“It was Brookes who took advantage of your absence, father.”
“Oh, Master Nic!”
“You did, sir. You always behaved like a brute and a bully to poor Leather, and you struck him, and of course he struck you again; and then;” cried the boy rapidly, in his excitement, “you told lies to Mr Dillon, and had him fetched over there to be flogged; and do you think,” he continued, turning his flushed face to Sir John, “if I knew I was innocent, and I was dragged away to be flogged with the cat, I wouldn’t run for the bush? Why, I would to-morrow.”
Sir John frowned, and the doctor looked pained and angry, but he did not speak.
“Well, all I know is, I’ve got the mark o’ the chopper on the back o’ my head still,” said Brookes, rubbing the place softly.
“Mark of the chopper!” cried Nic contemptuously. “You ought to have the mark of the cat.”
“Silence, Dominic!” cried the doctor. “It is very clear to me that you have let this man impose upon you by his insidious ways, and I am bitterly hurt by your folly. You ought to know better. However, the past is past. Now make amends by helping to have this man taken. Where is he?”
“Out in the bush, father.”
“I know that, sir,” said the doctor sternly. “No evasions, if you please. Where is his hiding-place?”
“Don’t be angry with me, father,” said Nic, in a pleading tone. “I can’t tell you.”