Tom’s head, which had been hanging down, was suddenly raised, and the words were on his lips to say No, he could not go, when he met the keen, bright, piercing eyes fixed upon his, and those words died away.
“He has not definitely decided as to what he will put you to, but means to test you, as it were, for a few months.”
The singing in Tom’s ears grew louder.
Go with that cold stern man, who had never seemed to take to him? It would be like jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. Impossible! He could not—he would not go.
“There,” said Mr Brandon in conclusion, after a good deal more, of which Tom heard not a word; “it is all settled, and you will go down with your uncle this morning, so you had better pack up your box as soon as we leave the table. Now what have you to say to your uncle for his kindness?”
“No: I will not go,” thought Tom firmly; and once more he raised his eyes defiantly to that searching pair, which seemed to be reading his; but he did not say those words, for others quite different came halting from his lips—“Thank you, Uncle Richard—and—and I will try so hard.”
“Of course you will, my boy,” said the gentleman addressed, sharply. “But mind this, the country’s very dull, my place is very lonely, all among the pine-trees, and you will not have your cousin Sam to play with.”
“Haw haw!”
This was a hoarse laugh uttered by the gentleman in question.
“I beg your pardon, Sam?” said Uncle Richard, raising his eyebrows.