I did not see how he would get it off his back either. Wishing him good-night and a good heart, I turned to go.
“Wait a moment, Johnny. Let me go back to my hiding-place first.”
He went swiftly up the aisle, lighter now than it had been, for the moonlight was streaming in at the windows. Locking the church safely, I crossed the graveyard to old Bumford’s. He was seated at his round table at supper: bread-and-cheese, and beer.
“Oh, Mr. Bumford, as I have to come into the church very early in the morning, or I shall never get my music up for Sunday, I will take the key home with me. Good-night.”
He shouted out fifteen denials: How dared I think of taking the key out of his custody! But I was conveniently deaf, rushed off, and left him shouting.
“What a long practice you have been taking, Johnny!” cried Mrs. Todhetley. “And how hot you look. You must have run very fast.”
The Squire turned round from his arm-chair. “You’ve been joining in the hunt after that scamp, Mr. Johnny;—you’ve not been in the church, sir, all this time. I hear there’s a fine pack out, scouring the hedges and ditches.”
“I got a candle from old Bumford’s den,” said I, evasively. And presently I contrived to whisper unseen to Tod—who sat reading—to come outside. Standing against the wall of the pigeon-house, I told him all. For once in his life Tod was astonished.
“What a stunning thing!” he exclaimed. “Good luck, Fred! we’ll help you. I knew he was innocent, Johnny. Food? Yes, of course; we must get it for him. Molly, you say? Molly be shot!”