"What did you say, Aunt Betty?"
"I had to tell him the truth, that I had sent you to bed because you'd been naughty," said Betty, quietly. "I'd run off directly after breakfast and find him, if I were you."
But Jack's conscience made a coward of him, and instead of seeking Uncle Tom he ran off to a far corner of the farm and threw himself behind a stack, angry with himself and all the world. Half-an-hour later, Tom, sauntering about the farm in search of him, saw a tiny thread of smoke blown round the corner of the stack, and, peering round the corner, discovered Jack stretched full length along the ground, with his face skyward, smoking a cigarette.
At the sound of a footstep Jack sprang to his feet, thrusting the cigarette into his pocket, turned scarlet and then very white, and came forward with a slightly sheepish expression.
"Oh, Uncle Tom, I'm jolly glad to see you," he said, stretching out a brown paw. "I'm——" and then he came to a pause, disconcerted by the smiling gaze fixed upon him.
"I'm afraid I disturbed you in the luxury of a quiet smoke," said Tom, seating himself with his back against the stack. "A new accomplishment, eh! Jack?"
Jack's face was sickly green now. "I was not smoking," he said, avoiding the scrutiny of Tom's eyes. "I was only going to light a bonfire."
The answer was more serious than Tom had believed. The boy lied, and Tom's heart was hot within him, but his voice was almost alarmingly quiet.
"Let's have a look at your pockets, old man. I would rather like to see what you've got in them."
"I won't," said Jack, stung into defiance. "You're not——"