"I shall pay the tax for our Stranger, sir. We should have had to get rid of him if—if it hadn't been for this."
Dick Wilkins's countenance brightened.
"Stranger is a dog, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir; a retriever. He came to our cottage one awful stormy night. His paw was cut and bleeding; and some body'd been trying to drown him, 'cos he'd got a rope with a stone at the end of it tied around his neck; and mother and I let him in, and did what we could for him."
"So he's stayed with you ever since! I believe I have seen him in the village on several occasions—a handsome creature he seemed too."
"Yes! Yes!" assented Dick enthusiastically. "And if I'd had him with me when Master Stephen came along that day, he wouldn't have let him bully me—not he!"
The colonel remained silent for some minutes after this. He put on his glasses and examined the match-box closely. At length he turned towards Dick Wilkins again.
"I feel much troubled by what you have told me," he commented. "And at the expense of some pain to the squire and his wife, I mean to see you righted. It is not so very late in the evening yet; therefore you and I will go down to the farm together, and see the gentleman who, you say, gave you the shilling."
"Yes, sir," agreed Dick, without the least hesitation. "He's almost sure to be in, 'cos the daylight's too far gone for him to be painting still."
Accordingly the two set out to pay a visit to the Smerdons' lodger. But scarce had they gone a hundred yards in the direction of the farm, when they came face to face with Stephen Filmer. A strange expression overspread the bully's features as he recognized the pair, and he would have slunk past without speaking had not Colonel Flamank thought fit to stop him.