He turned upon his heel and walked away, with the back of his doublet covered with scraps of hay from the tomtits’ nest, and Roy’s first inclination was to run after him to begin brushing him down.
“But he’ll only think I want to insult him again,” said the boy to himself. “I wish I hadn’t said anything about the tomtits’ eggs, though.”
“Shall I run after him, sir, and ask if I shall give him a brush down?” whispered Ben.
“No; let him find it out. One of the maids will tell him, I dare say.”
“But you should ha’ stopped by us when the gun was fired, Master Roy,” protested Ben. “I see them three chaps wink at each other, as much as to say, ‘He won’t stand fire,’ and it hurt me, sir, and seemed to be undoing all I did afore. I didn’t think it of you.”
“I should like to kick you for thinking me such a coward,” cried Roy, fiercely, for his encounter with the secretary had set his temper on edge. “How dare you! You had no business to fire till I came back. I did not want my mother to hear the report without some warning.—Here, corporal, give me that light.”
The man stepped up with it, and Roy took it out of his hand.
“Going to fire this one, sir?” said Ben, eagerly.
“Of course. Stand aside!” And Roy applied the sparkling port-fire to the bit of prepared oakum standing out of the touch-hole, with the result that it, too, began to sparkle and fume.
“There,” he said; “I hope Master Pawson won’t come back and be frightened by this one.”