“He talks of working his passage over. He has enough money about him, he says, to take him to the coast. Unfortunately, neither Tod nor I can help him in that respect. We have brought empty pockets from school, and shall have no money before the time of going back again. Will you go in and see him, Edna?”
“Yes,” she said, after a minute’s consideration. “And I will bring a roll of music in my hand, as you suggest, Johnny, for the satisfaction of Clerk Bumford’s curiosity. I will be at the stile as near eight o’clock as I can, if you will come out there to meet me: but it is Saturday night, you know, when there’s always a great deal to do.”
Dinner was made later than usual that night at home: it had struck half-past seven before we got out, having secured another bottle of beer. The moon was rising behind the trees as we went into the barn.
Tod struck a match, and we looked about. Yes, Fortune was with us still. Hanging on the shaft of the cart, was Mack’s smock-frock. It was anything but clean; but beggars can’t be choosers. Next we descried a cotton neckerchief and a pair of boots; two clumsy, clod-hopping boots, with nails in the soles, and the outside leather not to be seen for patches.
“They must do,” said Tod, with a rueful look. “But just look at the wretches, Johnny. I must smuggle these and the smock-frock into the church-porch, whilst you go round to old B.’s for the key.”
“I have the key. I flung him a shilling this morning instead of the key, saying I might be wanting to practise at any hour to-day, and would give it him back to-night.”
Going by the most solitary way, I let Tod into the church, and went to meet Edna Blake. She was already there, the roll of music in her hand. Bumford shot out of his house, and crossed our path.
“Good-evening, Mr. Bumford!” said she, cheerily. “I am come to try the hymns for to-morrow, with Johnny Ludlow.”
“They’d need to be sum’at extra, they had, with all this here fuss of practising,” returned Bumford, ungraciously. “Is the parson at home, Miss Blake?”