Jim displayed the little animal. "He's only a few days old, sir," said he, "but he's a fine fellow. Just look at his ears!"
"How am I to see?" rejoined Rupert. "It's almost pitch dark."
"Stop a bit," said Jim, producing a sort of torch from under his smock-frock, and by some contrivance setting it alight. The wood blazed away, sending up its flame in the yard, but they advanced into the open space, away from the ricks and danger. These torches, cut from a peculiar wood, were common enough in the neighbourhood, and were found very useful on a dark night by those who had to go about any outdoor work. They gave the light of a dozen candles, and were not extinguished with every breath of wind. Dangerous things for a rick-yard, you will say: and so they were, in incautious hands.
They moved to a safe spot at some distance from the ricks. The puppy lay in Rupert's arms now, and he took the torch in his hand, whilst he examined it. But not a minute had they thus stood, when some one came upon them with hasty steps. It was Mr. Chattaway. He had, no doubt, just returned from Blackstone, and was going in after leaving his horse in the stable. Jim Sanders disappeared, but Rupert stood his ground, the lighted torch still in his one hand, the puppy lying in the other.
"What are you doing here?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway.
"Not much," said Rupert. "I was only looking at this little puppy," showing it to Mr. Chattaway.
The puppy did not concern Mr. Chattaway. It could not work him treason, and Rupert was at liberty to look at it if he chose; but Mr. Chattaway would not let the opportunity slip of questioning him on another matter. It was the first time they had met, remember, since that little episode which had so disturbed Mr. Chattaway in the morning—the finding of Rupert's boots.
"Pray where did you spend last evening?" he began.
"At the parsonage," freely answered Rupert; and Mr. Chattaway detected, or fancied he detected, defiance in the voice, which, to his ears, could only mean treason. "It was Mr. Daw's last evening there, and he asked me to spend it with him."
Mr. Chattaway saw no way of entering opposition to this; he could not abuse him for taking tea at the parsonage; could not well forbid it in the future. "What time did you come home?" he continued.