Loveit slept in the room with Hardy, whom he had left fast asleep, and whom he now was extremely afraid of awakening. All the apples were emptied out of Loveit’s pockets, and lodged with Tarlton till the morning, for fear the smell should betray the secret to Hardy. The room door was apt to creak, but it was opened with such precaution, that no noise could be heard, and Loveit found his friend as fast asleep as when he left him.
“Ah,” said he to himself, “how quietly he sleeps! I wish I had been sleeping too.” The reproaches of Loveit’s conscience, however, served no other purpose but to torment him; he had not sufficient strength of mind to be good. The very next night, in spite of all his fears, and all his penitence, and all his resolutions, by a little fresh ridicule and persuasion he was induced to accompany the same party on a similar expedition. We must observe, that the necessity for continuing their depredations became stronger the third day; for, though at first only a small party had been in the secret, by degrees it was divulged to the whole school; and it was necessary to secure secrecy by sharing the booty.
Everyone was astonished that Hardy, with all his quickness and penetration, had not yet discovered their proceedings; but Loveit could not help suspecting that he was not quite so ignorant as he appeared to be. Loveit had strictly kept his promise of secrecy; but he was by no means an artful boy; and in talking to his friend, conscious that he had something to conceal, he was perpetually on the point of betraying himself; then recollecting his engagement, he blushed, stammered, bungled; and upon Hardy’s asking what he meant, would answer with a silly, guilty countenance, that he did not know; or abruptly break off, saying, “Oh nothing! nothing at all!”
It was in vain that he urged Tarlton to permit him to consult his friend. A gloom overspread Tarlton’s brow when he began to speak on the subject, and he always returned a peremptory refusal, accompanied with some such taunting expression as this—“I wish we had nothing to do with such a sneaking fellow; he’ll betray us all, I see, before we have done with him.”
“Well,” said Loveit to himself, “so I am abused after all, and called a sneaking fellow for my pains; that’s rather hard, to be sure, when I’ve got so little by the job.”
In truth he had not got much; for in the division of the booty only one apple, and half of another, which was only half ripe, happened to fall to his share; though, to be sure, when they had all eaten their apples, he had the satisfaction to hear everybody declare they were very sorry they had forgotten to offer some of theirs to “poor Loveit.”
In the meantime, the visits to the apple-tree had been now too frequently repeated to remain concealed from the old man who lived in the cottage. He used to examine his only tree very frequently, and missing numbers of rosy apples, which he had watched ripening, he, though not prone to suspicion, began to think that there was something going wrong; especially as a gap was made in his hedge, and there were several small footsteps in his flower beds.
The good old man was not at all inclined to give pain to any living creature, much less to children, of whom he was particularly fond. Nor was he in the least avaricious, for though he was not rich, he had enough to live upon, because he had been very industrious in his youth; and he was always very ready to part with the little he had. Nor was he a cross old man. If anything would have made him angry, it would have been the seeing his favourite tree robbed, as he had promised himself the pleasure of giving his red apples to his grandchildren on his birthday. However, he looked up at the tree in sorrow rather than in anger, and leaning upon his staff, he began to consider what he had best do.
“If I complain to their master,” said he to himself, “they will certainly be flogged, and that I should be sorry for: yet they must not be let to go on stealing; that would be worse still, for it would surely bring them to the gallows in the end. Let me see—oh, ay, that will do; I will borrow farmer Kent’s dog Barker, he’ll keep them off, I’ll answer for it.”
Farmer Kent lent his dog Barker, cautioning his neighbour, at the same time, to be sure to chain him well, for he was the fiercest mastiff in England. The old man, with farmer Kent’s assistance, chained him fast to the trunk of the apple-tree.