Chapter Eleven.
It did not mean apples nor pears from the garden, for they were nearly as hard as wood, and it did not mean going out to carry on some game with a companion, for Tom knew no one there.
Uncle Richard was aware of this when he heard Tom stealing down the trellis, and peeped at him from a darkened window. Hence his stern question.
“Oh, uncle!” said Tom, in a subdued voice, “how you frightened me.”
“I’m glad of it, sir,” said Uncle Richard, holding the little match to the candle and increasing the illumination as Tom climbed in. “I meant to. Now, sir, if you please, explain.”
“Yes, uncle,” said Tom calmly, and making his uncle frown.
“The impudent young dog!” he said to himself; and then he stood nodding his head, and gradually growing more satisfied that he had after all been right in his estimate of his nephew, though the night’s business had rather shaken his faith.
“Then you didn’t make out who it was, Tom,” he said, when Tom had explained.