Tod suddenly leaned forward, his elbow on his knee, his whole interest aroused. Some unpleasant doubt had struck him, as was evident by the flush upon his face.
“Of course, anybody that might be about, back or front, could find their way down here if they pleased,” he slowly said. “Tramps get in sometimes.”
“Rarely, without being noticed. Who did you boys see about the place that afternoon—tramp or gentleman? Come! You were at the house, Johnny: you bolted into it, head foremost, saying you had come from the Dyke.”
“I never saw a soul but Sanker: he was on the bench on the lawn, reading. I said so at the time, sir.”
“Ah! yes; Sanker was there reading,” quietly assented the Squire. “What were you hastening home for, Johnny?”
As if that mattered, or could have had anything to do with it! He had a knack of asking unpleasant questions; and I looked at Tod.
“Hugh got his blouse torn, and Johnny came in to get another,” acknowledged Tod, readily. The fact was, Hugh’s clothes that afternoon had come to uncommon grief. Hannah had made one of her usual rows over it, and afterwards shown the things to Mrs. Todhetley.
“Well, and now for to-day,” resumed the pater. “Where have you all been?”
Where had we not? In the three-cornered paddock; with Monk in the pine-house; away in the rick-yard; once to the hay-field; at the rabbit-hutches; round at the stables; oh, everywhere.
“You two, and Sanker?”