Whether Rollitt heard or not, he had to guess. At any rate he hardly felt sanguine that his message would be delivered.
As for Rollitt, he shut himself into his study with a bang, and might have been heard by any one who took the trouble to listen, pacing up and down the floor for a long time that evening. He did not put in an appearance in the common room, and although Yorke sent to ask him to tea, he forgot all about the invitation, and even if he had remembered it, would have forgotten whether he had said Yes or No.
The next morning—Sunday—just as the chapel bell was beginning to ring, Widow Wisdom was startled by a loud knock at her door.
“Oh, Master Rollitt,” said she, and her eyes were red still, “is the boat safe after all?”
“No; but I’ve got you another. Farmer Gay’s was for sale on the lake—I’ve bought it. It’s yours now.”
“Farmer Gay’s—mine? Oh, go on, Master Rollitt, how could you buy a boat any more than me? You’ve no money to spare, I know.”
“It’s yours—here’s the receipt,” said the boy, with almost a scowl.
“But, Master Rollitt—”
But Master Rollitt had gone to be in time for chapel.