The Vast Abyss Part 33

"Where is he? Call him," said Uncle Richard.

"He arn't at home, and you can't see him."

"How long will he be?"

"I d'know. P'raps he won't come back no more, so you needn't come poking about here."

"When did he go out last?" said Uncle Richard.

"Last week I think, but my mind arn't good now at figgers. Tell me what you want, and if ever I see him again I'll tell him."

"We are wasting time, Tom," said Uncle Richard in a whisper.

"Yes," said the old woman viciously; "you're wasting time. It's no use for you to come here to try and get things to say again my poor boy. I know you and your ways. You want to get him sent away, I know; and you're not going to do it. I know you all--parson and doctor, and you, Brandon, you're all against my poor innocent boy; but you're not going to hurt him, for you've got me to reckon with first."

"Your sight and hearing seem to have come back pretty readily, Mrs Warboys."

"You never mind that," cried the old woman. "I know what I'm saying, and I'm not afraid of any of you."

Just then one of the women from the next cottages came out and curtseyed to them.

"Don't take any notice of what she says, sir. She's a bit put out to-day."

"So it seems," said Uncle Richard. "Let me see, Mrs Deane, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," said the woman, smiling.

"You can tell me then where is Pete Warboys?"

The old woman literally shrieked out--

"Let her say a word if she dares. She'd better. She hasn't forgotten what I did to--Ah! look at that."

She uttered the last words triumphantly, for the woman turned and ran hurriedly into her cottage.

"Come along, Tom," said Uncle Richard; "we are doing no good here;" and he turned and led the way down toward the gate, with the old woman shrieking out a torrent of words after them, and playing an accompaniment formed of slaps upon the door till they were out of hearing.

"What a terrible old woman!" said Tom at last. "That Mrs Deane seemed quite frightened of her."

"Yes; the poor ignorant people here believe that she has the power to do them harm; and in spite of all Mr Maxted tells them, he cannot shake their faith."

"What shall you do now, uncle?"

"Nothing, my boy, upon second thoughts. I am afraid we should not be able to prove that this young scoundrel did the mischief without calling in the police, and that I am very loth to do."

"But he ought not to be allowed to go about doing such things as that, uncle," said Tom warmly. "It gets the wrong people suspected."

"Yes," said Uncle Richard dryly; "and perhaps we are suspecting the wrong person now."

"But who else could it be, uncle?"

"Some tramp perhaps, on the way to London. No, Tom, I don't think we will waste our time in trying to bring the misdoing home to Mr Pete Warboys, and then appearing before the magistrates to punish him. We had better set to work and polish a new speculum."

"Then you will make another?" said Tom eagerly.

"Of course, my boy. I shall write off for two fresh discs to-night."

"One will do, uncle."

"No, boy; we must have two, and begin as before. The lower one is useless now, unless I keep it for a polis.h.i.+ng tool."

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."