The vicar started. He had in truth forgotten all about Miss Barnicroft and her money, for he had thought it merely one of her own crazy inventions. That Ambrose and David should have anything to do with it seemed impossible, and yet the guilty solemn looks of the two little boys showed that they were in the most serious earnest.
“Miss Barnicroft’s money!” he repeated.
“It’s in my garden,” continued David, taking his turn to speak, “buried.”
Completely bewildered Mr Hawthorne looked from one face to the other.
“I don’t know what you’re both talking about,” he said. “Ambrose, you are the elder, try to explain what you mean, and how you and David come to know anything about Miss Barnicroft’s money.”
That was not so easy, but at last, by dint of some help from David and many questions from his father, Ambrose halted lamely through the history. He had a feeling that the vicar’s face was getting graver and graver as he went on, but he did not dare to look up, and it was David who asked anxiously when he had finished:
“Are we thieves, father? Will she put us in prison?”
“Did you remember, Ambrose,” said Mr Hawthorne, “when you asked your brother to go with you to Rumborough Camp, that you and he are strictly forbidden to go so far alone?”
“Yes, father,” whispered Ambrose, “but we did so want things for the museum.”
“And when you had taken all this trouble to get them, why did you not put the coins into the museum?”