“Where did I see him? I’m his guardian. He ran away from me a little more than a week since, and I never knew where he went.”
“You the guardian of the wonderful boy-player?” said Carrie, astonished. “Isn’t it strange?”
“His father died a short time since and left him in my care,” said the squire, not scrupling to make a misstatement. “But I’ll tell you more about it when the performance is over.”
When Philip first saw Squire Pope entering the hall it disconcerted him, but he reflected that the squire really had no authority over him, and consequently he had nothing to fear from him.
Should his pretended guardian make any effort to recover him, he was resolved to make a desperate resistance, and even, if necessary, to invoke the help of the law.
Meanwhile, his pride stimulated him to play his best, and the hearty applause of the audience when he had finished his piece encouraged him.
As he was bowing his thanks he could not help directing a triumphant glance at Squire Pope, who was carefully scrutinizing him through his gold-bowed spectacles.
He was glad that the squire had a chance to see for himself that he was well able to make his own way, with the help of the violin of which the Norton official had attempted to deprive him.
In truth, Squire Pope, who knew little of Philip’s playing, except that he did play, was amazed to find him so proficient. Instead, however, of concluding that a boy so gifted was abundantly able to “paddle his own canoe,” as the saying is, he was the more resolved to carry him back to Norton, and to take into his own care any the boy might have earned. In the middle of the entertainment was a recess of ten minutes, which most of the audience spent in conversation.
Miss Carrie began again to speak of Philip.