Brownsmith's Boy Part 79

I walked boldly to the candle and held up my heavily-nailed garden boots, so that Sir Francis could see the soles.

"That will do, my lad," he said. "Now you, Courtenay, and you, Philip."

They came forward half-puzzled, but I saw clearly enough Sir Francis'

reasons, Ike's remark about the fresh digging having given me the clue.

"That will do," said Sir Francis; and as the boys pa.s.sed me to go back to their places I heard Philip utter a sigh of relief.

"What time did you hear these people climb over the wall, Grant?" said Sir Francis.

"I can't tell exactly, Sir Francis," I replied. "I think it must have been about eight o'clock."

"What time is it now, Courtenay?" said Sir Francis. The lad clapped his hand to his pocket, but his watch was not there.

"I've left it in the bed-room," he said hastily; and he turned to leave the library, but stopped as if turned to stone as he heard Sir Francis thunder out:

"You left it hanging on the Easter Beurre pear-tree, sir, when you climbed down with your brother--on one of the short spurs, before you both left your foot-marks all over the newly-dug bed. Courtenay Dalton--Philip Dalton, if you were my own sons I should feel that a terrible stain had fallen upon my name."

The boys stood staring at him, looking yellow, and almost ghastly.

"And as if that proof were not enough, Courtenay, Dalton; when you fell and broke that currant bush--"

"It was Phil who fell," cried the boy with a vicious snarl.

"The truth for the first time," said Sir Francis. Then bitterly: "And I thought you were both gentlemen! Leave the room."

"It was Phil who proposed it all, papa," cried Courtenay appealingly.

"Ah, you sneak!" cried Philip. "I didn't, sir. I was as bad as he was, I suppose, and I thought it good fun, but I shouldn't have told all those lies if he hadn't made me. There, they were all lies! Now you can punish me if you like."

"Leave the room!" said Sir Francis again; and he stood pointing to the door as the brothers went out, looking miserably crestfallen.

Then the door closed, and the silence was broken by a sharp cry, a scuffle, the sound of blows, and a fall, accompanied by the smas.h.i.+ng of some vessel on the stone floor.

Sir Francis strode out into the hall, and there was a hubbub of voices, and I heard Philip cry pa.s.sionately:

"Yes; I did hit him. He began on me, and I'll do it again--a coward!"

Then there was a low murmur for a few minutes, and Sir Francis came back into the library and stood by the table, with the light s.h.i.+ning on his great silver moustache; and I thought what a fine, handsome, fierce old fellow he looked as he stood frowning there for quite a minute without speaking. Then, turning to Mr Solomon, he said quickly:

"I beg your pardon, Brownsmith. I was excited and irritable to-night, and said what I am sorry for now."

"Then don't say any more, Sir Francis," replied Mr Solomon quietly.

"I've been your servant--"

"Faithful servant, Brownsmith."

"Well, Sir Francis, 'faithful servant,'" said Mr Solomon smiling, "these twenty years, and you don't suppose I'm going to heed a word or two like that."

"Thank you, Brownsmith," said Sir Francis, and he turned to Ike and spoke sharply once more.

"What regiment were you in, sir?"

"Eighth Hoozoars, Captain," said Ike, drawing himself up and standing at attention.

"Colonel," whispered Mr Solomon.

"All right!" growled Ike.

"Well, then, Isaac Barnes, speaking as one old soldier to another, I said words to you to-night for which I am heartily sorry. I beg your pardon."

"G.o.d bless you, Colonel! If you talk to me like that arterward, you may call me what you like."

"Eh?" cried Sir Francis sharply; "then I will. How dare you then, you scoundrel, go and disgrace yourself; you, an ex-British soldier--a man who has worn the king's uniform--disgrace yourself by getting drunk?

Shame on you, man, shame!"

"Go on, Colonel. Give it to me," growled Ike. "I desarve it."

"No," said Sir Francis, smiling; "not another word; but don't let it occur again."

Ike drew his right hand across one eye, and the left over the other, and gave each a flip as if to shake off a tear, as he growled something about "never no more."

I hardly heard him, though, for I was trembling with agitation as I saw Sir Francis turn to me, and I knew that my turn had come.

"Grant, my lad," he said quietly; "I can't tell you how hurt and sorry I felt to-night when I believed you to be mixed up with that contemptible bit of filching. There is an abundance of fruit grown here, and I should never grudge you sharing in that which you help to produce. I was the more sorry because I have been watching your progress, and I was more than satisfied: I beg your pardon too, for all that I have said.

Those boys shall beg it too."

He held out his hand, and I caught it eagerly in mine as I said, in choking tones.

"My father was an officer and a gentleman, sir, and to be called a thief was very hard to bear."

"It was, my lad; it was," he said, shaking my hand warmly. "There, there, I'll talk to you another time."

I drew back, and we were leaving the room, I last, when, obeying an impulse, I ran back.

"Well, my lad?" he said kindly.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Francis; but you said that they should beg my pardon."

"Yes," he said hotly; "and they shall."

"If you please, Sir Francis," I said, "I would rather they did not."

"Why, sir?"

"I think they have been humbled enough."

"By their own conduct?" said Sir Francis. "Yes, you are right. I will not mention it again."