Fletcher looked as if the squire surprised him greatly; but Alvar wished him good-night, and dismissed him.
“Why—the old squire would have been up at Holywell and counted the very sticks of hay that was left!” he thought to himself as he withdrew; while Alvar went and communicated the intelligence to his brothers.
Cheriton listened, dismayed, while Jack exclaimed,—
“I don’t believe it! No Fleming ever was such a fool.”
“But he was angry with me,” said Alvar. “He might have stabbed me out of revenge.”
“Nonsense! we don’t live in Ireland, nor in Spain either! They’ll never forgive you, of course, to their dying day, but they won’t put you in the right by breaking the law—we’re too far north for that.”
“Fletcher doesn’t belong to these parts, you know,” said Cherry; “He might take up an idea. I do think it most unlikely that a boy brought up like Chris would commit such an act. Besides, we saw him down here. When was the fire seen?”
“I do not know,” said Alvar; “but Fletcher said that he was there.”
“It can’t be,” said Cheriton; “I cannot believe it. But they’ll never get over the boy being taken up at all. Why on earth did they never let us know what was going on! I wish I had been there.”
“Yes; a fire, and for us never to know of it!” said Jack, regretfully.