Part 7

“What, from each of 'em?” I innocently inquired.

Edward looked at me with scornful pity. “Girls never have any money,” he briefly explained. “But she did his exercises and got him out of rows, and told stories for him when he needed it--and much better ones than he could have made up for himself. Girls are useful in some ways. So he was living in clover, when unfortunately they went and quarrelled about something.”

“Don't see what that's got to do with it,” I said.

“Nor don't I,” rejoined Edward. “But anyhow the notes and things stopped, and so did the shillings. Bobby was fairly cornered, for he had bought two ferrets on tick, and promised to pay a shilling a week, thinking the shillings were going on for ever, the silly young ass. So when the week was up, and he was being dunned for the shilling, he went off to the fellow and said, 'Your broken-hearted Bella implores you to meet her at sundown,--by the hollow oak, as of old, be it only for a moment. Do not fail!' He got all that out of some rotten book, of course. The fellow looked puzzled and said,--

“'What hollow oak? I don't know any hollow oak.'

“'Perhaps it was the Royal Oak?' said Bobby promptly, 'cos he saw he had made a slip, through trusting too much to the rotten book; but this didn't seem to make the fellow any happier.”

“Should think not,” I said, “the Royal Oak's an awful low sort of pub.”

“I know,” said Edward. “Well, at last the fellow said, 'I think I know what she means: the hollow tree in your father's paddock. It happens to be an elm, but she wouldn't know the difference. All right: say I'll be there.' Bobby hung about a bit, for he hadn't got his money. 'She was crying awfully,' he said. Then he got his shilling.”

“And wasn't the fellow riled,” I inquired, “when he got to the place and found nothing?”

“He found Bobby,” said Edward, indignantly. “Young Ferris was a gentleman, every inch of him. He brought the fellow another message from Bella: 'I dare not leave the house. My cruel parents immure me closely If you only knew what I suffer. Your broken-hearted Bella.' Out of the same rotten book. This made the fellow a little suspicious, 'cos it was the old Ferrises who had been keen about the thing all through: the fellow, you see, had tin.”

“But what's that got to--” I began again.

“Oh, I dunno,” said Edward, impatiently. “I'm telling you just what Bobby told me. He got suspicious, anyhow, but he couldn't exactly call Bella's brother a liar, so Bobby escaped for the time. But when he was in a hole next week, over a stiff French exercise, and tried the same sort of game on his sister, she was too sharp for him, and he got caught out. Somehow women seem more mistrustful than men. They're so beastly suspicious by nature, you know.”

“I know,” said I. “But did the two--the fellow and the sister--make it up afterwards?”

“I don't remember about that,” replied Edward, indifferently; “but Bobby got packed off to school a whole year earlier than his people meant to send him,--which was just what he wanted. So you see it all came right in the end!”

I was trying to puzzle out the moral of this story--it was evidently meant to contain one somewhere--when a flood of golden lamplight mingled with the moon rays on the lawn, and Aunt Maria and the new curate strolled out on the grass below us, and took the direction of a garden seat that was backed by a dense laurel shrubbery reaching round in a half-circle to the house. Edward mediated moodily. “If we only knew what they were talking about,” said he, “you'd soon see whether I was right or not. Look here! Let's send the kid down by the porch to reconnoitre!”

“Harold's asleep,” I said; “it seems rather a shame--”

“Oh, rot!” said my brother; “he's the youngest, and he's got to do as he's told!”

So the luckless Harold was hauled out of bed and given his sailing-orders. He was naturally rather vexed at being stood up suddenly on the cold floor, and the job had no particular interest for him; but he was both staunch and well disciplined. The means of exit were simple enough. A porch of iron trellis came up to within easy reach of the window, and was habitually used by all three of us, when modestly anxious to avoid public notice. Harold climbed deftly down the porch like a white rat, and his night gown glimmered a moment on the gravel walk ere he was lost to sight in the darkness of the shrubbery. A brief interval of silence ensued, broken suddenly by a sound of scuffle, and then a shrill, long-drawn squeal, as of metallic surfaces in friction. Our scout had fallen into the hands of the enemy!

Indolence alone had made us devolve the task of investigation on our younger brother. Now that danger had declared itself, there was no hesitation. In a second we were down the side of the porch, and crawling Cherokee-wise through the laurels to the back of the garden-seat. Piteous was the sight that greeted us. Aunt Maria was on the seat, in a white evening frock, looking--for an aunt--really quite nice. On the lawn stood an incensed curate, grasping our small brother by a large ear, which--judging from the row he was making--seemed on the point of parting company with the head it adorned. The gruesome noise he was emitting did not really affect us otherwise than aesthetically. To one who has tried both, the wail of genuine physical anguish is easy distinguishable from the pumped-up ad misericordiam blubber. Harold's could clearly be recognised as belonging to the latter class. “Now, you young--” (whelp, I think it was, but Edward stoutly maintains it was devil), said the curate, sternly; “tell us what you mean by it!”

“Well, leggo of my ear then!” shrilled Harold, “and I'll tell you the solemn truth!”

“Very well,” agreed the curate, releasing him; “now go ahead, and don't lie more than you can help.”

We abode the promised disclosure without the least misgiving; but even we had hardly given Harold due credit for his fertility of resource and powers of imagination.

“I had just finished saying my prayers,” began that young gentleman, slowly, “when I happened to look out of the window, and on the lawn I saw a sight which froze the marrow in my veins! A burglar was approaching the house with snake-like tread! He had a scowl and a dark lantern, and he was armed to the teeth!”

We listened with interest. The style, though unlike Harold's native notes, seemed strangely familiar.

“Go on,” said the curate, grimly.

“Pausing in his stealthy career,” continued Harold, “he gave a low whistle. Instantly the signal was responded to, and from the adjacent shadows two more figures glided forth. The miscreants were both armed to the teeth.”

“Excellent,” said the curate; “proceed.”

“The robber chief,” pursued Harold, warming to his work, “joined his nefarious comrades, and conversed with them in silent tones. His expression was truly ferocious, and I ought to have said that he was armed to the t--”