“Ah, but I have,” said the Vicar, while Tom busied himself doing nothing to the telescope, and began to take a good deal of interest in the discussion about his enemy. “You will grant, I suppose, that Mother Warboys is about as unamiable, cantankerous an old woman as ever breathed?”
“Most willingly,” said Uncle Richard, smiling. “She leads that boy quite a dog’s life. I’ve seen her thump him quite savagely with her stick.”
“And he deserved it,” said Uncle Richard.
“No doubt; but instead of showing resentment, the boy is devoted to her; and I know for a fact he is always bringing her rabbits and hares to cook for herself.”
“Poached.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so; but I’m firmly convinced that he would fight to the death for the poor old creature.”
“Nature,” said Uncle Richard; “she is his grandmother.”
“Then there is some good in him,” cried the Vicar; “and what I want is to make it grow. The only question is, how it is to be done.”
“Don’t you think I have got problems enough over my telescope, without your setting me fresh ones? Get some recruiting serjeant to carry him off for raw material to turn into a soldier.”