“If that doesn’t wake the dead!” he thought––but there was no awaking in the cottage. Its tiny window blinked in the moonlight, and Carnaby thought he heard the drowsy quack of a duck in an out-house. But the danger passed. Thud! went the axe again. The slim severed shaft of the tree was poised a moment, motionless, erect before it fell. Then it subsided gently among its broken and trodden boughs, and Carnaby’s task was done.
XXII
CONSEQUENCES
Early that morning before the sun had risen, when the light was still grey in the coming dawn, Robinette was awakened by a bird that called out from a tree close to her open window, every note like the striking of a golden bell. She jumped up and looked out, but the little singer, silenced, had flown away. Instead, she caught sight of a figure stealing across the lawn towards the side door which opened from the library. Even in the dim light she could distinguish that it was Carnaby, Carnaby with something in his hand. What he carried she could not quite make out, but the sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up above his elbows in a fatally business-like way, and he walked with an air of stealth.
“What mischief can that boy have been 285 up to at this time of day?” thought Robinette as she lay down again, but she was too sleepy to wonder long.
She forgot all about it until she saw Carnaby at the breakfast table some hours later. Sometimes the gloom of that meal––never a favorite or convivial one in the English household, and most certainly neither at Stoke Revel––would be enlivened by some of the boy’s pranks. He would pass over to the sideboard, pepper-pot slyly in hand, and Rupert, whose meal at this hour consisted of grape-nuts and cream, would unaccountably sneeze and snuffle over his plate.
“Bless it, Bobs!” his tormentor would exclaim tenderly. “Is it catching cold? Poor old Kitchener! Hi! Kitch! Kitch!” (like a violent sneeze) and the outraged Rupert would forget grape-nuts and pepper alike in a fit of impotent fury. But this morning the dog fed in peace and Carnaby never glanced at him or his basin. Robinette, looking at the boy and remembering where she 286 had seen him last, noticed that he was rather silent, that his cheeks were redder than common, and that under his eyes were lines of fatigue not usually there.
“What were you doing on the lawn at four o’clock this morning?” she began, but checked herself, suddenly thinking that if Carnaby had been up to mischief she must not allude to it before his grandmother.