“You seem rather sour with me.”
“No. Excuse me if I appear so. I am anxious to hear what you have to say.”
“By the way, where is Smithers? Why hasn't he been up here to see me? Where is he?”
“I know nothing about him. You know I have only arrived from home this morning. As yet I have no news of the yard.”
“Well, he might have come, seeing how thick we have been. But there! I'm not going to say anything about him, or about anybody but myself.”
Roy nodded his head in approbation.
“Ah! that suits you. You pious fellows are so particular about what is said about one's neighbor. I must be careful. You are right, of course, and besides I received a pretty close call, up there on the hillside, so I am going to try to undo some of the harm I have done. The chaplain has urged me, too.”
“Yes, be careful, please. But what is your story?”
“I was brought up,” he began in a low voice, “in a strange, unwholesome way. I suppose heredity, or at least environment, must have something to do with my tendencies and disposition. The only piece of good fortune I have had was in being sent to St. Cuthbert's, but, now when it is too late, I see how I have missed my chances here. Ever since I can remember, my father has been a heavy drinker and
our home has been one of squalid discomfort, and I became more or less soured with everything and everybody and found myself doing many a mean thing. Do you know who it was who put the suspicion of theft on you? Three of us worked that, or strictly speaking, two; It was I and Smithers, and occasionally—once in a great while—your cousin Garrett.”