The Parson O' Dumford Part 56

"Oh, I should put a few _laurels_ there, sir."

"And in the centre bed?"

"A few laurels, sir."

"And by the bare patch by the edge?"

"Just a few laurels, sir."

"And along the side of the house?"

"Couldn't put anything better than a few laurels, sir."

"And for the new hedge to separate the two gardens?"

"Oh, a few laurels, sir."

"Then you would put laurels all about?"

"Well, yes, sir; you see they're so evergreen and--"

"Oh, here's Podmore," said the vicar, going down to the gate. "Well, my lad, how are you? I'm glad to see you."

"Thanky' kindly, sir," said Tom, pressing firmly the hand given to him in so friendly a way. "Can I speak to you a minute?"

"Of course you can. Come into the house."

He led the way into the vicarage, and placed a chair for Tom in the study, but the young man did not take it, and remained silent.

"I'm deeply grieved," said the vicar, laying his hand on the young fellow's shoulder; "deeply, Tom Podmore. I had hoped that she would have come to her senses, and made a better choice."

"Don't, sir, please don't," said Tom, turning away his head; and, laying his arm against the wall, he placed his forehead against it, and his broad shoulders heaved. "I can't bear to hear a word spoke again her, sir."

"I'll not speak against her, Podmore, believe me, poor girl; and I deeply regret that her father was too blind to listen to me."

"You spoke to him, then?" said Tom, sadly.

"I did; and I have striven hard to be friends with Richard Glaire, and to bring him to a better feeling; but I failed with both."

"Then you think as I do, sir," said Tom, sadly--"You think as she's been took away?"

"I cannot help thinking so," was the reply. "If I am misjudging, I am very sorry; but I have done everything I could to trace her, even to having a man down from town, who has been constantly searching ever since she disappeared, and he has discovered nothing."

"And have you done this, sir?"

"Yes; why should I not?" said the vicar, sadly. "But you have come for some reason, Podmore. What can I do for you?"

"Well, sir, I've comed about these goings on up yonder in the town."

"There's no fresh violence, I hope," cried the vicar, hastily.

"Not as yet, sir; but there's going to be, I'm afraid. You see, sir, there's about a couple of dozen as has been got over by Sim Slee, and he's made 'em join him in some kind of brotherhood, as he calls it. The older men as has got heads on their shoulders laughs at it all, and looks upon Sim as a chattering fool."

"Fools do mischief sometimes," said the vicar, half to himself.

"Yes, sir, they do; but all the best of the men tak' Sim Slee at what he's worth; but there's a few, you see, as are 'mazed by his big words, and are ready to be led into any mischief."

"Yes; and you know of this?" said the vicar, anxiously.

"Yes, sir, I've found as they've got to know that Mr Richard Glaire's going away to-night."

"Is he going away?" said the vicar.

"So Sim Slee's telling on 'em, sir; but what does it mean 'bout Sim Slee being so thick wi' him just afore, and now dead again' him?"

"Some quarrel," said the vicar. "Sim Slee must be made to speak out somehow."

"He's been speaking to some purpose to-day," said Tom, sharply; "and I think they mean mischief against the maister to-night, when he's going away."

"And you've come to tell me this!" said the vicar, looking at the st.u.r.dy rough young fellow admiringly.

"Yes," said Tom, simply. "I went and told him at the house, but he turned on me, and said things I couldn't bear, and made me grip him, when Miss Eve came out and atween uz, and that stopped me."

"Well?"

"And then he pulled out a pistol and threatened me."

"What made you grip him?" said the vicar, using the young man's words.

"He--he spoke again' her," said Tom, hoa.r.s.ely; and as he spoke the veins in his forehead swelled, and an angry frown came upon his countenance.

"Then you went to the house to warn Richard Glaire of his danger, and he--"

"Threatened me, and said it was a trap I was laying," said Tom.

"And then you came to tell me he was in danger. And what for?"

Tom was silent for a few moments. Then glancing up in the clear firm face which seemed to demand an answer, he said, almost in a whisper:

"I couldn't abear for him to be knocked about, if I could stop it."

"For Daisy's sake?"

"For Daisy's sake," said the young man; and the next moment the vicar's hand had closed upon his in a firm grasp.

"Then we'll try and save him, Tom," said the vicar quietly. "I'm very glad you've come, Tom. I've seen very little of you lately."

Tom looked up at him curiously, said something about being much obliged, and was turning to go, when the vicar stopped him.