“Then now I shall go up to the rectory and tell them I’m coming to lessons in the morning, and—” he hesitated—“I think I shall give up doing rough jobs for the future.”
“Indeed,” said the doctor with a humorous twinkle in his eye; “wouldn’t you like to take the church clock to pieces, and clean it and set it going again?”
Vane turned sharply on his uncle with an appealing look.
“Now really, my dear, you shouldn’t,” cried Aunt Hannah. “Don’t, don’t, pray, set the boy thinking about doing any more such dirty work.”
“Dirty work? quite an artist’s job. I only mentioned it because Mr Syme told me that a man would be over from Lincoln to-morrow to see to the clock. Quite time it was done.”
Vane hurried off to escape his uncle’s banter, and was soon after in the lane leading up to the rectory, where, as luck had it, he saw Distin walking slowly on in front, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, he ran after him.
“Evening,” he cried.
Distin turned his head slowly, and looked him coldly in the face.
“I beg your pardon,” he drawled, “were you speaking to me?”
“Oh, hang it, Distie, yes,” cried Vane. “What’s the good of us two being out. Shake hands. I’m sorry if I said anything to offend you and hope you’ll forgive me if there is anything to forgive.”