“Well, we’ll soon prove that,” cried Tom. “Here is uncle.”
“Yes; what is it?” said Uncle Richard, coming across the garden.
“David’s afraid of the pears being stolen, uncle, for he saw some one examining them this morning, and he’s going to sit up to-night and watch. Do you mind my sitting up too?”
“Sitting up? No, I think not, Tom, only mind and don’t get hurt. You are more likely to catch a thief at daybreak though, I should say.”
“Mebbe, sir,” said David; “but I think if you didn’t mind I’d try to-night first.”
“By all means, David. I should be sorry to lose those pears again.”
“There!” cried Tom, as soon as they were alone; “do you think I want to back out now?”
David laughed, and rubbed his hands together between his knees.
“Come on, Master Tom, and I’ll get the billhook. Then we’ll go and cut a couple of good young hazel rods in the copse.”
“Then you won’t have broomsticks, David?”