Dicky thought for some time, and then began to move off through the forest.
“He is going towards his mother’s cottage; I shouldn’t be surprised if little Master Hugh be there safe enough,” whispered Sam Barnby.
“Bless you, bless you, Sam Barnby, for those words, and I believe that they are true,” exclaimed Sir Hugh, as we all followed the idiot, except a couple of men, who were left with the dead body.
In a short time we reached a wretched tumble-down hut of mud, with a roof of thatch, green with age, and full of holes, in which birds had built their nests. There at one end we found a bed-ridden old woman, the idiot’s mother, and on a little pallet-bed in the further corner lay a blooming child fast asleep. Sir Hugh stepped forward, signing to us not to make a noise, and lifting the child in his arms, bestowed a kiss on its brow. The boy awoke, and seeing his father—for it was our dear little Hugh—threw his arms round his neck and exclaimed:
“You’ve come, papa, for Hugh at last; Hugh is so glad, so happy!”
It was a happy meeting we all had at the Hall that evening, and grateful were the hearts of Sir Hugh and Lady Worsley at the recovery of their darling boy. I remember that afterwards there was an inquest, and that the magistrates met, but, except from the ravings of poor Dicky Green, there was no evidence how the deceased gentleman who was found in the forest came by his death. He was accordingly buried quietly in the parish churchyard, and as little fuss as possible made about the matter, though of course it had the usual run of a nine days’ wonder. I am happy to say that little Hugh grew up, and as he is the father of a number of boys, there is not much chance of the property going out of the old line for want of a male heir.
Story 2--Chapter I.
