But in a minute or so, the master caught the words which sent a thrill of joy through him:
"I must not, will not tell. Only, sir, don't send away Macintosh; indeed, indeed, he does not deserve to be punished. He is not guilty—he knows nothing about it; but I must not tell who is. I will not be a tell-tale."
Ere Dr. Bowles could reply, a knock came to the door; and little Dudley entered, followed by a tall young man in the dress of a peasant. The brown eyes danced with a look of joy and triumph, such as they had not worn for many a day.
In a few words his story was told. Prowling about by the side of the river, as he had so often done lately, that morning he had met the young lad who was now with him, and who had asked him:
"Be you one o' the lads that live in the school yonder?"
He had answered, "Yes."
Then said his questioner, "Canst tell if the lad wi' the scar on his face, that was fishing here last Saturday, caught any fish?"
At these words Dudley had sprung up, and eagerly asked for an explanation.
"You see," said the young man, "I was comin' along that day to see a friend on the other side o' the river, and was meanin' to cross at the bridge farther down, when a good-looking lad wi' a mark on his face comed up to me, and asked if I belonged to these parts."
"And when I said, 'No; I comed from a farm a good bit off,' he says, 'All right then; I may ask you: I'm going to fish hereabouts, and I've got a new rod, but the tackle's got all wrong—would you lend me a hand to put it to rights?'"