“Who done it. I see him go there and come away.”
“What?” cried John Grange excitedly, as he turned his eyes towards the old gardener.
“I see Muster Dan Barnett come away from the conservatory all in a hurry like, d’re’ckly after you’d been there.”
“You saw Dan Barnett?”
“Aye, that’s so. I see him: did it out o’ spite ’cause the missus didn’t give him the job.”
“Tummus, what are you a-saying of?” cried his wife, as the old man’s words made Grange start excitedly from his chair. “Why, if Dan’l Barnett heared as you said that, you’d be turned away at a moment’s notice.”
“I don’t keer; it’s the solomon truth,” said old Tummus, cutting off a cubic piece of pork and lifting it from his bread with the point of his pruning-knife.
“It can’t be anything of the sort, so hold your tongue. There, there, Mr Grange, my dear. Don’t you take any notice of his silly clat. Have another cup of tea: here’s quite a beauty left.”
“You say you saw Daniel Barnett come from the conservatory that morning?” cried Grange excitedly; and there was a wild look of agony in his eyes as he spoke.
“Nay, nay, he didn’t, my dear,” cried old Hannah; “it’s all his nonsense. Just see what you’ve done, Tummus, with your rubbishing stuff.”