‘But she ain’t here, you know.’
‘But I am, papa; and I don’t like to hear you talk shop,’ said Clara coaxingly.
‘Very well; we won’t then. But I was only explaining to Mr Cumbermede how I supposed it was that his uncle did not like me. There was no offence in that, I hope, Mr Cumbermede?’
‘Certainly not,’ I answered. ‘I am the only offender. But I was innocent enough as far as intention goes. I came in drenched and cold, and the good people here amused themselves dressing me like a girl. It is quite time I were getting home now. Mr Forest will be in a way about me. So will Charley Osborne.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Coningham, ‘I remember hearing you were at school together somewhere in this quarter. But tell us all about it. Did you lose your way?’
I told them my story. Even Clara looked grave when I came to the incident of finding myself on the verge of the precipice.
‘Thank God, my boy!’ said Mr Coningham kindly. ‘You have had a narrow escape. I lost myself once in the Cumberland hills, and hardly got off with my life. Here it is a chance you were ever seen again, alive or dead. I wonder you’re not knocked up.’
I was, however, more so than I knew.
‘How are you going to get home?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know any way but walking,’ I answered.