“It is not true, uncle!” cried Don again.
“Oh, come now,” said Mike, shaking his head with half tipsy reproach, “I wouldn’t make worse on it, my lad, by telling a lot o’ lies. You did wrong, as I says to you at the time; but you was so orbst’nate you would. Says as you’d got such lots of money, master, as you’d never miss it.”
Uncle Josiah gave vent to a sound resembling a disgusted grunt, and turned from the speaker, who continued reproachfully to Don,—
“What you’ve got to do, my lad, is to go down on your bended knees to your uncle, as is a good master as ever lived—and I will say that, come what may—and ask him to let you off this time, and you won’t do so any more.”
“Uncle, you won’t believe what he says?” cried Don wildly.
Uncle Josiah did not reply, only looked at him searchingly.
“He can’t help believing it, my lad,” said Mike sadly. “It’s werry shocking in one so young.”
Don made a desperate struggle to free himself from Jem’s encircling arms, but the man held fast.
“No, no, my lad; keep quiet,” growled Jem. “I’m going to spoil the shape of his nose for him before he goes.”
“Then you don’t believe it, Jem?” cried Don, passionately.