NODDY'S CONFESSION.
The old boatman never did any thing as other people did it; and though
Noddy had put on the best face he could assume to meet the shock of the
accusation which he was confident would be brought against him, Ben said
not a word about the boat-house. He did not seem to be aware that it had
been burned. He ate his dinner in his usual cheerful frame of mind, and
talked of swamp pinks, suggested by the branch which the young reprobate
had brought into the servants' hall.
Noddy was more perplexed than he had been before that day. Why didn't
the old man "pitch into him," and accuse him of kindling the fire? Why
didn't he get angry, as he did sometimes, and call him a young vagabond,
and threaten to horsewhip him? Ben talked of the pinks, of the weather,
the crops, and the latest news; but he did not say a word about the
destruction of the boat-house, or Noddy's absence during the forenoon.
After dinner, Noddy followed the old man down to the pier by the river
in a state of anxiety which hardly permitted him to keep up the cheerful
expression he had assumed, and which he usually wore. They reached the
smouldering ruins of the building, but Ben took no notice of it, and did
not allude to the great event which had occurred. Noddy was inclined to
doubt whether the boat-house had been burned at all; and he would have
rejected the fact, if the charred remains of the house had not been
there to attest it.
Ben hobbled down to the pier, and stepped on board the Greyhound, which
he had hauled up to the shore to enable him to make some repairs on the
mainsail. Noddy followed him; but he grew more desperate at every step
he advanced, for the old man still most provokingly refused to say a
single word about the fire.
"Gracious!" exclaimed Noddy, suddenly starting back in the utmost
astonishment; for he had come to the conclusion, that if Ben would not
speak about the fire, he must.
The old boatman was still vicious, and refused even to notice his
well-managed exclamation. Noddy thought it was very obstinate of Ben not
to say something, and offer him a chance, in the natural way, to prove
his innocence.
"Why, Ben, the boat-house is burned up!" shouted Noddy, determined that
the old man should have no excuse for not speaking about the fire.
Ben did not even raise his eyes from the work on which he was engaged.
He was adjusting the palm on his hand, and in a moment began to sew as
though nothing had happened, and no one was present but himself. Noddy
was fully satisfied now that the boatman was carrying out the details of
some plot of his own.
"Ben!" roared Noddy, at the top of his lungs, and still standing near
the ruins.
"What do you want, Noddy?" demanded Ben, as good-naturedly as though
everything had worked well during the day.
"The boat-house is burned up!" screamed Noddy, apparently as much
excited as though he had just discovered the fact.
Ben made no reply, which was another evidence that he was engaged in
working out some deep-laid plot, perhaps to convict him of the crime,
by some trick. Noddy was determined not to be convicted if he could
possibly help it.
"Ben!" shouted he again.
"Well, Noddy, what is it?"
"Did you _know_ the boat-house was burned up?"
There was no answer; and Noddy ran down to the place where the sail-boat
was hauled up. He tried to look excited and indignant, and perhaps he
succeeded; though, as the old man preserved his equanimity, he had no
means of knowing what impression he had produced.
"Did you know the boat-house was burned up?" repeated Noddy, opening his
eyes as though he had made a discovery of the utmost importance.
"I did," replied Ben, as indifferently as though it had been a matter of
no consequence whatever.
"Why didn't you tell me about it?" demanded Noddy, with becoming
indignation.
"Because I decided that I wouldn't say a word about it to any person,"
answered Ben.
"How did it happen?"
"I haven't anything to say about it; so you mustn't ask me any
questions."
"Don't you know how it caught afire?" persisted Noddy.
"I've nothing to say on that subject."
Noddy was vexed and disheartened; but he felt that it would not be
prudent to deny the charge of setting it on fire before he was accused,
for that would certainly convict him. The old man was playing a deep
game, and that annoyed him still more.
"So you won't say anything about it, Ben?" added he, seating himself on
the pier.
"Not a word, Noddy."
"Well, I wouldn't if I were you," continued Noddy, lightly.
Ben took no notice of this sinister remark, thus exhibiting a presence
of mind which completely balked his assailant.
"I understand it all, Ben; and I don't blame you for not wanting to say
anything about it. I suppose you will own up when Mr. Grant comes home
to-night."
"Don't be saucy, Noddy," said the old man, mildly.
"So you smoked your pipe among the shavings, and set the boat-house
afire--did you, Ben? Well, I am sorry for you, you are generally so
careful; but I don't believe they will discharge you for it."
Ben was as calm and unruffled as a summer sea. Noddy knew that, under
ordinary circumstances, the boatman would have come down upon him like a
northeast gale, if he had dared to use such insulting language to him.
He tried him on every tack, but not a word could he obtain which
betrayed the opinion of the veteran, in regard to the origin of the
fire. It was useless to resort to any more arts, and he gave up the
point in despair. All the afternoon he wandered about the estate, and
could think of nothing but the unhappy event of the morning. Fanny did
not show herself, and he had no opportunity for further consultation.
About six o'clock Bertha returned with her father; and after tea they
walked down to the river. Fanny complained of a headache, and did not go
with them. It is more than probable that she was really afflicted, as
she said; for she had certainly suffered enough to make her head ache.
Of course the first thing that attracted the attention of Mr. Grant and
his daughter was the pile of charred timbers that indicated the place
where the boat-house had once stood.
"How did that happen?" asked Mr. Grant of Ben, who was on the pier.
"I don't know how it happened," replied the boatman, who had found his
tongue now, and proceeded to give his employer all the particulars of
the destruction of the building, concluding with Noddy's energetic
exclamation that he wished the boat-house was burned up.
"But did Noddy set the building on fire?" asked Bertha, greatly pained
to hear this charge against her pupil.
"I don't know, Miss Bertha. I went up to the house to get my morning
instructions, as I always do, and left Noddy at work washing up the
boat-house. I found you had gone to the city, and I went right out of
the house, and was coming down here. I got in sight of the pier, and saw
Miss Fanny come out of the boat-house."
"Fanny?"
"Yes; I am sure it was her. I didn't mind where she went, for I happened
to think the mainsail of the Greyhound wanted a little mending, and I
went over to my room after some needles. While I was in my chamber, one
of the gardeners rushed up to tell me the boat-house was afire. I came
down, but 'twasn't no use; the building was most gone when I got here."
"Did you leave anything in the building in the shape of matches, or
anything else?" asked Mr. Grant.
"No, sir; I never do that," replied the old man, with a blush.
"I know you are very careful, Ben. Then I suppose it was set on fire."
"I suppose it was, sir."
"Who do you suppose set it afire, Ben?" said Bertha, anxiously.
"Bless you, miss, I don't know."
"Do you think it was Noddy?"
"No, Miss Bertha, I don't think it was."
"Who could it have been?"
"That's more than I know. Here comes Noddy, and he can speak for
himself."
Noddy had come forward for this purpose when he saw Mr. Grant and Bertha
on the pier, and he had heard the last part of the conversation. He was
not a little astonished to hear Ben declare his belief that he was not
guilty, for he had been fully satisfied that he should have all the
credit of the naughty transaction.
"Do you know how the fire caught, Noddy?" said Mr. Grant.
"I reckon it caught from a bucket of water I left there," replied Noddy,
who did not know what to say till he had felt his way a little.
"No trifling, Noddy!" added Mr. Grant, though he could hardly keep from
laughing at the ridiculous answer.
"How should I know, sir, when Ben don't know? I tried to make him tell
me how it caught, and he wouldn't say a word about it."
"I thought it was best for me to keep still," said Ben.
"This is very strange," continued Mr. Grant. "Who was the last person
you saw in the boat-house, Ben?"
"Miss Fanny, sir. I saw her come out of it only a few moments before the
fire broke out."
Noddy was appalled at this answer, for it indicated that Fanny was
already suspected of the deed.
"Of course Fanny would not do such a thing as set the boat-house on
fire," said Bertha.
"Of course she wouldn't," added Noddy.
"What made you say you did not think Noddy set the fire, Ben?" asked Mr.
Grant.
"Because I think he had gone off somewhere before the fire, and that
Miss Fanny was in the building after he was. Noddy was sculling off
before he had done his work, and I called him back. That's when he
wished the boat-house was burned down."
"It is pretty evident that the fire was set by Noddy or Fanny," said Mr.
Grant; and he appeared to have no doubt as to which was the guilty one,
for he looked very sternly at the wayward boy before him.
"I think so, sir," added Ben.
"And you say that it was not Noddy?" continued Mr. Grant, looking
exceedingly troubled as he considered the alternative.
The boatman bowed his head in reply, as though his conclusion was so
serious and solemn that he could not express it in words. Noddy looked
from Ben to Mr. Grant, and from Mr. Grant to Ben again. It was plain
enough what they meant, and he had not even been suspected of the crime.
The boatman had seen Fanny come out of the building just before the
flames appeared, and all hope of charging the deed upon some vagabond
from the river was gone.
"Do you mean to say, Ben, that you think Fanny set the boat-house on
fire?" demanded Mr. Grant, sternly.
"I don't see who else could have set it," added Ben, stoutly.
"I do," interposed Noddy. "I say she didn't do it."
"Why do you say so?"
"Because I did it myself."
"I thought so!" exclaimed Mr. Grant, greatly relieved by the confession.
Ben was confused and annoyed, and Noddy was rather pleased at the
position in which he had placed the old man, who, in his opinion, had
not treated him as well as usual.
"Why didn't you own it before?" said Mr. Grant, "and not allow an
innocent person to be suspected."
"I didn't like to," answered the culprit, with a smile, as though he was
entirely satisfied with his own position.
"You must be taken care of."
"I am going to take care of myself, sir," said Noddy, with easy
indifference.
This remark was capable of so many interpretations that no one knew what
it meant--whether Noddy intended to run away, or reform his vicious
habits. Bertha had never seen him look so self-possessed and impudent
when he had done wrong, and she feared that all her labors for his moral
improvement had been wasted.
Some further explanations followed, and Noddy was questioned till a
satisfactory theory in regard to the fire was agreed upon. The boy
declared that he had visited the boat-house after Fanny left it, and
that she was walking towards the Glen when he kindled the fire. He made
out a consistent story, and completely upset Ben's conclusions, and left
the veteran in a very confused and uncomfortable state of mind.
Mr. Grant declared that something must be done with the boy at once;
that if he was permitted to continue on the place, he might take a
notion to burn the house down. Poor Bertha could not gainsay her
father's conclusion, and, sad as it was, she was compelled to leave the
culprit to whatever decision Mr. Grant might reach. For the present he
was ordered to his room, to which he submissively went, attended by
Bertha, though he was fully resolved not to be "taken care of;" for he
understood this to mean a place in the workhouse or the penitentiary.