Part 89 (2/2)
”No, sir. 'Tarn't likely,” growled the man, morosely. ”I'm sartain to go and tell tales everywhere, and blab it all out, whatever it is.”
”No, no; I don't believe you, lad. You always were true as steel, Samson.”
”Master Fred, lad, I'd die for you!” half sobbed Samson, with his face working; and he clung now to the hand extended to him. ”But do, do speak, sir. Poor Nat aren't dead?”
”No, no! How could I have been such an idiot!”
”Such a what, sir? Here, who says so?” cried Samson, truculently.
”I can't think how it was I never thought of it before.”
”Here, sir, 'pon my head, I don't know which hole you're coming out of.
What do you mean?”
”They're alive, Samson; they're alive!”
”_He's_ alive, sir--_he's_ alive, you mean.”
”No; I mean they must be alive.”
”But there never was but one Nat, sir; and that was quite enough.”
”You don't understand me, man.”
”No, sir, and n.o.body else could, talking like that.”
”No, of course not. That's why I said could I trust you. Scar and Sir G.o.dfrey and Nat must be all safe.”
”Do you know what you are talking about, sir, or are you a bit off your head?”
”I'm as clear-headed as you are, man. Look there!”
”Yes, sir, I'm a-looking, and there's a heap o' sere 'ood with a bit of a hole in it.”
”Yes; some one has been through there.”
”What, do you think he has made himself another hole?”
”Yes, Samson.”
Fred gave a quick, excited look round, but they were alone in the patch of forest.
”Yes, sir, I'm a-listening.”
”There's a secret pa.s.sage leads from there right up to the Hall.”
”Secret grandmother, sir!”
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