bits of
machinery, engines and such like, and all so clever. Your
grandfather was proud of him, aye, and so were we all, servants too,
but your grandfather was fonder of him, aye, perhaps than of either
of the other two; pardon me, my dears, them being own father and
mother to some of you. But so life is, sometimes. Master Derrick
was like a Benjamin, so he was, to the Squire, coming late in life to
him and all; he'd do anything for Master Derrick, would Squire. Gave
the keeper's house to young Hooker, did he, young as Hooker was for
to be keeper, just to please Master Derrick.
"And there the pair used to spend hours of their time. When Master
Derrick was a wee chap, 'twas always Hooker he followed; home from
boarding-school, the same; he didn't forget old friends, and on
they'd go with their inventions as they called them. Home from
college, 'time Hooker had the cottage--then there they'd be down at
the keeper's house, _this_ house, here, my dears, and--that's how the
bad end came!"
"_What!_" whispered Jan with white lips.
"Strange things were being said," went on the old woman, "and at that
time strange false money was being passed in the county. Coiners
were somewhere, and the evil couldn't be traced. Then scandal began
to be afloat, though we heard naught of it till after; 'twas started,
some said, by Mitchell, head keeper he'd been, and dismissed when
Hooker took the job, and a grudge he'd always borne the lad. Folk
spoke of the dear lads' inventions, and--well, my dears, to cut a
long story short, the police from headquarters came down unexpected
on this very cottage one night. Found what they called, I mind me,
'coiners' plant' in the wee room where Miss Jan sleeps, and in the
attic-room above, where to this day I'm feared to heart of stopping
long, 'twas there that they arrested the two."
"Oh!" Peter's face went quite white. "Uncle Derrick! Was it?"
"No!" the old woman's voice was firm, "neither of the dear lads was
in it. Some spoke of Master Derrick's debts, and, well, some he may
have had, open-handed as he was; but we know, as had served Squire
from youth, and watched Master Derrick grow up. It was imprisonment
that they got--seven years."
"Where are they now? It's fifteen years ago," Robin's voice sounded
strange, even to himself.
"Ah, my dears," Brownie dropped a slow, difficult tear, "that's the
saddest part of it all."