The Weathercock Part 65

"You were not, dear," said Aunt Hannah, decidedly.

"Oh, yes, I was, my dear, and this has roused me up. There, I don't care a bit for the loss, since you two take it so bravely. And, perhaps after all, in spite of all the lawyers say, matters may not turn out quite so badly. Deering says he shall come down, and I like that: it's honourable and straightforward of him."

"I wish he would not come," said Aunt Hannah, "I wish we had never seen his face."

"No, no! tut, tut," said the doctor.

"I'm sure I shall not be able to speak civilly to him," cried Aunt Hannah.

"You will, dear, and you will make him as welcome as ever. His misfortune is as great as ours--greater, because he has the additional care of feeling that he has pretty well ruined us and poor Vane here."

"Oh, it hasn't ruined me, uncle," cried Vane. "I don't so much mind missing college."

"But, suppose I had some money to leave you, my boy, and it is all gone."

"Oh," cried Vane, merrily, "I'm glad of that. Mr Syme said one day that he always pitied a young man who had expectations from his elders, for, no matter how true-hearted the heir might be, it was always a painful position for him to occupy, that of waiting for prosperity till other people died. It was something like that, uncle, but I haven't given it quite in his words."

"Humph! Syme is a goose," said the doctor, testily. "I'm sure you never wanted me dead, so as to get my money, Vane."

"Why, of course not, uncle. I never thought about money except when I wanted to pay old Wrench or Dance for something he made for me."

"There, I move that this meeting be adjourned," cried the doctor. "One moment, though, before it is carried unanimously. How will Aunt behave to poor Deering, when he comes down."

"Same as she behaves to every one, uncle," cried Vane, laughing.

"There, old lady," said the doctor, "and as for the money, bah! let it take wings and fly away, and--"

The doctor's further speech was checked by Aunt Hannah throwing her arms about his neck and burying her face in his breast, while Vane made a rush out into the garden and then ran rapidly down the avenue.

"If I'd stopped a minute longer, I should have begun blubbering like a great girl," he muttered. "Why, hanged if my eyes aren't quite wet."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.

Vane made his way straight to the rectory, with a fixed intention in his mind. The idea had been growing for days: now it was quite ripe, consequent, perhaps, on the state of mind produced by the scene at the manor.

"It will be more frank and manly," he said to himself. "He's different to us and can't help his temper, so I'll look over everything, and say 'what's the good of our being bad friends. Shake hands and forgive me.

I'm a rougher, coa.r.s.er fellow than you are, and I dare say I've often said things that hurt you when I didn't mean it.'"

"Come, he can't get over that," said Vane, half-aloud, and full of eagerness to get Distin alone, he turned up the rectory lane, and came at once upon Gilmore and Macey.

"Hullo, Weatherc.o.c.k," cried the latter, "which way does the wind blow?"

"Due east."

"That's rectory way."

"Yes; is Distie in?"

"No; what do you want with him. He doesn't want you. Come along with us," said Gilmore.

"No, I want to see Distie--which way did he go?"

"Toward the moor," said Macey, with an air of mock mystery. "There's something going on, old chap."

"What do you mean?"

"A little girl came and waited about the gate till we were in the grounds, and then she began to signal and I went to her. But she didn't want me. She said she wanted to give this to that tall gentleman."

"This?" said Vane. "What was this?"

"A piece of stick, with notches cut in it," said Macey.

"You're not chaffing, are you?"

"Not a bit of it. I went and told Distie, and he turned red as a bubby-jock and went down to the gate, took the stick, stuck it in his pocket, and then marched off."

"Why, what does that mean?" cried Vane.

"I don't know," said Macey. "Distie must belong to some mysterious bund or verein, as the Germans call it. Perhaps he's a Rosicrucian, or a member of a mysterious sect, and this was a summons to a meeting."

"Get out," cried Vane.

"Well, are you coming with us? Aleck has had a big tip from home, and wants to spend it."

"Yes; do come, Vane."

"No, not to-day," cried the lad, and he turned off and walked away sharply to avoid being tempted into staying before he had seen Distin, and "had it out," as he termed it.

"Hi! Weatherc.o.c.k!" shouted Macey, "better stop. I've invented something--want your advice."

"Not to be gammoned," shouted back Vane; and he went off at a sharp trot, leaped a stile and went on across the fields, his only aim being to get away from his companions, but as soon as he was out of sight, he hesitated, stopped, and then went sharply off to his left.

"I'll follow Distie," he muttered. "The moor's a good place for a row.

He can shout at me there, and get in a pa.s.sion. Then he'll cool down, and we shall be all right again--and a good job too," he added. "It is so stupid for two fellows studying together to be bad friends."

By making a few short cuts, and getting over and through hedges, Vane managed to take a bee-line for the moor, and upon reaching it, he had a good look round, but there was no sign of Distin.

"He may be lying down somewhere," thought Vane, as he strode on, making his way across the moor in the direction of the wood, but still there was no sign of Distin, even after roaming about for an hour, at times scanning the surface of the long wild steep, at others following the line of drooping trees at the chalk-bank edge, but for the most part forgetting all about the object of his search, as his attention was taken up by the flowers and plants around. There was, too, so much to think about in the scene at home, that afternoon, and as he recalled it all, Vane set his teeth, and asked himself whether the time was not coming when he must set aside boyish things, and begin to think seriously of his future as a man.

He went on and on, so used to the moor that it seemed as if his legs required no guidance, but left his brain at liberty to think of other things than the course he was taking, while he wondered how long it would be before he left Greythorpe, and whether he should have to go to London or some one of the big manufacturing towns.

There was Mr Deering, too, ready to take up a good deal of his thought.

And now it seemed cruel that this man should have come amongst them to disturb the current of a serene and peaceful life.