The Vast Abyss

“Plenty of time for that,” said Uncle Richard; “the station fly shall be here to take you over in time for the last train. There, you will excuse me.”

That evening, as Tom rode over to the station with his visitor, and just before he said good-bye, Pringle rubbed away very hard at his damaged hat, but in vain, for the breakage still showed, and exclaimed —

“I don’t care, sir, I won’t believe it.”

“Believe what, Pringle?”

“As them two’s brothers, sir. It’s against nature. Look here, I wouldn’t have it at first, but he was quite angry, and said I must, and that I was to take it as a present from you.”

“What is it?” said Tom; “a letter?”

“Yes, sir, to your uncle’s lawyer, asking him as a favour to try and get me work.”

“Then you’ll get it, Pringle,” cried Tom.

“That I shall, sir. And look here, cheque on his banker for five-and-twenty pounds, as he would make me have, to be useful till I get a fresh clerkship. Now, ought I to take it, Mr Thomas?”

“Of course,” cried Tom. “There, in with you. Good-night, Pringle, good-night.”

“But ought I to take that cheque, Mr Thomas? because I didn’t earn it, and didn’t want to,” cried Pringle, leaning out of the carriage window; “Ought I to keep it, sir?”

“Yes,” cried Tom, as the train moved off, and he ran along the platform, “to buy a new hat.”

Chapter Fifty Three

“And you did not know anything about it, Pete?” said Tom one day, as he sat beside the lad in Mother Warboys’ cottage, while the old woman kept on going in and out, muttering to herself, and watching them uneasily.

Pete looked very thin and hollow-cheeked, but for the first time perhaps for many years his face was perfectly clean, and his hair had been clipped off very short; while now, after passing through a phase of illness which had very nearly had a fatal result, he was slowly gaining strength.

The dog, which had been lying half asleep beside his master, suddenly jumped up, to lay its long, thin nose on Tom’s knee, and stood watching him, perfectly happy upon feeling a hand placed for treating as a sheath into which he could plunge the said nose.

“You give him too much to eat,” said Pete. Then suddenly, “No, I can’t recklect. It was blowin’ when I got in to go and sleep, ’cause she was allus grumblin’, and then somethin’ ketched me, and my arm went crack, and it got very hot, and I went to sleep. I don’t ’member no more. I say.”

“Yes.”

“I shan’t take no more doctor’s stuff, shall I?”

But he did – a great deal; and in addition soups and jellies, and sundry other preparations of Mrs Fidler’s, till he was able to go about very slowly with his arm in a sling, to where he could seat himself in some sandy hollow, to bask in the sun along with his dog.

“But it’s bringing up all the good in his nature, Tom,” said the Vicar, rubbing his hands, “and we shall make a decent man of him yet.”

“Humph! doubtful!” said Uncle Richard.

“You go and look for comets and satellites,” cried the Vicar good-humouredly. “Tom’s on my side, and we’ll astonish you yet. Wait a bit.”

Uncle Richard smiled, and David, when Pete formed the subject of conversation, used to chuckle.

“Not you, Master Tom,” he said; “you’ll never make anything of him, but go on and try if you like. I believe a deal more in the dog. He arn’t such a bad one. But Pete – look here, sir. If you could cut him right down the thick part below his knees, which you couldn’t do, ’cause he arn’t got no thick part, for them shambling legs of his are like pipe-shanks – ”

“What are you talking about, David?” said Tom merrily.

“Pete Warboys, Master Tom. I say, if you could cut him down like that, and then graft in a couple o’ scions took of a young gent as I knows – never you mind who – bind ’em up neatly, clay ’em up, or do the same thing somewheres about his middle, you might grow a noo boy, as’d bear decent sort o’ fruit. But you can’t do that; and Pete Warboys ’ll be Pete Warboys as long as he lives.”

The old gardener had some ground for his bad opinion, for as the time rolled on, Pete grew strong and well, and then rapidly began to grow into a sturdy, strongly-built fellow, who always had a grin and a nod for Tom when they met; but it was not often, for he avoided every one, becoming principally a night bird, and only showed his gratitude to those who had nursed him through his dangerous illness, after saving his life, by religiously abstaining from making depredations upon their gardens.

“Which is something,” David said with a chuckle. “But I allus told you so, Master Tom; I allus told you.”

Tom, too, proved that the country air and his life with his uncle agreed with him, for he grew wonderfully.

“But you do sit up too much o’ nights, Master Tom,” said Mrs Fidler plaintively. “I wouldn’t care if you’d invent a slope up in the top of the mill; but you won’t.”

“I often get a nap on the couch down below,” said Tom, laughing. “Look here, Mrs Fidler, come up again some evening, and you shall see how grand it all is.”

“No, my dear, no,” said the housekeeper, shaking her head. “I don’t understand it all. It scares me when you show me the moon galloping away through the skies, and the stars all spinning round in that dizzy way. It makes me giddy too; and last time I couldn’t sleep for thinking about the world going at a thousand miles an hour, for it can’t be safe. Then, too, I’m sure I should catch a cold in my head with that great shutter open. I was never meant for a star-gazer. Let me be as I am.”

And time went on, with Tom plunging more and more deeply into the grand science, and rapidly becoming his uncle’s right-hand man, helping him with the papers he sent up to the learned societies, till in the course of a couple of years people began to talk of the discoveries made with the big telescope at Heatherleigh.

Then came a morning about two years and a half after the terrible storm. Tom, who had not retired till three o’clock, for it had been a gloriously clear night, and he and his uncle had been busy for many hours over Saturn’s satellites, which had been observed with unusual clearness, was sleeping soundly, when he was awakened by the sharp rattling of tiny pebbles against his window.

“Hulloo! what is it, David?” he cried, as he threw open his window.

“I told you so, sir; I told you so,” cried the gardener. “I allus said how it would be.”

“Some one been after the apples again?”

“Apples! no, sir; ten times worse than that. Pete’s took.”

“What?”

“Just heard it from our policeman, sir, who has been out all night. Pete Warboys has been for long enough mixed up with the Sanding gang, and was out with them last night over at Brackenbury Park, when the keepers come upon them, and there was a fight. One of the keepers was shot in the legs, and two of the poachers was a good deal knocked about. They were mastered, and four of ’em are in the lock-up.”

“But you said Pete was taken.”

“Yes, sir, he’s one of ’em; and that arn’t the worst of it.”

“Then what is?”

“His dog flew at one of the keepers when they were holding Pete Warboys, and the man shot him dead.”

“Poor wretch!” said Tom.

“Ay, I’m real sorry about that dog, sir. He was a hugly one surelie, but just think what a dog he’d ha’ been if he’d been properly brought up.”

The news was true enough; and fresh tidings came the very next day to Heatherleigh, Uncle Richard hearing that his brother had disposed of his practice, and gone to live down at Sandgate for his health.

Then, as the days glided by, the report came of examinations before the magistrates, which the Vicar attended.

“I went, Tom,” he said, “because I was grieved about the young man, for I tried again and again to wean him from his life; but nothing could be done – everything was too black against him. He and the others have been committed for trial, and Pete is sure to be severely punished.”