“I will show it you to-morrow in the paper, announced for an early day—and it needs be an early one.”
“Sorry to doubt you. Not at all a truthful family. Three weeks more, my son; and that’s every hour. Let her come spying, if she likes. She never could keep her nose out of anything, or perhaps I shouldn’t be quite as I am. I am sorry for my lady; I only hope the pleasure will be mutual.”
CHAPTER LXIII.
THERE SAT KITTY.
While these things thus were growing near me, as I learned soon afterwards, in our place there was no sign yet of anything encouraging. My Uncle Corny, who had always vowed that he never would bet a farthing, was now in a highly grumbling state, because he had not backed Nutmeg-grater.
“A horse bred and born in our own fields—a colt I have seen through the hedge fifty times, without caring to count his legs almost, and he goes and wins five thousand pounds, and how much do I get? Not a penny. I think it was very unkind of Sam; unnatural, and not neighbourly, to let Ludred get all the good of that, and not a threepenny bit come to Sunbury!”
“Now, Uncle Corny, you talk of justice, and every one calls you a superior man;” I said, with the desire to mollify him, but the method misdirected; “how many times have I heard Sam Henderson tell you to put a bit of money on that horse? But you said—‘None of your gambling for me!’ And now, because the horse has won, you think you have been ill-treated!”
“Kit, you stick to your own affairs. What do you know about things like this? I want none of their dirty money. I pay my way, by honest work. They are a set of rogues, all together. You never see anything clearly now. Your wits are always gone wool-gathering. Why, your own Aunt Parslow won a box of gloves. And you are satisfied with my getting nothing.”
It was true that my wits were wool-gathering now, but they travelled a long way for nothing. Ever since Sam, and Major Monkhouse, brought me the story of that strange vision, it seemed to be dwelling in my brain, and driving every solid sense out of it. All day long, and all night too, the same thing was before me—a ship with white sails piled on one another, like a tower of marble arches, the blue water breaking into silver at her steps, and upon the forefront a figure standing, with arms extended and bright eyes yearning, and red lips opened to say—“here I am!”
I went to the post, three times a day, for we now had three deliveries, and who could wait for old Bob’s slow round? And often in the middle of a mutton-chop, which Tabby would grind into my listless mouth, at a shadow on the window, or the creaking of a door, I was up, and had my hat on, and was listening in the lane.