"Well, you needn't come asking after Reuben, then," said old Deb, with rough stanchness, "The man mayn't be much for brains, but he ain't got time to plan tricks o' that sort."
"I'm not suspecting Reuben," answered Harrod, "but I look to Reuben to help me to find out who's to blame."
"Well, if there's wrong been done against master, so he will," declared Deborah again. "Reuben's a true man to his master, say what you may of him. You'd best not come telling any tales of Reuben to me."
"No, no," replied Harrod, hurriedly, "I want to tell no tales of Reuben nor any one else, but I must get to the bottom of the matter;" and then turning to me, he added, "I must see your father at once."
He moved across the yard to the outer door, but midway he stopped, listening.
The voices in the dairy had attracted his attention. I think he was going to ask me who was there, when suddenly Joyce came out of the door, her cheeks red, her eyes wet with tears.
As soon as she saw him she ran quickly by, and round the corner of the yard to the front of the house; but I knew by the way that he glanced at me that he had seen that her eyes were full of tears. He did not speak, however, neither did he look after her. He first glanced across to the dairy, but Frank Forrester did not show himself, and he strode across to the gate of the yard and let himself out into the road.
"I'll see your father another time," he said to me as he went past.
I went round the corner, meaning to follow Joyce, but remembering that Frank must be in a very uncomfortable position, and that I was rather bound to see him through with it, I went back and found him bidding Deborah tell me he would come again in the evening.
"The master'll be busy all the evening," she said; and her inhospitality decided me to make a bold move.