“Slipped in descending inside, and dragged the speculum on the floor,” said Uncle Richard, frowning. “Now the question is, who was it?”
“Ah, who was it, sir?” said David. “Arn’t such a great many folk in Furzebrough, and I should say as it lies between Parson Maxted and Pete Warboys, and it warn’t parson, ’cause of the boots.”
“I don’t like to suspect unjustly,” said Uncle Richard, “so don’t say anything, David. I’ll go down to the lad’s home with my nephew here, and we’ll see if we can find out whether he has been about here since yesterday.”
“And you’ll have your work cut out, sir,” said David; “for that chap goes hawking about more like a ferret than aught else; but if it warn’t him, Master Tom, I’ll heat my head.”
Chapter Nineteen.
David went back to his gardening, giving Tom a smile and a nod, and whispering to him as he followed his uncle after locking up the workshop and the yard gate—
“You and me’s good friends again, arn’t we, Master Tom?”
“Yes, of course, David; and I beg your pardon for ever suspecting you.”