“I’m Squire Heathcote’s man, of Bloxholme, and this is his son, Master Digby Heathcote; and I’m to deliver him safe and sound into your hands, to keep him carefully till he is sent for home, or till you send him back,” answered John, firmly. “I suppose it’s all right, sir?”
“I will give you an acknowledgment in writing that I have him all safe,” said Mr Sanford, much amused at John’s mode of proceeding. “Go into the kitchen, and get something to eat and drink after your journey.”
“No, thank you, sir; I’d rather have the writing. I’m not hungry. We had something, Master Digby and I, as we came along; and I have to go back to the station with the fly.”
“Very well; push that table with the desk on it near me. I will give you what you require.”
John did as he was desired; and Mr Sanford wrote a short note, which he gave him.
John forthwith handed it to Digby. “I suppose it’s all right, Master Digby, dear,” he whispered. “I bean’t no great scholard, sir, and so I just wanted the young master to see that the lines was all right and proper. No offence to you, sir, you know,” he added, turning to Mr Sanford.
The schoolmaster was highly amused; but Digby was afraid that John had gone too far.
“It’s all right, John,” he exclaimed, taking his hand affectionately. “Good by, good by. My love to papa and mamma, and Kate and Gusty, and all; and don’t forget to look after Sweetlips, and tell Kate to write to me about him; but she’ll do that, I’m sure. You must go, John, I know you must.” Digby felt more inclined to cry than he had done before. John was the last link which united him with all the home associations he was conjuring up. John warmly returned Digby’s grasp. He went to the door, and opened it. He turned round once more with his hand on the lock.
“You has him in charge, sir,” he said, looking sternly at Mr Sanford. “Oh, take care of him, sir; he’s very precious down at Bloxholme there.”
John, afraid of trusting himself, bolted out of the door.