Chapter 20

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_ CHAPTER TWENTY.

"Master Tom, I'd be the last person in the world to find fault, or pick people to pieces, and I'm sure master knows that, as it's his brother, I'd do anything; but really, my dear, I don't think he's so bad as he says."

"Do you think not, Mrs Fidler?"

"I feel sure not, my dear. Here has he been down here for three weeks now, and the nursing up he's had is wonderful. You look at the beef-tea he's had, and the calves'-foot jelly I've made, and the port wine he has drunk, let alone the soles and chickens and chops he has every day."

"But what makes you think Uncle James is not so ill?"

"Because he eats and drinks so much, my dear. I think he's all right, only got something on his mind."

"Well, I don't know," said Tom. "He says he's very bad. I must be off now; it's time he went out in his bath-chair."

"Yes, my dear, it's wonderful what your uncle does for him, what with the flys, and pony-carriages, and the invalid chair got down on purpose for him. I only wish I had such a brother as master."

For Uncle James had come down ready to groan when he was helped out of the fly, to sigh when he was helped off to bed, and call out when Tom led him to his chair at meal-times. For as soon as he came down he had attached himself to his nephew, and was never satisfied without the boy was at his side.

"Your noo uncle seems to like you, Master Tom," said David one day.

"Yes; I wish he wouldn't be quite so fond of me," replied Tom. "He used not to be in London."

But Tom's wishes were of no avail, for his uncle would hardly let him quit his side; and when they were indoors he would sit and gaze wistfully at the boy, and now and then whisper--

"Tom, my boy, I think I ought to tell you, that--"

Then he would stop, and, growing impatient at last, Tom broke out with--

"What is it, uncle, that you want to tell me?"

"Not now, my boy, another time, another time," and then he would utter a low groan.

This sort of thing took place in the dining-room, study, garden, or away out on the common, or in sandy lanes; and at last, after having his curiosity excited a great many times, Tom began to get tired of it, and had hard work to keep from some pettish remark.

"But I mustn't be unkind to him, poor fellow, now he's so ill," thought Tom; "he was very unkind to me, but I forgive him, and he's very affectionate to me now."

This was the case, for Uncle James seemed happier when he could get Tom alone, and hold his hand for some time; and he always ended by saying in a whimpering voice--

"Bless you, my boy, bless you!"

"Which is very nice," said Tom to himself more than once, "but it will sound sickly, and as if he was very weak. I can't make it out. It seems as if the worse he is, the kinder he gets to me, and as soon as he feels better he turns disagreeable. Oh, I am so tired of it; I wish he'd get well."

But all the same Tom never showed his weariness, but tugged and butted the invalid chair through the deep sand of the lanes, and sat on banks close by it reading the newspaper to his uncle in the most patient way, till the invalid was tired, and then dragged him back to Heatherleigh to dinner or tea.

One evening, after a week thoroughly devoted to the visitor, who had been more than usually exacting in the length of his rides, declining to hold the handle and guide himself, making Tom tug him up hills and through heavy bits of lane, along which the boy toiled away as stubbornly as a donkey, Uncle Richard came upon him in the garden, when he was free, for the invalid had gone to lie down.

"Well, Tom," he said.

"Well, uncle," cried the boy, looking up at him rather disconsolately.

"All our telescope-making seems to have come to an end."

"Yes, uncle."

"I suppose you mean to go back with Uncle James to town?"

"Is he going back to London?" cried the boy eagerly.

"Yes, before long; but you need not be so eager to go."

Tom stared at him.

"You are tired of Heatherleigh then?"

"Tired, uncle?"

"Yes; you've made me feel quite jealous. It's all Uncle James now. But there, it's boy-like to want plenty of change."

"But I don't want change."

"Not want change? Why, you show it every day."

Tom stared again, and then burst out in his abrupt way--

"Oh, uncle! you don't think I want to go back?"

"You were asking eagerly enough about it just now."

"Yes--because--I--that is--oh, uncle, don't be cross with me; I can't help it."

"No, I suppose not, Tom."

"But you don't understand me. I don't want to leave here; I wouldn't go back to London on any consideration. I--there, I must say it, I--I-- there, I hate Uncle James."

"What!" said Uncle Richard, looking at the boy curiously. "You are never happy without you are along with him."

"But that's because he is ill, and I thought you wanted me to be attentive to him."

"Oh!"

"Yes, that's it, uncle. He never liked me, and always used to be cross with me, and now when he's very bad he's always so fond of me, and keeps me with him, so that I can't get away, and--and I don't like it at all."

"That's curious, isn't it, Tom?"

"Yes, uncle, I suppose it is, and I can't make it out. I don't understand it a bit. It's because he is ill, I suppose, and is sorry he used to be so rough with me. I wish he would get quite well and go back to London."

"Humph! And you would rather not go up to attend to him?"

"I'd go if you ordered me to, but I should be very miserable if I had to--worse than I am now. But, uncle, I am doing my best."

"Of course, Tom. There, I did not mean it, my boy. You are doing your duty admirably to your invalid relative. I hope we both are; and sick people's fancies are to be studied. I don't think though you need be quite so blunt, Master Blount, though," added Uncle Richard, smiling.

"I'll try not to be, uncle."

"And talk about hating people. Rather rough kind of Christianity that, Tom."

"I beg your pardon, it slipped out. I hope I don't hate him."

"So do I, my lad. There, go and do everything you can for him while he stays. He is certainly much better, and fancies now that he is worse than he is."

"I'll do everything I can, uncle," said Tom eagerly.

"I know you will, my boy; and as soon as we have set him on his legs again, you and I will grind the new speculum. The case with the two discs came down this afternoon while you were out with the chair."

"Oh!" cried Tom eagerly. "You haven't unpacked them without me, uncle?"

"No, and I do not mean to. We'll leave them where they are till our visitor has gone, and then we shall have to work like black-fellows to make up for lost time."

"Yes, uncle," cried Tom, rubbing his hands.

"No; like white-fellows," said Uncle Richard, smiling, "and I think we shall get on faster."

The next morning there was a surprise. It was Saturday, and about eleven, just when Tom had dragged round the invalid chair ready for the invalid, he saw a sprucely-dressed figure, with a "button-hole" in his coat, get down from the station fly, pay the man, and push open the gate with a cane, whose ivory crutch handle was held by a carefully-gloved hand.

For a few moments Tom was astounded; then he came to the conclusion that it was not very wonderful for a son to come down to see his sick father, and he left the chair, and went to meet his cousin.

"Hallo, bumpkin," said Sam contemptuously, "how are you?"

"Quite well," said Tom hesitatingly, and then frankly holding out his hand.

"All right; quite well, thanks," said Sam, tapping the extended hand with the cane. "Don't want to dirt my glove. What have you been doing--digging potatoes?"

"Only tidying up the chair for Uncle James."

"Hands look grubby. You should wash 'em. I say, what a beastly out-of-the-way place this is. Where's Uncle Dick? I only had a coffee and roll before I left London. Can I have some breakfast?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"How's dad?"

"Uncle James is better," said Tom quietly; and just then there was a loud groaning sound from within the porch.

"Oh--oh--oh!" at regular intervals.

"Hullo!" said Sam; "what's the matter? been killing somebody?"

"No. That's Uncle James being brought down from his room."

"Why, he wrote up and said he was better."

"It's because his breath is so short first thing in the morning."

"Oh, that's it," said Sam coolly, and he gave a sharp look round. "Is that the old windmill Uncle Dick bought?"

"Yes," said Tom, who felt rather disgusted with his cousin's indifference and cavalier airs.

At that moment they had nearly reached the porch from which the low groaning sounds issued, and the brothers appeared, with James leaning-heavily upon Richard's arm.

Uncle James started on seeing his son, and left off groaning.

"Morning, gov'nor," said Sam. "Better? Morning, Uncle Richard."

"Is--is anything wrong at the office?" cried Uncle James excitedly.

"Wrong? No. We get on all right."

"Then why have you come?"

"Oh, it was Saturday. Mother was going down to Brighton, and I thought I'd run down here from Saturday to Monday, and see how you were."

"Oh," said Uncle James in a tone of relief; and then he began to moan softly again, and moved toward the chair.

"Won't you stop for a bit, and chat with Sam?" said Uncle Richard.

"Eh? Yes, if you like," said his brother, hanging upon him feebly. "But it doesn't much matter now."

"Oh yes, it does, Jem, a good deal. Here, Sam, my lad, try and cheer your father up with what news you have of his business."

"All right, uncle; but I say, you've got a pretty place here."

"Glad you like it, my lad."

"But I say, uncle, I haven't had my breakfast. Started off so early."

"I dare say something is being got ready for you," replied his uncle, smiling. "My housekeeper is very thoughtful."

_Click_! came from through the dining-room window.

"That sounds very much like the coffee-pot lid," continued Uncle Richard. "Take your cousin in, Tom. I'll lead your uncle round the garden while Sam has his breakfast, and then they can have their chat."

"I couldn't do it, Dick--I couldn't do it," groaned his brother piteously. "I'm as feeble as a babe."

"Then the fresh air will strengthen you," said Uncle Richard; and moaning softly as he drew his breath, James Brandon went slowly down the gravel walk.

"Only does that moaning noise when he thinks about it," said Sam, as he entered the house.

"No, I've noticed that," replied Tom; but all the same he felt annoyed by his cousin's brutal indifference. "Let me take your hat."

"No, thanks. Hang it up myself. Don't want it spoiled."

Tom drew back while the hat and cane were deposited in their places; and then the pair entered the little dining-room, where a luncheon tray was already placed at one end of the table, but with coffee-pot and bread-and-butter just being arranged by Mrs Fidler.

"Ah, that's your sort," said Sam; "but I say, old lady, I'm peckish; haven't you got anything beside this?"

"Some ham is being fried, sir, and some eggs boiled," said Mrs Fidler rather stiffly.

"Hah! that's better," said Sam; and Mrs Fidler left the room. "Well, young fellow, how are you getting on?" he continued, as he seated himself and began upon the breakfast. "What do you do here--clean the knives and boots?"

"No," said Tom.

"I thought you did. Hands look grubby enough."

Tom glanced at his hands, and saw that they were as rough and red as his cousin's were white and delicate.

"I help uncle do all sorts of things," he said quietly, "and sometimes I garden."

"And wish yourself back at Mornington Crescent, I'll bet tuppence."

"I haven't yet," said Tom bluntly.

"No; you always were an ungrateful beggar," said Sam in a contemptuous tone. "But that's about all you were fit for--sort of gardener's boy."

Tom felt a curious sensation tingling in his veins, and his head was hot, for times had altered now, and he was not quite the same lad as the one who had submitted to be tyrannised over in town. He was about to utter some angry retort, but he checked himself.

"I won't quarrel with him," he said to himself; and just then Mrs Fidler appeared with a covered dish, which she placed before the visitor.

"Thankye," he said shortly. "Take the cover away with you."

There was always a line or two--anxious-looking lines--upon Mrs Fidler's forehead; now five or six appeared, and her eyebrows suddenly grew closer together, and her lips tightened into a thin line, as she took off the cover, and then went in a very dignified way from the room.

Sam attacked the ham and eggs directly, and made a very hearty meal, throwing a word or two now and then at his cousin, and asking a few questions, but in an offhand, assumed, man-about-town style, and without so much as glancing at Tom, who sat watching him till he had finished his breakfast, when he rose, cleared his voice, rang the bell, brushed a few crumbs from his clothes, and took out a cigarette case.

"There!" he said; "I'll join them down the garden now. Which is the way?"

"I'll take you," said Tom; and just as Mrs Fidler entered, followed by the maid to clear away, Sam struck a wax-match, lit his cigarette, and walked out into the little hall and out into the porch, followed by Tom.

"Not a bad part of the country," said Sam condescendingly; "but who does uncle find to talk to? Precious few decent houses."

"There are plenty," said Tom; "but they are a good way off. There's uncle at the bottom of the field."

"So I see," said Sam. "I have eyes in my head. Humph! flowers. Halloo! raspberries!"

He stepped off the green path they were on to where several rows of neatly-tied-up raspberry canes crossed the garden, and began to pull the ruddy thimbles off the tiny white cones upon which they grew; while David, who was on the other side busy removing young pear-tree shoots from the wall, stared at him aghast.

"Who's that fellow?" said Sam, as he took a whiff, then a raspberry, alternately.

"Our gardener."

"_Our_, eh? Well, tell him to go on with his work. What's he staring at?"

"You," said Tom bluntly.

Sam gave him a sharp look and returned to the path, bore off to his right, and began to examine the trained fruit trees on the wall.

"Pears, peaches, nectarines, apricots, plums," said Sam coolly. "Why, they're all green and unripe. No, they're not; here's an apricot looks ready."

David uttered a gasp, for the young visitor stepped on to the neat border and took hold of the yellow apricot, whose progress the gardener had been watching for days, gave it a tug, and broke off the twig which bore it.

"Bah!" he ejaculated, as he dragged away the twig and a wall-nail and shred. "Why, the wretched thing isn't ripe."

He spat out the mouthful he had taken between his lips, and jerked the bitten fruit out over the hedge into the lane.

"Well," muttered David, as the two lads went on, "I do call that imperdence. Wonder what master would ha' said if he'd seen."

"Master" had seen his nephew's act as he came from the other side of the field with his brother leaning upon his arm, but he made no remark respecting it.

"You would like to have a chat now with your boy about business, eh, James?"

"Oh, there's nothing to talk about," said Sam carelessly. "Everything is all right. I have seen to that. I kept Pringle pretty well up to his work."

"Poor old Pringle!" thought Tom. "I ought to write to him."

"Sam is right," said the lad's father; "and--and--oh, dear me, how weak I feel! I don't want to be troubled about business. Take me in now, Dick."

"Come along, then," said his brother good-humouredly. "Tom, my lad, you'd better show your cousin about the place, and try and interest him."

"All right, uncle," was the reply; and the two boys stood watching the brothers going towards the house.

"I don't know that I want to be shown about," said Sam haughtily. "I'm not a child. You country people seem to think that we want to see your cabbages and things. Here, let's go and look at the windmill. I say, did they have a row about it?"

"What--Uncle James and Uncle Richard?"

"Of course, stupid; who did you think I meant?"

"How could they have a row about the observatory?"

"I said windmill, stupid."

"It's an observatory now," said Tom coldly.

"Observatory! Yes; it looks it. The gov'nor was awfully wild about it. Nice brother, he said, to go and take the legal business to some one else instead of to our office. There, come along."

"I must get the keys first."

"Keys? Why, I thought you were all so beautifully innocent, that you never locked up anything in the country."

"But we do," said Tom. "Wait a minute. I'll soon be back."

"Don't hurry yourself, bumpkin. I'll have some more raspberries."

"I should like to bumpkin him," thought Tom, as he ran in, got the keys, and hurried back to where Sam was "worrying the rarsps," as David afterwards indignantly said; and then the boys walked together out into the lane, and from thence through the gate into the mill-yard.

"Do you ever come here with him moon-shooting?" said Sam contemptuously.

"Uncle has not been doing any astronomy lately," replied Tom; and feeling that he could not chat about their private life, he refrained from saying anything about the work upon which they had been engaged, but contented himself with showing the workshop, and then leading the way into the laboratory.

"What do you do here?" said Sam, looking contemptuously round.

"This is the laboratory."

"Dear me, how fine we are! What's in these bottles on the shelves?"

"Chemicals."

"That your desk where you do your lessons?"

"No; that's uncle's bureau where he keeps his papers. We're going to have another table, and some chemistry and astronomical books up soon. Uncle says that he shall make this an extra study."

"Keeps his papers, eh? His will too, I suppose?"

"I don't know," said Tom.

"Yes, you do. None of your sham with me, I know you, Master Tom. That the way up-stairs?"

"Yes," said Tom quietly; and they went on up the steps.

"Just as if you wouldn't be artful enough to know all about that. Bound to say you've read it half-a-dozen times over."

"I haven't looked in uncle's drawers, and if I had I shouldn't have read any of his papers."

"Not you, of course. Too jolly good; you are such a nice innocent sort of boy. Halloo! that the telescope? what a tuppenny-ha'penny thing."

"Uncle is going to have a big one soon."

"Oh, is he! What's that door for?"

"To open and look out at the stars."

"And that wheel?"

"To turn the whole of the roof round."

"Turn it then."

Tom obeyed good-humouredly enough, though at heart he resented the hectoring, bullying way adopted by his cousin, and thought how glad he would be when Monday came.

Then the shutter was opened, and the lads got out into the little gallery, where Tom began to point out the beauty of the landscape, and the distant houses and villages to be seen from the commanding height.

"Isn't there a splendid view?" he said.

"Bosh! I've been at the top of Saint Paul's. Not a bad place to smoke a cigarette."

He lit one with a great deal of nourish, leaned over the rail, and began puffing little clouds of smoke into the air; but all the same he did not seem to enjoy it, and at the end of a few minutes allowed the little roll of tobacco to go out.

"What time do you dine here?" he said; "seven?"

Tom laughed.

"Two o'clock," he said.

"I said dinner, not lunch, stupid."

"I know what you said," replied Tom, rather sharply, but he changed his tone directly afterward. "We don't have lunch, but early dinner, and tea at six."

"How horrible!" said Sam. "Here, let's go down."

He stepped back into the observatory, looking sharply at everything while Tom secured the shutter, and then they went down into the laboratory, which evidently took the visitor's attention.

"Wouldn't be a bad place with a good Turkey carpet and some easy-chairs. I should make it my smoking-room if I lived down here. I mean if I was transported down here."

"You don't think much of the place," said Tom good-humouredly; "but you'd like it if you lived here. There's capital fishing in the river, and the fir-woods swarm with rabbits. Walnut-wood," he added, as his cousin examined the bureau. "Uncle says the brass-work is very old and curious, nearly two hundred years, he thinks."

"Got a gun?" said Sam, turning sharply away.

"No."

"Can't you get one? We might go and shoot a few rabbits."

"I don't know whether we could even if there was a gun. They are preserved about here like the hares and pheasants."

"There are no hares about here?"

"Oh, yes. I've seen several and made them run."

"But no pheasants?"

"Plenty, and as tame as can be. I saw one the other day in our field."

"Here, let's go for a walk," said Sam, the real boyish nature coming out at last. "I rather like sport, and shall buy a double gun shortly."

They went down; the place was duly locked up, Tom having refrained from making any allusions to the speculum, and the work on hand, feeling as he did that his cousin would look upon it with a contemptuous sneer. Then the keys were returned to the house, and as the two lads stood in the hall they could hear the invalid talking very loudly to Uncle Richard, evidently upon some subject in which he took interest, and Sam laughed.

"What is it?" said Tom, staring.

"The gov'nor. Hear him? He has forgotten how bad he is. No groans now. Come on."

Tom felt disgusted. He had often noticed the same thing, and formed his own conclusion; but it annoyed him to hear his cousin holding his father's weakness up to ridicule; and he followed Sam out into the garden, and from thence along the sandy lane, thinking what a long time it would be till Monday, when the visitor would return to town.

They had not gone far along the edge of the pine-wood, when all at once a dog leaped out, to begin hunting amongst the furze and brambles, and dart in again.

"What's he after?" cried Sam.

"Rabbits."

As Tom spoke, his cousin struck a match to light a fresh cigarette; and as he lit up, he became aware of the fact that the long slouching figure of Pete Warboys was there by a tree, watching his act with profound interest.

Sam uttered a low laugh full of contempt, as he noticed the lad's eager gaze, and after sending a curl of smoke floating upon the air, he jerked the wax-match from him for a few yards, to fall beneath some old dead furze.

"Have one, joskin?" he said.

Pete Warboys seemed to forget the presence of Tom, and slouched forward, holding out his hand as he uttered a low hoarse "Ah!"

Sam re-opened his cigarette case and held it out.

"Take two," he said; and Pete did so without hesitation, while Tom stood frowning. "Know how to smoke them?" said Sam.

"Ah!" growled Pete; and with a sly grin he took a little dirty black clay pipe from his pocket, and held it up before pulling one of the cigarettes to pieces and thrusting it in paper and all, without noticing that he had drawn something out with the pipe, to fall to the ground.

"Want a light?" said Sam; but Pete made no answer, merely pulling a box of matches out of his pocket and putting it back.

"Come along now," said Tom, hesitating though as he spoke.

"Wait a minute. Like sixpence, joskin?"

"Ah!" replied Pete, showing a set of dirty teeth in a grin.

"Catch then," said Sam, contemptuously tossing the coin through the air; but Pete was not active enough to seize it, and it fell amongst the herbage, and had to be searched for. "Got it?"

"Ah!" said Pete, with a grin. "Chuck us another."

"Not this time," replied Sam, with a forced laugh, as he looked at the fellow. "Like pears?"

"Ah!"

"Here then."

Sam took a well-grown hard Marie Louise pear from his pocket, and Tom stared. "Catch."

The pear was thrown, caught deftly, and transferred to a pocket in Pete's ragged trousers where a forgotten hole existed, and the fruit was seen to run down the leg and re-appear by the lad's boot. Pete grinned, picked it up, and put the fruit in a safer place.

"Catch again!" cried Sam, bringing out another pear, and throwing it this time with all his might, evidently with the intention of hitting the lad a sharp blow.

But the pear was caught as it struck in Pete's palms with a smart _spang_, and was duly transferred to the lad's pocket.

"What a shame!" thought Tom. "Uncle's choice pears, and they were not fit to pick."

"Got any more?" cried Pete.

"Yes, one. Have it?" said Sam, drawing out the finest yet, but disfigured by the marks of teeth, a piece having been bitten out, and proving too hard and green to be palatable. "Now then, catch."

This one was thrown viciously as a cricket-ball by long-field-off. But Pete's eyes were keen; he had seen the white patch on the side of the fruit, and instead of trying to catch it, he ducked his head, and let it go far away among the fir-trees, the branch of one of which it struck, and split in pieces.

"No, yer didn't," said Pete, grinning. "I say, chuck us another sixpence."

"Not this time," said Sam, puffing again at his cigarette and then staring at Tom, who suddenly threw off the feeling of hesitation which had kept him back, and made a rush forward in the direction taken by the pear.

"Where are you going?" cried Sam. "You've got plenty at home."

But Tom paid no heed; his eyes were fixed on the spot where Pete had stood when he took out his pipe, and made for it.

Pete's eyes had grown sharp from the life he led in the woods, and amongst the furze of the great heath-like commons, and he saw now the object which had fallen from his pocket. His sluggish manner was cast aside, and, as if suddenly galvanised into action, he sprang forward to secure the little object lying half hidden upon a tuft of ling.

The consequence was a smart collision, the two lads' heads coming violently in contact, and, according to the conclusions of mathematicians, flying off at a tangent. The next instant Tom and Pete, half-stunned, were seated amongst the furze gazing stupidly at each other.

Tom was the first to recover, and, bending forward, caught up a bit of twisted brass wire, secured to a short length of string, before rising to his feet.

Then Pete was up, while Sam smoked and laughed heartily.

"Here, that's mine," cried Pete; "give it to me."

"No," cried Tom, thrusting the wire into his pocket; "you've no business with a thing like that."

"Give it to me," growled Pete, "or I'll half smash yer."

"_You_ touch me if you dare!" cried Tom fiercely.

"Bravo! ciss! Have it out!" cried Sam, clapping his hands and hissing, with the effect of bringing the dog trotting up, after doing a little hunting on its own account.

"You give me that bit of string back, or I'll set the dog at yer," cried Pete.

"I shall give it to Captain Ranson's keeper," cried Tom; and Pete took a step forward.

"Fetch him then, boy!" cried Pete, clapping his hands, and a fray seemed imminent, when Tom unclasped the hands he had clenched, rushed away a few yards, and Sam stood staring, ready to cheer Pete on to give his cousin a good hiding as he mentally termed it, for his cousin seemed to him to have shown the white feather and run.

Then he grasped the reason. Tom had not gone many yards, and was dancing and stamping about in the middle of some smoke rising from among the dead furze, and where for a few moments a dull flame rose amidst a faint crackling, as the fire began to get hold.

"Here, Sam! Pete!" he shouted, "come and help."

But Sam glanced at his bright Oxford shoes and well-cut trousers, and stood fast, while a malignant grin began to spread over Pete Warboys' face, as the dog cowered shivering behind him, with its thin tail tucked between its legs.

Pete thrust both hands down into his pockets, but did not stir to help, and Tom, after stamping out the fire in one place, had to dash to another; this being repeated again and again in the exciting moments. Then he mastered it, and a faint smoke and some blackened furze was all that was left of what, if left to itself, would have been a great common fire.

"All out?" said Sam, as his cousin came up hot and panting. "Why, what a fuss about nothing."

"Fuss!" cried Tom excitedly; "why, if it had been left five minutes the fir-wood must have caught."

"Bah! green wood won't burn."

"Oh, won't it?" cried Pete. "It just will. Here, you give me my bit o' string, or I shall go and say I see yer set the furze alight o' purpose."

"Go and say so then," cried Tom. "No one will believe you. Come along, Sam."

Tom gave one more look at the blackened furze, and then turned to his cousin.

"Look here," he said; "you bear witness that this fire is quite out."

"Oh, yes; it's out," said Sam.

"And that Pete Warboys showed us a box of matches."

"Yes, but what of that?"

"Why this," said Tom; "if the fire breaks out again, it will be because this fellow has set it alight."

Pete's features contracted, and without another word he slouched away into the wood and disappeared, followed by his dog.

"I say, you hit him there, Tom," said Sam, with a laugh. "Think he would have done it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, a bit of a bonfire wouldn't have done much harm."

"What!" cried Tom, looking at his cousin aghast. "Why, hundreds of acres of fir-trees might have been burnt. Uncle said there was a small patch burned one year, and there is so much turpentine in the trees, that they roared away like a furnace, and if they had not stood alone, the mischief would have been terrible."

"Then you think that chap had set the furze alight before we came."

"No, I don't," cried Tom sharply, "for I saw you throw a burning wax-match amongst them, only I was so stupid I never thought of going to tread upon it."

"Yes, you always were precious chuckle-headed," cried Sam, with a laugh. "But I don't believe it was my match. If it had gone on burning, and there had been a row, I should have laid the blame on him."

Tom gave him a quick look and said nothing, but thought a good deal.

Sam noticed the look, and naturally divined his cousin's thoughts.

"Oh," he said, "if you want to get on in the world, it's of no use to give yourself away. I say, who is that joskin?"

"Pete Warboys, half gipsy sort of fellow. I've seen him poaching. Look here, this is a wire to catch hares or rabbits with."

Tom took out the wire noose, and held it out to his cousin.

"How do you know? that wouldn't catch a hare."

"It would. The gardener showed me once with a bit of string. Look here; they drive a peg into the ground if there isn't a furze stump handy, tie the string to it, and open the wire, so as to make a ring, and set it in a hare's run."

"What do you mean--its hole in the ground?"

"Hares don't make holes in ground, but run through the same openings in hedges or amongst the furze and heath. You can see where they have beaten the grass and stuff down. Then the poachers put the wire ring upright, the hares run through, and drag the noose tight, and the more they struggle, the faster they are."

"Oh, that's it, is it? I never lived in the country. Here, catch hold. No, Stop; let's set it, and try and catch one."

Tom stared.

"I say," he cried; "why I read all about that in _The Justice of the Peace_,--don't you know that it's punishable?"

"Of course for the joskins, but they wouldn't say anything to a gentleman who did it for experiment."

Tom laughed.

"I shouldn't like a keeper to catch me doing it."

"I said a gentleman," said Sam coolly. "So that's a young poacher, is it?"

"Yes, and I thought it was a pity for you to give him money."

"Oh, I always like to behave well to the lower orders and servants when I'm out on a visit," said Sam. "Here, let's get back."

"Back! why, I thought we were going for a long walk," cried Tom.

"Well, we've had one. Suppose we went further, you cannot get a cab home, I suppose?"

"No," said Tom quietly, and with a faint smile. "You couldn't get any cabs here."

Sam turned back, and Tom followed his example, thinking the while about their adventure, and of what a terrible fire there might have been.

"What are you going to do with that wire?"

"Show it to uncle," said Tom quietly, "and then burn it."

"Bah! brass wire won't burn."

"Oh yes, it will," said Tom confidently. "Burn all away."

"How do you know?"

"Chemistry," said Tom. "I've read so. You can burn iron and steel all away."

"No wonder you couldn't get on with the law," said Sam, with a sneer. "Here, come on; I'm tired." _

Read next: Chapter 21

Read previous: Chapter 19

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