“Youngsters,” said he, “I suspect both of you were engaged in the destruction of the coach last night. Is it not so?”
We confessed the truth, and told him exactly how it happened.
“Did you endeavour to find out the owners, and to make them all the amends in your power for the mischief you had committed?”
We owned that we had not.
“You neglected your bounden duty, then,” he observed. “You should recollect that every act of meanness committed by a British officer brings discredit on the cloth. When a man is guilty of a fault, he but increases it if he neglects to make reparation for it. Now, if I get leave for you to accompany me on shore, will you follow my directions?” We promised we would. “Well then, we will find out the owners of the coach, and you must go and tell them that you are very sorry for the mischief you committed, explain how it happened, and beg their pardon. I do not think you can exactly offer to give them a new coach; nor would they expect it, probably.”
At this Dicky looked very blue; but he could not escape from his promise, and he soon mustered a sufficiency of moral courage to carry him through the work. I was, I own, very glad in being thus supported in doing what I felt was right.
In the afternoon we went on shore, and set off at once to the scene of our adventure: The fragments of the coach had been removed. Climbing up the lane, we made inquiries at the top—at least Adam, who spoke Italian, did—for any family from the country who might be stopping at a house near at hand.
“Oh, you want Signora Faranelli, whose coach was run away with last night by some ragamuffins!” said the master of a small shop where we inquired.
“The same,” answered Adam.
“She and her daughters are staying with Signor Bianconi at the big house, there.”