“Oh!” cried Nello, reproachfully, “you said I was not to tell; and there you have gone and told yourself!”
“What is that? what is that?” asked Randolph, pricking up his ears.
But the boy and girl looked at each other and were silent. The curious uncle felt that he would most willingly have whipped them both, and that amiable sentiment showed itself in his face.
“And, Lily,” said Nello, “I think the old gentleman would not let me go. He will want me to play with; he has never had anybody to play with for—I don’t know how long—never since a little boy called little Johnny: and he said that was my name too—— ”
“Oh, Nello! now it is you who are forgetting; he said (you know you told me) that you were never, never to tell!”
Randolph turned from one to another, bewildered. What did they mean? Had they the audacity to play upon his fears, the little foundlings, the little impostors! He drew a long breath of fury, and clenched his fist involuntarily. “Children should never have secrets,” he said. “Do you know it is wicked, very wicked? You ought to be whipped for it. Tell me directly what you mean!”
But this is not the way to get at any child’s secret. The brother and sister looked at each other, and shut fast their mouths. As for Nello, he felt the edges of that stone in his pocket, and thought he would like to throw it at the man. Lilias had no stone, and was not warlike; but she looked at him with the calm of superior knowledge. “It would be dishonourable,” she said, faltering over the pronunciation, but firm in the sentiment, “to tell what we were told not to tell.”
“You are going to school with me—on Saturday,” said Randolph, with a virulence of irritation which children are just as apt to call forth as their elders. “You will be taught better there; you will not venture to conceal anything, I can tell you, my boy.”
And he left them with an angry determination to carry out his plans, and to give over Nello to hands that would tame him effectually, “the best thing for him.” The children, though they had secretly enjoyed his discomfiture, were a little appalled by this conclusion. “Oh, Nello, I will tell you what he is—he is the wicked uncle in the Babes in the Wood. He will take you and leave you somewhere, where you will lose yourself and starve, and never be heard of. But I will find you. I will go after you. I will never leave you!” cried Lilias with sudden tears.
“I could ask which way to go,” said Nello, much impressed, however, by this view. “I can speak English now. I could ask the way home; or something better!—listen, Lily—if he takes me, when we have gone ten miles, or a hundred miles, I will run away!”