“Why, he must have crept along the ditch behind the tent,” I cried involuntarily, “and pushed his arm through. Yes, I know,” I said, getting more excited, as my mother’s arm tightened about me. “I saw him that evening with his face all stung by nettles.”
“That ditch is full of nettles,” cried Mr Hasnip.
“Good! good!” cried the General.
“But how came the watch hidden in that bin?” cried my uncle sternly.
“I know,” said Cook. “Why, of course, he was afraid to keep it; and it’s just like him.”
“I do not follow you,” said my uncle.
“Why, when he was at work in our garden, my smelling-bottle o’ salts was stolen, and when I made a fuss about it, some one found it hid away behind the scullery door, where he put it.”
“Then you think this man hid it there?” said my uncle.
“I’m sure of it, sir. Why, didn’t I catch him one morning early coming out of the stable, and, ‘What are you doing there?’ I says. ‘Looking for the top of my hoe,’ he says, ‘as I left here when I was at work. Ain’t seen it, have you?’ he says. ‘No,’ I says, ‘but I see the gardener just now coming to work, and I’ll call him.’ ‘Never mind, mum,’ he says, and he went off, and nobody’s seen him about here since. Oh, look there! Poor dear!”
I just saved my mother from falling, and she was helped into a chair, clinging to my hand, though, all the time, as she burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing. But she calmed down after a few minutes, and the gentlemen, who had been talking in a low voice earnestly together, now resumed their places, the Doctor clearing his voice loudly.