Part 17 (2/2)

”Who wants me?” said Waller, changing colour and seeing all sorts of imaginary dangers below.

”Don't know, sir. Martha told me to come and tell you somebody's there.

I think it's the soldiers come again.”

Waller compressed his lips, and could not have spoken for a few moments if it had been to save his life, while he gazed despairingly at his companion.

”Say I will come down directly,” he almost gasped, and to divert the maid's attention, he hammered sharply on his work-bench, gazing dejectedly at his companion the while, as they both listened to the girl's descending footsteps.

”Don't be downhearted,” he whispered. ”It may mean nothing. I'll lock you in and go down. If anything does go wrong and you hear people coming up, make for the hiding-place in the ivy again. And look here, I don't believe they will find where you are hidden, but take the coil with you, and if anyone is coming to search the roof, make the rope fast to one of the chimney-stacks, watch for your chance, slide down, and then make for the forest to find a hiding-place somewhere down by the river.”

”And what then? You'll never find me.”

”Oh, yes, I will, and if you hear three little twits like a blackbird's, only louder, you can answer, for it will be I.”

There was no time for more, so Waller slipped out and went down, expecting to see the redcoats in the hall; but there was no one there, and he went on into the kitchen.

”Who wants me, cook?” he said.

”It's that Bunny Wrigg, Master Waller, come begging, I suppose, because he knows master's out.”

With a sigh of relief and the wish at his heart that he could send G.o.dfrey the news at once that there was nothing to fear, the boy went out into the yard, where the big, brown, gipsy-like ne'er-do-well of the place was holding a fine freshly washed turnip in one hand, his knife in the other, busily munching a slice.

”Oh, it's you, Bunny, is it?”

”Yes, Master Waller; me it is.”

”Where did you get that turnip?”

”Joe Hanson giv' it me, sir. It's one of yours, and it's prime.”

”Joe has no business to give things away when father's out--not to anybody.”

”Oh, I aren't anybody, Master Waller,” said the man, with a grin. ”I'm n.o.body, and don't count.”

”Well, look here; I don't want to know anything about any strange birds or polecats or owls or hawks or anything. I am busy now. There's a s.h.i.+lling for you. Be off.”

”You're busy, are you?”

”Yes, very.”

”Hah! s.h.i.+lling, eh? I don't want it.”

”First time I ever knew you refuse money.”

”Ah, but that's only a s.h.i.+lling. I want a lot.”

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