“Rushbrook, sir; his father was a well-known poacher—a man who had been in the army, and had a pension for wounds. There is an old saying, sir, of high authority—‘Bring up a child in the way he should go, and he will not depart from it.’ I instructed that boy, sir; but alas! what avails the instruction of a preceptor when a father leads a child into evil ways?”
“That’s the truth, and no mistake,” replied McShane. “So the boy ran away? Yes; I recollect now. And what became of the father?”
“The father, sir, and mother have since left the village, and gone nobody knows where.”
“Indeed! are you sure of that?”
“Quite sure, sir; for I was most anxious to discover them, and took great pains, but without success.”
“What did the people say thereabouts? Was there no suspicion of the father being implicated?”
“I do not think there was. He gave evidence at the inquest, and so did I, sir, as you may suppose, most unwillingly; for the boy was a favourite of mine. I beg your pardon, sir—you say you are acquainted with Major McShane, and saw him this morning; is the interesting little boy you speak of as under his protection now at home or still at school?”
“I really cannot positively say,” replied McShane; “but this is not holiday-time. Come, sir, we must not part yet; your conversation is too interesting. You must allow me to call for some more brandy; poor as I am, I must treat myself and you too. I wish I knew where I could pick up a little money; for, to tell you the truth, cash begins to run low.”
Furness was now more than half drunk. “Well, sir,” said he; “I have known money picked up without any difficulty: for instance, now, suppose we should fall in with this young rascal who committed the murder; there is 200 pounds offered for his apprehension and conviction.”
“I thought as much,” muttered McShane; “the infernal scoundrel! I suspect that you will find him where you are going to, Mr Furbish, he’s got that far by this time.”