Work and Win Part 6

"Do you mean to say, Ben, that you think f.a.n.n.y 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 f.a.n.n.y 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.

CHAPTER V.

SQUIRE WRIGGS AT WOODVILLE.

Bertha was deeply pained at the reckless wrong which her _protege_ had done, and more deeply by the cool indifference with which he carried himself after his voluntary confession. There was little to hope for while he manifested not a single sign of contrition for the crime committed. He was truly sorry for the grief he had caused her; but for his own sin he did not speak a word of regret.

"I suppose I am to be a tinker now," said Noddy to her, with a smile, which looked absolutely awful to Bertha, for it was a token of depravity she could not bear to look upon.

"I must leave you now, Noddy, for you are not good," replied Bertha, sadly.

"I am sorry you feel so bad about me, Miss Bertha," added Noddy.

"I wish you would be sorry for yourself, instead of me."

"I am--sorry that you want to make a tinker of me;" and Noddy used this word to express his contempt of any mechanical occupation.

He did not like to work. Patient, plodding labor, devoid of excitement, was his aversion; though handling a boat, cleaning out a gutter on some dizzy height of the mansion, or cutting off a limb at the highest point of the tallest shade tree on the estate, was entirely to his taste, and he did not regard anything as work which had a spice of danger or a thrill of excitement about it. He was not lazy, in the broad sense of the word; there was not a more active and restless person on the estate than himself. A shop, therefore, was a horror which he had no words to describe, and which he could never endure.

"I want to see you in some useful occupation, where you can earn your living, and become a respectable man," said Bertha. "Don't you want to be a respectable man, Noddy?"

"Well, I suppose I do; but I had rather be a vagabond than a respectable tinker."

"You must work, Noddy, if you would win a good name, and enough of this world's goods to make you comfortable. Work and win; I give you this motto for your guidance. My father told me to lock you up in your room."

"You may do that, Miss Bertha," laughed Noddy. "I don't care how much you lock me in. When I want to go out, I shall go. I shall work, and win my freedom."

Noddy thought this application of Bertha's motto was funny, and he had the hardihood to laugh at it, till Bertha, hopeless of making any impression on him at the present time, left the room, and locked the door behind her.

"Work and win!" said Noddy. "That's very pretty, and for Miss Bertha's sake I shall remember it; but I shan't work in any tinker's shop. I may as well take myself off, and go to work in my own way."

Noddy was tired, after the exertions of the day; and so deeply and truly repentant was he for the wrong he had done, that he immediately went to sleep, though it was not yet dark. Neither the present nor the future seemed to give him any trouble; and if he could avoid the miseries of the tinker's shop, as he was perfectly confident he could, he did not concern himself about any of the prizes of life which are gained by honest industry or patient well doing.

When it was quite dark, and Noddy had slept about two hours, the springing of the bolt in the lock of his door awoke him. He leaped to his feet, and his first thought was, that something was to be done with him for burning the boat-house. But the door opened, and, by the dim light which came through the window, he recognized the slight form of f.a.n.n.y Grant.

"Noddy," said she, timidly.

"Well, Miss f.a.n.n.y, have you come to let me out of jail?"

"No; I came to see you, and n.o.body knows I am here. You won't expose me--will you?"

"Of course I won't; that isn't much like me."

"I know it isn't, Noddy. What did you say that you set the fire for?"

"Because I thought that was the best way to settle the whole thing. Ben saw you come out of the boat-house, and told your father he believed you set the building on fire. That was the meanest thing the old man ever did. Why didn't he lay it to me, as he ought to have done?"

"I suppose he knew you didn't do it."

"That don't make any difference. He ought to have known better than tell your father it was you."

"I am so sorry for what you have done!"

"What are you sorry for? It won't hurt me, any how; and it would be an awful thing for you. They were going to make a tinker of me before, and I suppose they will do it now--if they can. I wouldn't care a fig for it if Miss Bertha didn't feel so bad about it."

"I will tell her the truth."

"Don't you do it, Miss f.a.n.n.y. That wouldn't help me a bit, and will spoil you."

"But I must tell the truth. They don't suspect me even of going on the water."

"So much the better. They won't ask you any hard questions. Now, Miss f.a.n.n.y, don't you say a word; for if you do, it will make it all the worse for me."

"Why so, Noddy?"

"Because, according to my notion, I did set the building afire. If I hadn't said what I did, you never would have thought of doing it. So I was the fellow that did it, after all. That's the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"But you didn't set it afire, and you didn't mean to do any such thing."