“Fools do mischief sometimes,” said the vicar, half to himself.
“Yes, sir, they do; but all the best of the men tak’ Sim Slee at what he’s worth; but there’s a few, you see, as are ’mazed by his big words, and are ready to be led into any mischief.”
“Yes; and you know of this?” said the vicar, anxiously.
“Yes, sir, I’ve found as they’ve got to know that Mr Richard Glaire’s going away to-night.”
“Is he going away?” said the vicar.
“So Sim Slee’s telling on ’em, sir; but what does it mean ’bout Sim Slee being so thick wi’ him just afore, and now dead again’ him?”
“Some quarrel,” said the vicar. “Sim Slee must be made to speak out somehow.”
“He’s been speaking to some purpose to-day,” said Tom, sharply; “and I think they mean mischief against the maister to-night, when he’s going away.”
“And you’ve come to tell me this!” said the vicar, looking at the sturdy rough young fellow admiringly.
“Yes,” said Tom, simply. “I went and told him at the house, but he turned on me, and said things I couldn’t bear, and made me grip him, when Miss Eve came out and atween uz, and that stopped me.”