The Vast Abyss Part 45

"And maybe he wouldn't come in the night at all, but steal over the wall just before it gets light, when you'd be in your bed. Yes, that's just the sort of time when he would come."

"I should have to ask uncle to let me sit up with you, David."

"Ah, I thought that would be it," said David; "ask your uncle."

"Look here, David," cried Tom, flus.h.i.+ng. "I shouldn't say I'd like to come if I didn't mean it. I'm not going to get into trouble by slipping out on the sly."

"It's all over," said David. "I thought so. Master'd never let you sit up and watch, sir. I thought you wouldn't."

"Well, we'll soon prove that," cried Tom. "Here is uncle."

"Yes; what is it?" said Uncle Richard, coming across the garden.

"David's afraid of the pears being stolen, uncle, for he saw some one examining them this morning, and he's going to sit up to-night and watch. Do you mind my sitting up too?"

"Sitting up? No, I think not, Tom, only mind and don't get hurt. You are more likely to catch a thief at daybreak though, I should say."

"Mebbe, sir," said David; "but I think if you didn't mind I'd try to-night first."

"By all means, David. I should be sorry to lose those pears again."

"There!" cried Tom, as soon as they were alone; "do you think I want to back out now?"

David laughed, and rubbed his hands together between his knees.

"Come on, Master Tom, and I'll get the billhook. Then we'll go and cut a couple of good young hazel rods in the copse."

"Then you won't have broomsticks, David?"

"Nay, sir, they'd be too heavy and too stiff. I know the sort--good stout young hazels as won't break when you hit with 'em, but wrop well round."

The hazels were cut and carried back to the garden, burdened with their twigs and greenery.

"He might be about, and think they was meant for him, if we trimmed 'em into sticks, Master Tom. He won't think anything if he sees 'em like this."

The hazels were shortened to a convenient length as soon as they were in the garden, David chuckling loudly the while.

"I owe that chap a lot, Master Tom, and if I can get a chance I mean to pay him this time. Hit low, sir, if you get a crack at him."

"Not likely to hurt him," said Tom.

"More likely, sir. Trousers are thin, 'specially hisn, and they've got some good holes in 'em generally, where you might reach his skin; 'sides, you're not likely to cut his face or injure his eyes. Nothing like hitting low. Now, then, I'm going on with my reg'lar work, and as soon as it's dark I shall be down here in among the blackcurrants, with a couple of old sacks and a horse-cloth, for us to sit on, so as not to ketch rheumatics."

"About what time?" said Tom.

"Arpus eight, sir. There's no moon to-night so it'll be pretty dark; but we shall hear him."

"If he comes," said Tom.

"Course, sir, if he comes. But we'll chance that, and if he don't, why we shall know as my pears is safe."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

Tom Blount did not make a very good tea that evening, for he was excited by thoughts of the coming watch.

He was not in the least afraid, but his face felt flushed, and there was a curious tingling in the nerves which made him picture a scene in the garden, in which he was chasing Pete Warboys round and round, getting a cut at him with the stick from time to time, and at last making him turn at bay, when a desperate fight ensued.

It seemed a long time too till half-past eight, and though he took up a book of natural history full of interest, it seemed to be as hard reading as _Tidd's Practice_, in Gray's Inn.

"Seat uncomfortable, Tom?" said his uncle at last.

"No, uncle," said the boy, colouring. "Why?"

"Because you can't sit still. Oh, I understand. You are thinking of going out to watch."

"Yes, uncle."

"Humph! More than the pears are worth, Tom."

"Do you think so, uncle?"

"Decidedly. But there, the thief deserves to be caught--and thrashed; but don't be too hard upon him."

Tom brightened up at this, and looked at the clock on the mantel-piece.

"Why, it's stopped," he said.

"Stopped? Nonsense," said Uncle Richard, looking at his watch.

"But it must have stopped. I don't think it has moved lately."

"The clock is going all right, Tom, but not so fast as your desires.

There, try a little patience; and don't stop after ten. If the plunderer is not here by that time he will not come to-night--if he comes at all."

"Very well, uncle," said Tom, and after another glance at the clock, which still did not seem to move, he settled down with his head resting upon his fists, to study the giraffe, of which there was a large engraving, with its hide looking like a piece of the map of the moon, the spots being remarkably similar to the craters and ring-plains upon the moon's surface, while the giraffe itself, with its long sprawling legs, would put him in mind of Pete Warboys. Then he read how it had been designed by nature for its peculiar life in the desert, and so that it could easily reach up and crop the leaves of trees from fifteen to twenty feet above the ground; but it did not, as he pictured it in his mind, seem to be picking leaves, but Marie Louise pears, while David was creeping up behind with his elastic hazel stick, and--

_Ting_.

Half-past eight by the dining-room clock, and Tom sprang up.

"Going, my boy?"

"Yes, uncle, David will be waiting."

Uncle Richard nodded, and taking his cap and the hazel stick he had brought in, the boy went out silently, to find that it was a very soft dark night--so dark, in fact, that as soon as he had stepped on to the lawn he walked into one of the great bushes of laurustinus, and backed out hurriedly to reconsider which was the way. Then he stepped gently forward over the soft damp gra.s.s of the lawn, with his eyes now growing more accustomed to the darkness.

Directly after there was a low whistle heard.