Part 6 (1/2)
”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.”