"Then bring him round to me," rejoined the Squire, rising to his feet.
The mother dropped a curtsey.
"But you won't be hard on him, sir?" said she timidly.
The Squire struck his cane upon the ground.
"We have his future to consider, Mrs. Mumby," answered he. "A boy who lies and thieves at his age, must be curbed, or he will end by worse. But we will hope that, by God's grace, we may turn him from his evil ways."
The Squire and his grandsons were no sooner fairly out of sight than Dick came out of hiding, and set off home.
"Bill's well out of that," said he to himself as he thrust his hands down in his trousers pockets, and set up whistling. Then, recollecting the price he had paid to get Bill off, he broke off his tune to add—"And I'm well rid of him." And for all the scarcity of sixpences with Dick, he even went so far as to count himself cheaply rid of Bill. "I wouldn't care to have the Squire looking after my future," said Dick.
Meantime, young Grantley's brushes worked busily at the picture of the church, whilst the Squire and his grandsons made their way across the fields and by the river to the wood; and having ascertained that the repairs were progressing satisfactorily, they returned to lunch.
Then the Squire sat down in his study to await the arrival of Mrs. Mumby and her scapegrace son; and the boys went out of doors to play about the plantation, taking care to keep well within sight of the gate, so that they might see when Bill arrived. But the afternoon wore on. Mumby came in to his dinner, and went back to work; and his wife put aside the plateful she had reserved for Bill. Then she went upstairs and cleaned herself against his coming in, so as to be ready to go up to the Manor House with him.
"I durstn't breathe a word of it till I've got my bonnet on," said she, "else he'd be off like a shot."