“I don’t think so, uncle; I’m almost sure I fastened it.”
“Almost!” said Uncle Richard, in the same cold, hard way in which he had spoken before. “Then, sir, you accuse David of having meddled and broken it?”
“No, I don’t, uncle,” said Tom, speaking quite firmly now. “I told you everything.”
“Fetch David.”
Tom hurried out, and had no difficulty in finding the gardener, who had hardly stirred from where he had left him.
“I knowed the master’d want me. Did you own up, sir, like a man?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Tom angrily. “Come to uncle directly.”
“Then—”
David said no more, but gave his old straw hat a smart rap on the crown, and walked sharply on before Tom, unrolling and shaking out his blue apron, prior to rolling it up again very tightly about his waist. He strode along so rapidly that Tom had hard work to keep up with him; and in spite of his efforts, David strode into the workshop first, pulled off his hat, dashed it down on the floor, and struck one hand loudly with his fist.
“What I say is this here, sir. I’ve sarved you faithful ever since you come back from the burning Ingies—”