Chapter Thirty.
Plotting, Reading and Writing.
Spikeman was up early the next morning. When they had breakfasted, he desired Joey to go for the knife-grinder’s wheel, and follow him. As soon as they were clear of the village, Spikeman said, “It will not do to remain at the village; there’s a cottage half a mile down the road where they once gave me a lodging; we must try if we can get it now.”
When they arrived at the cottage, Spikeman made a very satisfactory bargain for board and lodging for a few days, stating that they charged so much at the village alehouse that he could not afford to stay there, and that he expected to have a good job at Squire Mathews’s, up at the mansion-house. As soon as this arrangement was completed, they returned back to the copse near to the mansion-house, Joey rolling the knife-grinder’s wheel.
“You see, Joey,” said Spikeman, “the first thing necessary will be to stimulate curiosity; we may have to wait a day or two before the opportunity may occur; but, if necessary, I will wait a month. That Miss Mathews will very often be found on the seat by the copse, either alone or with her cousin, I take to be certain, as all ladies have their favourite retreats. I do not intend that they should see me yet; I must make an impression first. Now, leave the wheel on the outside, and come with me: do not speak.”
As soon as they were in the copse, Spikeman reconnoitred very carefully, to ascertain if either of the young ladies were on the bench, and finding no one there, he returned to Joey.
“They cannot come without our hearing their footsteps,” said Spikeman; “so now we must wait here patiently.”
Spikeman threw himself down on the turf in front of the copse, and Joey followed his example.
“Come, Joey, we may as well read a little to pass away the time; I have brought two volumes of Byron with me.”
For half an hour they were thus occupied, when they heard the voice of Miss Mathews singing as before as she came down the walk. Spikeman rose and peeped through the foliage. “She is alone,” said he, “which is just what I wished. Now, Joey, I am going to read to you aloud.” Spikeman then began to read in the masterly style which we have before referred to:—