“Tired! where have you been to?”
“Playing the fiddle to a party some miles away from here. They could not accommodate me with a shake-down, so I’ve had to trudge it.”
“Come along wi’ me, my lad,” said the good-natured groom. “You shall have an hour or two’s rest in my little crib over the stable.”
Peace gladly availed himself of his friend’s offer.
A hue and cry would be raised throughout the neighbourhood of the attempted burglary at Oakfield House and the surrounding districts, and Peace, young as he was at this time—he had only just turned twenty—was fully impressed with the necessity of using caution.
No one would dream of his being in the groom’s sleeping apartment. The latter informed him that he had to take the carriage up to London, and that he should not return from the metropolis for several days.
“But that aint of no kind o’ consequence,” said the groom. “You can sleep away to your heart’s content, only when you do leave mind and lock the door. You can give the key to the stable-boy.”
“I’m sure I do not know how to sufficiently thank you, Jim,” observed Peace in his blandest tone and manner.
There’s no call for thanks, lad. You’ve done me a good turn afore now, and one good turn deserves another.”
Peace was conducted by his companion into the small sleeping chamber.