The Story of Antony Grace. Fenn George Manville

try it; and ride when you’re tired. How much have you got?”

      I took out my little blue silk purse, and counted in sixpences half-a-crown.

      He looked at me for some few moments, and then stood thinking, as if trying to make up his mind about something.

      “I’ll do it,” he muttered. “Look here, young un, you and I are old friends, ain’t we?”

      “Oh, yes!” I said eagerly.

      “Then I will do it,” he said, and untying his neckerchief, he, to my great surprise, began to unroll it, to show me the two ends that were hidden in the folds. “For a rainy day,” he said, “and this is a rainy day for you. Look here, young un; this is my purse. Here’s two half-sovs tied up in these two corners – that’s one for you, and one for me.”

      “Oh, no, sir,” I said, “I’d rather not take it!” and I shrank away, for he seemed so poor and shabby, that the idea troubled me.

      “I don’t care whether you’d rather or not,” he said, untying one corner with his teeth. “You take it, and some day when you’ve made your fortune, you give it me back – if so be as you find I haven’t succeeded to my estate.”

      “Do you expect to come in for an estate some day, sir?” I said eagerly.

      “Bless your young innocence, yes. A piece of old mother earth, my boy, six foot long, and two foot wide. Just enough to bury me in.”

      I understood him now, and a pang shot through me at the idea of another one who had been kind to me dying. He saw my look and nodded sadly.

      “Yes, my lad, perhaps I shall be dead and gone long before then.”

      “Oh, sir, don’t; it’s so dreadful!” I said.

      “No, no, my boy,” he said quietly; and he patted my shoulder, as he pressed the half-sovereign into my hand. “Not so dreadful as you think. It sounds very awful to you youngsters, with the world before you, and all hope and brightness; but some day, please God you live long enough, you’ll begin to grow very tired, and then it will seem to you more like going to take a long rest. But there, there, we won’t talk like that. Here, give me that money back?”

      I handed it to him, thinking that he had repented of what he had done, and he hastily rolled the other half-sovereign up, and re-tied his handkerchief.

      “Here,” he said, “stop a minute, and don’t shut the door. I shall soon be back.”

      He hurried out, and in five minutes was back again to gaze at me smiling.

      “Stop a moment,” he said, “I must get sixpence out of another pocket. I had to buy an ounce o’ ’bacco so as to get change. Now, here you are – hold out your hand.”

      I held it out unwillingly, and he counted eight shillings and four sixpences into it.

      “That’s ten,” he said; “it’s better for you so. Now you put some in one pocket and some in another, and tie some up just the same as I have, and put a couple of shillings anywhere else you can; and mind and never show your money, and never tell anybody how much you’ve got. And mind this, too, when anybody asks you to give him something to drink, take him to the pump. That’s all. Stop. Don’t lose that address. Gov’nor’s not down, I s’pose?”

      “No, sir,” I said.

      “All right then, I shan’t stay. Good-bye, young un. When are you going?”

      “I’m not quite sure yet, sir.”

      “No? Well, perhaps I shan’t see you again. Jabez Rowle, mind you. Tell him all about yourself, mind, and – good-bye.”

      He trotted off, but came back directly, holding out his hand.

      “God bless you, young un,” he said huskily. “Good-bye.”

      Before I could speak again, the door closed sharply, and I was alone.

      Chapter Eight.

      I Take a Bold Step

      My head was in a whirl as soon as Mr Rowle had gone, and I sat at my desk thinking over my project, for I had felt for days past that I could not stay where I was – that I would sooner die; and night after night I had lain awake thinking of the, to me, terrible step I proposed to take. My life at Mr Blakeford’s had been such a scene of misery and torture, that I should have gone long enough before, had I dared. Now that I had grown older, and a little more confident, I had gradually nurtured the idea as my only hope, and the events of the past weeks had pretty well ripened my scheme.

      As I sat there, I laid my arms on the big desk, and my head down upon them, trembling at my daring, as the idea took a far more positive shape than ever; and now a feeling of reluctance to leave had come upon me. Mary had been so kind; and then there was little Hetty, who had silently shown me so many tokens of her girlish goodwill.

      I felt as I sat there, with the money and address in my pocket, that I must go now; and to act as a spur to my intentions, the words of Mr Wooster came trooping across my memory.

      Would Mr Blakeford want me to go to the magistrates and say what was not true?

      In imagination, I saw his threatening dark face before me, and his thin lips just parting to display his white teeth in that doglike smile of his, and I shuddered, as I felt how I feared him. It would be horrible to be threatened till I promised to say what he wished, and to lie to the magistrates with Mr Wooster’s threatening face watching me the while.

      But he would not ask me to tell a lie, I thought, and I could not run away. Mary would never forgive me, and Hetty would think that I really did cause her father to be so beaten. No: I felt I could not go, and that somehow I must get away from the house, go straight to Mr Rowle’s lodgings, and give him back the money, which I had received upon such a false pretence.

      It was all over. I felt the idea of freeing myself from my wretched slavery was one that could never be carried out, and I must wait patiently and bear my miserable lot.

      Crack!

      I leaped up as if I had been shot, to see Mr Blakeford, in dressing-gown and slippers, his hair cut short, and looking very pale, standing in the office, the ruler in his hand, with which he had just struck the table and made me start.

      “Asleep?” he said sharply.

      “No, sir,” I said, trembling as I looked at him over the partition. “No, sir, I was not asleep.”

      “It’s a lie, sir, you were asleep. Come here.”

      I descended from the stool, and opening the partition door, went slowly into his part of the office, and stood by the table, his dark eyes seeming to pierce me through and through.

      “Been worked so hard since I was ill, eh?” he said sneeringly.

      “No, sir, I – ”

      “Hold your tongue. What’s the matter with your head?”

      “My head, sir?” I stammered.

      “Yes, that half-healed cut. Oh, I remember, you fell down didn’t you?”

      “Fell down, sir! No, I – ”

      “You fell down – pitched down – I remember, while climbing.”

      “No, sir, I – ”

      “Look here, you dog,” he hissed between his teeth; “you fell down, do you hear? and cut your head when climbing. Do you understand?”

      “No, sir, I – ”

      “Once more, Antony Grace, listen to me. If anyone asks you how you came by that cut, mind – you fell down when climbing – you fell down when climbing. If you forget that – ”

      He did not finish, but seemed to hold me with his eye as he played with the ruler and made it go up and down.

      “Look here, my boy, you are my clerk, and you are to do exactly as I tell you. Now, listen to me. The day after to-morrow there is to be a case of assault brought before the magistrates,