“But, Fred, how did you get in here?”
“Well,” said he, “we hear talk of providential occurrences: there’s nothing Mr. Holland is fonder of telling us about in his sermons than the guiding finger of God. If the means that enabled me to take refuge here were not providential, Johnny, I must say they looked like it. When I met you yesterday afternoon, you must remember my chancing to say that the little Hollands were playing at ‘Salt Fish’ in the study, while I sat there, talking to Edna?”
Of course I remembered it.
“Directly after I left you, Johnny,” resumed Fred Westerbrook, “I put my hand in my coat-tail pocket for my handkerchief, and found a large key there. It was the key of the church, that the children had been hiding at their play; and I understood in a moment that Charley, whose turn it was to hide last, had made a hiding-place of my pocket. The parson keeps one key, you know, and Bumford the other——”
“But, Fred,” I interrupted, the question striking me, “how came the young ones to let you come away with it?”
“Because, lad, their attention got diverted to something else. Ann brought in the tea-things, with a huge plate of bread-and-treacle: they screamed out in delight, and scuffled to get seats round the table. Well, I let the key lie in my pocket,” went on Fred, “intending to take it back to-day. In the night, when flying from pursuit, not knowing who or how many might be after me, I felt this heavy key strike against me continually; and, in nearing the church, the thought flashed over me like an inspiration: What if I open it and hide there? Just as young Charley had hidden the key in my pocket, so I hid myself, by its means, in the church.”
Taking a minute to think over what he said, it did seem strange. One of those curious things one can hardly account for; the means for his preservation were so simply natural and yet almost marvellous. Perhaps the church was the only building where he could have found secure refuge. Private dwellings would refuse to shelter him, and other places were sure to be searched.
“You are safe here, Fred. No one would ever think of seeking you here.”
“Safe, yes; but for how long? I can’t live without food for ever, Johnny. As it is, I have eaten none since last night.”
My goodness! A shock of remorse came over me. When I was at old Bumford’s knife-box, a loaf of bread stood on the dresser. If I had only secured it!