Chapter 2: The Showman's Grandchild.
Three months later the showman again appeared at Sidmouth, but did notset up his box as usual. Leaving it at his lodging, he went at oncewith his grandchild to Mrs. Walsham's.
"I have come, madam," he said after the first inquiries about the childhad been answered, "on a particular business. It will seem a strangething to you for a man like me to ask, but things are not quite as theyseem, though I can't explain it now. But I am beating about the bush,and not getting any nearer. I have come to ask, madam, whether youwould take charge of the child for two years. Of course I am ready topay anything that you may think proper."
"But I don't take boarders," Mrs. Walsham said, much surprised at theproposition. "I only take girls who come in the morning and go away inthe afternoon. Besides, they are all a good many years older than yourgrandchild. None of the girls who come to me are under twelve."
"I know, ma'm, I know; and I am sure you must think it a great libertyon my part to ask such a thing," the sergeant said apologetically. "Itis not the teaching I want, but just a home for her."
Mrs. Walsham felt puzzled. She did, in her heart, feel it to be aliberty. Surely this wandering showman would find no difficulty ingetting his grandchild taken care of among people of his own rank inlife. It did seem most singular that he should seek to place the childwith her. Mrs. Walsham was not given to thinking what her neighbourswould say, but she thought of the buzz of comment and astonishmentwhich her taking the charge of this child would excite. She had beenparticular in keeping her little school to some extent select, and asit was now as large as she could manage unaided, she was able to makeit almost a favour to the farmers' wives to take their girls.
But to do Mrs. Walsham justice, this thought had less influence withher than that of the time and care which would be required by a childof that age in the house. Certainly, she thought, as she looked at her,sitting with her eyes wide open and an expression of grave wonder inher face, "she is a little darling, and as Jim saved her life I have aspecial interest in her; but this is out of the question."
It was two or three minutes before she answered the showman's lastwords.
"No, it cannot be done, Sergeant Wilks. No money that could be paid mewould make up to me for the charge of a child of her age. I am all dayin school, and what could a child, especially one accustomed to be outall day, do with herself? The worry and anxiety would be immense. Wereit not for my school, it would be different altogether. A child of thatage, especially such a sweet little thing as your granddaughter seemsto be, would be a pet and amusement; but as it is, I am sorry to saythat it is out of the question. But surely you will have no difficultyin finding plenty of good women who would be glad to take her, and towhom, having children of the same age, she would be no troublewhatever."
"Yes," the sergeant said slowly, "I was afraid you would say that,ma'm. Besides, though you are good enough not to say it, I know thatthere must be other objections. I know you must be surprised at mywanting her to be with a lady like yourself. So far as money goes, Icould afford to pay fifty pounds a year, and perhaps you might get agirl who could look after Aggie while you are busy."
"Fifty pounds a year!" Mrs. Walsham said, greatly surprised. "That is alarge sum, a great deal too large a sum for you to pay for the care ofsuch a little child. For half that, there are scores of farmers' wiveswho would be happy to take her, and where she would be far more happyand comfortable than she would be with me."
"I know I could get plenty to take her," the soldier said, "but I havereasons, very particular reasons, why I wish to place her with a ladyfor two years. I cannot explain those reasons to you, but you mayimagine they must be strong ones, for me to be willing to pay fiftypounds a year for her. That money has been laid by from the day she wasborn, for that purpose. I have other reasons, of my own, for wishingthat she should be at Sidmouth rather than at any other place; and Ihave another reason," and a slight smile stole across his face, "forpreferring that she should be with you rather than anyone else. Allthis must seem very strange to you, madam; but at the end of the twoyears, when you know what my reasons were, you will acknowledge thatthey were good ones.
"God knows," he went on, looking very grave, "what a wrench it will befor me to part with her. How lonely I shall be, as I tramp the countrywithout her pretty prattle to listen to; but I have got to do it sooneror later, and these two years, when I can see her sometimes, will be abreak, and accustom me to do without her sweet face.
"Please, madam," he urged, "do not give me a final answer today. Ishall not go till Monday, and will call again, if you will let me, thatmorning; and believe me, if I could tell you all, I could give youreasons which would, I think, induce you to change your mind."
So saying, he made a military salute, took the child's hand in his, andwas soon striding along towards the sea.
Mrs. Walsham was some time before she recovered from her surprise. Thiswas, indeed, a mysterious affair. The earnestness with which the oldsoldier pleaded his cause had moved her strongly, and had almostpersuaded her to accept the proposal, which had at first seemedpreposterous. Fifty pounds a year, too, was certainly a handsome sum.She could get a girl from the village for two or three shillings a weekto look after the child, and go out with her during school hours, and ahundred pounds would be a very handsome addition to the sum which shehad begun, little by little, to lay by for Jim's preparation for themedical profession.
In the five years which would elapse, before it would be time for himto enter upon his studies for it, she could hardly hope to lay by morethan that sum, and this would at a stroke double it. Certainly it was atempting offer. She could not do justice to the child, could not giveher the care and attention which she ought to have, and which she couldhave for such a sum elsewhere; but the sergeant knew exactly how shewas placed, and if he was willing and anxious for her to assume thecharge of the child, why should she refuse this good offer?
However, her pupils were waiting for her in the next room, and with aneffort Mrs. Walsham put the matter aside, and went in to them.
When James returned home to dinner, his mother related to him the wholeconversation. James was more amused than puzzled.
"It seems a rum idea, mother; but I don't see why you shouldn't takeher. She is a sweet little thing, and will be a great amusement. Fiftypounds a year seems a tremendous sum for a man like that to pay; but Isuppose he knows his own business, and it will be a great pull for you.You will be able to have all sorts of comforts. I should like it verymuch. I have often wished I had had a little sister, and she can go outwalks with me, you know. It would be like having a big dog with one,only much jollier."
"Yes," his mother said smiling; "and I shouldn't be surprised if youwanted to throw sticks into the water for her to fetch them out, and tobe taking her out for a night's fishing, and be constantly bringing herhome splashed with that nasty red mud from head to foot. You would be anice playmate for a little girl, Jim. Perhaps it is that specialadvantage that the sergeant had in his mind's eye, when he was soanxious to put her with me."
James laughed.
"I would see that she didn't come to any harm, anyhow, you know; and,after all, I suppose it was my picking her out of the sea that hadsomething to do with his first thinking of putting her with you."
"I suppose it had, Jim," she said more seriously. "But what do youthink, my boy? You know there are disadvantages in it. There will be agood deal of talk about my taking this showman's grandchild, and someof the farmers' wives won't like it."
"Then let them dislike it," James said indignantly. "The child is asgood as their daughters, any day. Why, I noticed her in church lookinglike a little lady. There was not a child there to compare to her."
"Yes, I have noticed her myself," Mrs. Walsham said. "She is asingularly pretty and graceful child; but it will certainly causeremark."
"Well, mother, you can easily say, what is really the fact, that younaturally felt an interest in her because I picked her out
of thewater. Besides, if people make remarks they will soon be tired of that;and if not, I can get into some scrape or other and give them somethingelse to talk about."
Accordingly, when Sergeant Wilks called on Monday morning for hisanswer, Mrs. Walsham told him that she had decided to accept his offer.
"You are aware how I am placed," she said, "and that I cannot give herthe care and time which I could wish, and which she ought to have forsuch a liberal payment as you propose; but you know that beforehand,and you see that for two years' payments I could not sacrifice myschool connection, which I should have to do if I gave her the time Ishould wish."
"I understand, madam," he said, "and I am grateful to you forconsenting to take her. She is getting too old now to wander about withme, and since the narrow escape she had, last time I was here, I havefelt anxious whenever she was out of my sight. It would not suit me toput her in a farm house. I want her to learn to speak nicely, and Ihave done my best to teach her; but if she went to a farm house shewould be picking up all sorts of country words, and I want her to talklike a little lady.
"So that is settled, ma'm. I am going on to Exeter from here, and shallget her a stock of clothes there, and will bring her back nextSaturday. Will it suit you to take her then?"
Mrs. Walsham said that would suit very well; and an hour later thesergeant set out from Sidmouth with his box, Aggie trotting alongside,talking continuously.
"But why am I to stop with that lady, grampa, and not to go about withyou any more? I sha'n't like it. I like going about, though I get sotired sometimes when you are showing the pictures; and I like beingwith you. It isn't 'cause I have been naughty, is it? 'Cause I fell outof the boat into the water? I won't never get into a boat again, and Ididn't mean to fall out, you know."
"No, Aggie, it's not that," the sergeant said. "You are always a goodgirl--at least, not always, because sometimes you get into passions,you know. Still, altogether you are a good little girl. Still, you see,you can't always be going about the country with me."
"But why not, grampa?"
"Well, my dear, because great girls can't go about the country likemen. It wouldn't be right and proper they should."
"Why shouldn't it be, grampa?" the child persisted.
"Well, Aggie, I can't exactly explain to you why, but so it is. Men andboys have to work. They go about in ships, or as soldiers to fight fortheir country, just as I did. Girls and women have to stop at home, andkeep house, and nurse babies, and that sort of thing. God made man tobe hard and rough, and to work and go about. He made woman gentle andsoft, to stop at home and make things comfortable."
Aggie meditated for some distance, in silence, upon this view of thecase.
"But I have seen women working in the fields, grampa, and some of themdidn't seem very soft and gentle."
"No, Aggie, things don't always go just as they ought to do; and yousee, when people are poor, and men can't earn enough wages, then theirwives and daughters have to help; and then, you see, they get rough,more like men, because they are not doing their proper work. But I wantyou to grow up soft and gentle, and so, for a time, I want you to livewith that lady with the nice boy who pulled you out of the water, andthey will make you very happy, and I shall come and see you sometime."
"I like him," the child said with a nod; "but I would rather be withyou, you know."
"And the lady will teach you to read, Aggie. You have learned yourletters, you know."
Aggie shook her head, to show that this part of the programme was notparticularly to her liking.
"Do you think the boy will play with me, grampa?"
"I daresay he will, Aggie, when you are very good; and you must neverforget, you know, that he saved your life. Just think how unhappy Ishould be, if he had not got you out of the water."
"The water was cold and nasty," Aggie said, "and it seemed so warm andnice to my hands. Aggie won't go near the water any more. Of course, ifthe boy is with me I can go, because he won't let me tumble in.
"Shall I get into the basket now, grampa? I is tired."
"Oh, nonsense, little woman! you have not walked half a mile yet.Anyhow, you must trot along until you get to the top of this hill, thenyou shall have a lift for a bit."
And so, with the child sometimes walking and sometimes riding,sometimes asleep in her basket and sometimes chatting merrily to hergrandfather, the pair made their way across the country towards Exeter.
There was no little talk in Sidmouth when, on the following Sunday, theshowman's grandchild appeared in Mrs. Walsham's pew in church, and itbecame known that she had become an inmate of her house. It wasgenerally considered that Mrs. Walsham had let herself down greatly bytaking the showman's grandchild, and one or two of the mothers of herpupils talked about taking them away. One or two, indeed, called uponher to remonstrate personally, but they gained nothing by the step.
"I do not understand what you mean," she said quietly, "by saying thatthe child is not fit to associate with my other pupils. She issingularly gentle and taking in her manner. She expresses herselfbetter than any child of her own age in Sidmouth, so far as I know.There are few so neatly and prettily dressed. What is there to objectto? Her grandfather has been a sergeant in the army. He bears a goodcharacter, and is liked wherever he goes. I do not consider that Jamesor myself are, in any way, demeaned by sitting down to meals with thechild, who, indeed, behaves as prettily and nicely as one could wish;and I certainly do not see that any of my pupils can be injuriouslyaffected by the fact that, for an hour or two in the day, she learnsher lessons in the same room with them. Had I thought that they wouldbe, I should not have received her. I shall, of course, be sorry if anyof my pupils are taken away, but as I have several girls only waitingfor vacancies, it would make no difference to me pecuniarily."
And so it happened that Mrs. Walsham lost none of her pupils, and in ashort time the wonder died out. Indeed, the child herself was sopretty, and taking in her ways, that it was impossible to make anyobjection to her personally.
Mrs. Walsham had been struck by the self command which she showed atparting with her grandfather. Her eyes were full of tears, her lipquivered, and she could scarcely speak; but there was no loud wailing,no passionate outburst. Her grandfather had impressed upon her that theparting was for her own good, and child though she was, she felt howgreat a sacrifice he was making in parting with her, and although shecould not keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks, or silence hersobs as she bade him goodbye, she tried hard to suppress her grief.
The pain of parting was, indeed, fully as great to Sergeant Wilks as tohis granddaughter; and it was with a very husky voice that he bade hergoodbye, and then, putting her into Mrs. Walsham's arms, walked hastilyaway.
Aggie was soon at home. She and James very quickly became allies, andthe boy was ever ready to amuse her, often giving up his own plans totake her for a walk to pick flowers in the hedgerow, or to sail a tinyboat for her in the pools left as the sea retired. Mrs. Walsham found,to her surprise, that the child gave little trouble. She was quiet andpainstaking during the half hours in the morning and afternoon when shewas in the school room, while at mealtimes her prattle and talk amusedboth mother and son, and altogether she made the house brighter andhappier than it was before.
In two months the sergeant came round again. He did not bring his boxwith him, having left it at his last halting place; telling James, whohappened to meet him as he came into Sidmouth, that he did not mean tobring his show there again.
"It will be better for the child," he explained. "She has done with thepeep show now, and I do not want her to be any longer associated withit."
Aggie was delighted to see him, and sprang into his arms, with a screamof joy, as he entered. After a few minutes' talk, Mrs. Walshamsuggested that she should put on her hat and go for a walk with him,and, in high contentment, the child trotted off, holding hergrandfather's hand. Turning to the left, the sergeant took the path upthe hill, and when he reached the top, sat down on the short turf,
withAggie nestling up against him.
"So you are quite well and happy, Aggie?" he asked.
"Quite well, grampa, and very happy; but I do wish so much that youwere here. Oh. it would be so nice to have you to go out with everyday!"
"I am afraid that cannot be managed, Aggie. I have been busy so longthat I could not settle down quietly here. Besides, I must live, youknow."
"But wouldn't people give you money for the show if you lived here,grampa? You always got money here the same as other places."
"Yes, my dear, but I could not get fresh pictures every day, and shouldsoon tire them by showing the old house."
"But you are sorry sometimes, grampa, not to have me with you?"
"Yes, Aggie, very sorry. I miss you terribly sometimes, and I am alwaysthinking about you."
"Then why don't you take me away again, grampa?"
"Because, as I told you, Aggie, I want you to learn to read, and togrow up quite a little lady."
"Does reading make one a lady, grampa?"
"No, Aggie, not by itself, but with other things."
"And when I am quite grown up and big, and know how to read nicely,shall I be able to go with you again?"
"We will see about that, Aggie, when the time comes. There is plenty oftime yet to think about that."
"But I am getting on very fast, grampa, and the lady says I am a goodgirl. So it won't be such a very long time before I can leave."
"It will be some time, yet. You have only got to read little words yet,but there are lots of long words which you will come to presently. ButMrs. Walsham tells me that you are getting on nicely, and that you area very good girl, which pleases me very much; and when I am walkingalong with my box, I shall like to be able to think of you as beingquite comfortable and happy."
"And I go walks with Jim, grampa, and Jim has made me a boat, and hesays someday, when it is very fine and quiet, he will take me out in abig boat, like that boat, you know; and he is going to ask you if hemay, for the lady said I must not go out with him till he has askedyou. And he said he won't let me tumble over, and I am going to sitquite, quite still."
"Yes, Aggie, I don't see any harm in your going out with him. I am surehe will only take you when it is fine, and he will look after you well.You like him, don't you?"
"Oh! I do, grampa; and you know, it was him who got me out of thewater, else I should never have come out, and never have seen grampaagain; and he has made me a boat. Oh! yes, I do like him!"
"That's right, my dear; always stick to those who are good to you."
A few days after this, as James was sailing the toy boat, for Aggie'samusement, in a pool, a boy sauntered up. He was somewhat taller thanJames Walsham, and at least two years older. He was well dressed, andJames knew him as the nephew and heir of the squire.
It was not often that Richard Horton came down into the village. He wasaccustomed to be treated with a good deal of deference at the Hall, andto order servants and grooms about pretty much as he chose, and theindifference with which the fisher boys regarded him offended himgreatly. He was a spoilt boy. His uncle had a resident tutor for him,but the selection had been a bad one. The library was large and good,the tutor fond of reading, and he was content to let the boy learn aslittle as he chose, providing that he did not trouble him. As to anyinstruction beyond books, he never thought of giving it.
The squire never interfered. He was a silent and disappointed man. Heattended to his duties as a magistrate, and to the management of hisestate, but seldom went beyond the lodge gates. He took his meals byhimself, and often did not see his nephew for a week together, and hadno idea but that he was pursuing his studies regularly with his tutor.Thus, the character of Richard Horton formed itself unchecked. At thebest it was a bad one, but under other circumstances it might have beenimproved.
Up to the age of ten, he had lived in London with his father andmother, the latter a sister of the squire, who, having married beneathher, to the indignation of Mr. Linthorne, he had never seen herafterwards.
Four years before the story begins, she had received a letter from him,saying that, as her eldest son was now his heir, he wished him to comeand live with him, and be prepared to take his place. The Hortons, whohad a numerous family, at once accepted the offer, and Richard, hearingthat he was going to a grand house, and would no doubt have a pony andall sorts of nice things, left his father and mother without a tear.
He was essentially selfish. He was vain of his good looks, which werecertainly striking; and with his changed fortunes he became arrogant,and, as the squire's servants said, hateful; and yet the change hadbrought him less pleasure than he expected. It was true that he had thepony, that he was not obliged to trouble himself with lessons, that hewas an important person at the "Hall;" but he had no playfellows, noone to admire his grandeur, and the days often passed heavily, andthere was a look of discontent and peevishness upon his handsome face.
Perhaps the reason why he so seldom came down into Sidmouth, was notonly because the fisher boys were not sufficiently impressed with hisimportance, but because they looked so much happier and more contentedthan he felt, in spite of his numerous advantages. On this day he wasin a particularly bad temper. He had lamed his pony the day before, byriding it furiously over a bad road after it had cast a shoe. Thegardener had objected to his picking more than half a dozen peacheswhich had just come into perfection, and had threatened to appeal tothe squire.
Altogether, he was out of sorts, and had walked down to the sea with avague hope that something might turn up to amuse him. He stood for somelittle time watching James sail the boat, and then strode down to theedge of the pool. The boat was a model of a smack, with brown sails.James had taken a good deal of pains with it, and it was an excellentmodel.
Presently, in crossing, she stuck in a shallow some twelve feet fromthe edge. The intervening stretch of water was a foot deep.
James picked up some small stones and threw them close to her, that thetiny wave they made might float her off. He tried several times withoutsuccess.
"What's the use of such little stones as that?" Richard said roughly."You will never get her off like that;" and picking up one as large ashis fist, he threw it with some force.
It struck the mast, and broke it asunder, and knocked the boat on toher side. James Walsham uttered an angry exclamation.
"You are a bad boy," Aggie said passionately. "You are a bad boy tobreak my boat;" and she burst into tears.
"I didn't mean to do it, you little fool!" Richard said angrily, vexedmore at his own clumsiness than at the damage it had caused. "What areyou making such a beastly noise about?" and he gave her a push.
It was not a hard one, but the ground was slippery, and the child'sfoot slipped, and she fell at the edge of the pool, her dress goingpartly into the water. At the same instant, Richard reeled, and almostfell beside her, from a heavy blow between the eyes from James's fist.
"You insolent blackguard!" he exclaimed furiously, "I will pay you forthis;" and he rushed at James.
The combat was not a long one. Hard work at rowing and sailing hadstrengthened Jim Walsham's muscles, and more than balanced theadvantage in height and age of his adversary. He had had, too, morethan one fight in his time, and after the first sudden burst ofpassion, caused by the overthrow of Aggie, he fought coolly andsteadily, while Richard rained his blows wildly, without attempting toguard his face.
The child, on regaining her feet, ran crying loudly towards the beach,making for two fishermen who were engaged in mending a net somedistance away; but before she could reach them to beg for aid for herchampion, the fight was over, terminating by a heavy right-handed hitfrom James, which landed Richard Horton on his back in the pool.
James stood quietly awaiting a renewal of the conflict when he arose,but Richard had had enough of it. One of his eyes was already puffedand red, his nose bleeding, and his lip cut. His clothes were soakedfrom head to foot, and smeared with the red mud.
"I will pay you out for this, y
ou see if I don't," Richard gaspedhoarsely.
"What! have you had enough of it?" James said scornfully. "I thoughtyou weren't any good. A fellow who would bully a little girl is sure tobe a coward."
Richard moved as if he would renew the fight, but he thought better ofit, and with a furious exclamation hurried away towards the Hall.
James, without paying any further heed to him, waded after the boat,and having recovered it, walked off towards the child, who, on seeinghis opponent had moved off, was running down to meet him.
"Here is the boat, Aggie," he said. "There is no great harm done, onlythe mast and yard broken. I can easily put you in fresh ones;" but thechild paid no attention to the boat.
"He is a wicked bad boy, Jim; and did he hurt you?"
"Oh, no, he didn't hurt me, Aggie, at least nothing to speak of. I hurthim a good deal more. I paid him out well for breaking your boat, andpushing you down, the cowardly brute!"
"Only look, Jim," she said, holding out her frock. "What will she say?"
James laughed.
"Mother won't say anything," he said. "She is accustomed to my comingin all muddy."
"But she said 'Keep your frock clean,' and it's not clean," Aggie saidin dismay.
"Yes, but that is not your fault, little one. I will make it all rightwith her, don't you fret. Come on, we had better go home and change itas soon as possible."
They passed close by the two fishermen on their way.
"You gave it to the young squire finely, Master Walsham," one of themsaid, "and served him right, too. We chanced to be looking at themoment, and saw it all. He is a bad un, he is, by what they say up atthe Hall. I heard one of the grooms talking last night down at the'Ship,' and a nice character he gave him. This thrashing may do himsome good; and look you, Master Walsham, if he makes a complaint to thesquire, and it's likely enough he will get up a fine story of how itcame about--the groom said he could lie like King Pharaoh--you justsend word to me, and me and Bill will go up to the squire, and tell himthe truth of the matter."
Mrs. Walsham felt somewhat alarmed when her son told her what hadhappened, for the squire was a great man at Sidmouth, a magistrate, andthe owner of the greater part of the place as well as of the landaround it; and although Mrs. Walsham did not hold the same exaggeratedopinion of his powers as did the majority of his neighbours, who wouldscarcely have dreamt of opposing it, had the squire ordered anyone tobe hung and quartered, still she felt that it was a somewhat terriblething that her son should have thrashed the nephew and heir of thegreat man.
In the evening there was a knock at the door, and the little maid camein with eyes wide open with alarm, for she had heard of the afternoon'sbattle, to say that the constable wished to speak to Mrs. Walsham.
"Servant, ma'am," he said as he entered. "I am sorry to be here on anunpleasant business; but I have got to say as the squire wishes to seeMaster Walsham in the justice room at ten o'clock, on a charge of 'saltand battery.
"Don't you be afeard ma'am," he went on confidentially. "I don't thinkas anything is going to be done to him. I ain't got no warrant, and soI don't look upon it as regular business. I expects it will be just ablowing up. It will be just the squire, and not the magistrate, I takesit. He told me to have him up there at ten, but as he said nothingabout custody, I thought I would do it my own way and come to you quietlike; so if you say as Master Walsham shall be up there at ten o'clock,I'll just take your word for it and won't come to fetch him. The doctorwas allus very good to me and my missus, and I shouldn't like to bewalking through Sidmouth with my hand on his son's collar."
"Thank you, Hobson," Mrs. Walsham said quietly. "You can rely upon itmy son shall be there punctually. He has nothing to be afraid orashamed of."
Full of rage as Richard Horton had been, as he started for home, hewould never have brought the matter before the squire on his ownaccount. His case was too weak, and he had been thrashed by a boyyounger than himself. Thus, he would have probably chosen some otherway of taking his vengeance; but it happened that, just as he arrivedhome, he met his tutor coming out. The latter was astounded atRichard's appearance. His eyes were already puffed so much that hecould scarcely see out of them, his lips were cut and swollen, hisshirt stained with blood, his clothes drenched and plastered with redmud.
"Why, what on earth has happened, Richard?"
Richard had already determined upon his version of the story.
"A brute of a boy knocked me down into the water," he said, "and thenknocked me about till he almost killed me."
"But what made him assault you in this outrageous manner?" his tutorasked. "Surely all the boys about here must know you by sight; and howone of them would dare to strike you I cannot conceive."
"I know the fellow," Richard said angrily. "He is the son of thatdoctor fellow who died two years ago."
"But what made him do it?" the tutor repeated.
"He was sailing his boat, and it got stuck, and he threw in some stonesto get it off; and I helped him, and I happened to hit the mast of hisbeastly boat, and then he flew at me like a tiger, and that's all."
"Well, it seems to be a monstrous assault, Richard, and you must speakto the squire about it."
"Oh, no, I sha'n't," Richard said hastily. "I don't want any row aboutit, and I will pay him off some other way. I could lick him easy enoughif it had been a fair fight, only he knocked me down before I was on myguard. No, I sha'n't say anything about it."
But Richard's tutor, on thinking the matter over, determined to speakto the squire. Only the evening before, Mr. Linthorne had surprised himby asking him several questions as to Richard's progress and conduct,and had said something about examining him himself, to see how he wasgetting on. This had caused Mr. Robertson no little alarm, for he knewthat even the most superficial questioning would betray the extent ofRichard's ignorance, and he had resolved that, henceforth, he wouldendeavour to assert his authority, and to insist upon Richard'sdevoting a certain portion of each day, regularly, to study. Should thesquire meet the boy anywhere about the house, he must at once noticethe condition of his face; and even if he did not meet him, he couldnot fail to notice it on Sunday, when he sat beside him in the pew. Itwould be better, therefore, that he should at once report the matter tohim.
Without saying a word to Richard of his intentions, he therefore wentto the squire's study, and told him what had taken place, as he hadlearned it from Richard. The squire listened silently.
"Very well, Mr. Robertson. You were quite right to tell me about it. Ofcourse, I cannot suffer my nephew to be treated in this manner. At thesame time, I am sorry that it was Walsham's son. I don't know anythingabout the boy, and should not know him even by sight, but I had anesteem for his father, who was a hard-working man, and, I believe,clever. He used to attend here whenever any of the servants were ill,and I had intended to do something for the boy. I am sorry he hasturned out so badly. However, I will have him up here and speak to him.This sort of thing cannot be permitted."
And accordingly, orders were given to the constable. When, in theevening, Mr. Robertson informed Richard what he had done, the boy flewinto a terrible passion, and abused his tutor with a violence oflanguage which shocked and astonished him, and opened his eyes to hisown culpability, in allowing him to go on his way unchecked. He in vainendeavoured to silence the furious lad. He had been so long withoutexercising any authority, that he had now no authority to exercise,and, after an angry scene, Richard flung himself out of the room, andleft his tutor in a state bordering on consternation.