“Oh, uncle,” said the boy huskily; “it would have been like telling him that the poor fellows had been here.”
“Yes, my boy, and that you had been helping them to escape.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Rodd, and he darted to the window. “No,” he gasped, with a sigh of relief. “He’s gone.”
“Well, we knew he’d gone, boy.”
“Yes, uncle, but I was afraid that he’d stop talking to Mrs Champernowne, and she would tell him about their coming here. But he didn’t stop, and he has gone right away.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Uncle Paul. “Well, you see how near we have been to getting into trouble with the authorities; for of course they are very strict over such things as these. There, now I must write an important letter to send off in acknowledgment of that despatch; so you be off now for about half-an-hour, and go and play like a good boy.”
“Yes, uncle,” said Rodd, rather grumpily; and he went slowly out, with the intention of getting somewhere on to the high ground where he could watch the sergeant’s red coat till he was out of sight. “I wish Uncle Paul wouldn’t talk to me like that,” he muttered, as he went out of the garden gate. “Go out and play like a good boy! It does make me feel so wild! He’ll be saying good little boy next, and I am past sixteen; and he wasn’t doing it to tease me either, for he was quite serious, what with the prisoners, and the sergeant coming like that. Bother him! He looked at me as he went away just as if he suspected that I’d left the sandwiches and the fish where that poor fellow could get them. Here, I mustn’t let him see that I am following him. I’ll go round by that other track and get up behind those stones. Then I can see the whole way to the prison. Oh, he didn’t know anything, or else he’d have spoken out. But that’s the worst of doing what you oughtn’t to. You always feel as if everybody suspects you. Well, I didn’t want to do any harm, and Uncle Paul didn’t think it was very wrong, in spite of his grumbling about the French. If he had he wouldn’t have called me Pickle. It would have been Rodney, and his voice would have sounded very severe, for he can be when he likes. Spoiled and indulged me! That he hasn’t!”
The ascent was so steep by the track he had chosen that the boy was soon high above the cottages, hurrying along by a ridge of stones which led up to what looked like a young tor, so situated that it sheltered the two cottage gardens, and the enclosed field or two where the neighbour’s cow was pastured, from the north and east wind, and also acted as a lew for Mrs Champernowne’s bees, which could reach their straw hive homes comfortably without being blown out by the wanton breezes which travelled across the moors.
Rodd was pretty well out of breath when he reached the little tor, and so he drew in a fresh supply as he dropped upon his knees and crawled round the last stone to his proposed look-out, feeling certain he would be able to see the sergeant’s bright scarlet coat with its white belts, as he marched straight away for the prison.
He did see him, but not so far off as he had anticipated, and the sight took his breath completely away again, for as he crept round he became conscious of a peculiar scent that was not wild thyme but tobacco, and before he realised what it was, he came plump face to face with their late visitor, who was seated upon the soft close turf with his back against a stone, basking in the sunshine, and evidently enjoying a rest.