When Cynthia had gone, he undressed and threw himself on the bed, but there was a queer stinging sensation in his veins, and he could not sleep.Rising presently, he opened the window, and in the frosty October air stood looking through the darkness to the light that twinkled in the direction of Blake Hall.Faint stars were shining overhead, and against the indistinct horizon something obscure and black was dimly outlined--perhaps the great clump of oaks that surrounded the old brick walls.Somewhere by that glimmer of light he knew that Fletcher sat hugging his ambition like a miser, gloating over the grandson who would grow up to redeem his name.For the weak, foolish-mouthed boy Christopher at this moment knew neither tolerance nor compassion;and if he stooped to touch him, he felt that it was merely as he would grasp a stick which Fletcher had taken for his own defense.
The boy himself might live or die, prosper or fail, it made little difference.The main thing was that in the end Bill Fletcher should be hated by his grandson as he was hated by the man whom he had wronged.
CHAPTER IX.As the Twig is Bent It was two weeks after this that Fletcher, looking up from his coffee and cakes one morning, demanded querulously "Whar's Will, Saidie? It seems to me he sleeps late these days.""Oh, he was up hours ago," responded Miss Saidie, from behind the florid silver service."I believe he has gone rabbit hunting with that young Blake."Fletcher laid down his knife and fork and glowered suspiciously upon his sister, the syrup from his last mouthful hanging in drops on his coarse gray beard.
"With young Blake! Why, what's the meaning of that?" he inquired.
"It's only that Will's taken to him, I think.Thar's no harm in this hunting rabbits that I can see, and it keeps the child out of doors, anyway.Fresh air is what the doctor said he needed, you know.""I don't like it; I don't like it," protested Fletcher; "those Blakes are as mad as bulldogs, and they've been so as far back as I can remember.The sooner a stop's put to this thing the better it'll be.How long has it been going on, I wonder?" "About ten days, I believe, and it does seem to give the boy such an interest.I can't help feeling it's a pity to break it up.""Oh, bother you and your feelings!" was Fletcher's retort."If you'd had the sense you ought to have had, it never would have started; but you've always had a mushy heart, and I ought to have allowed for it, I reckon.Thar're two kind of women in this world, the mulish and the pulish, an' when it comes to a man's taking his pick between 'em, the Lord help him.As for that young Blake--well, if I had to choose between him and the devil, I'd take up with the devil mighty fast, that's all.""Oh, Brother Bill, he saved the child's life!""Well, he didn't do it on purpose; he told me so himself.I tried to settle that fair and square with him, you know, and he had the face to tear my check in half and send it back.Oh, I don't like this thing, I tell you, and I won't have it.I've no doubt it's at the bottom of all Will's cutting up about school, too.He was not well enough to go yesterday, he said, and here he's getting up this morning at daybreak and streaking, heaven knows whar, with a beggar.You may as well pack his things--I'll ship him off to-morrow if I'm alive.""I hope you won't scold him, anyway; he's not strong, you know, and it's good for him to have a little pleasure.I'm sure I can't see what you have against the Blakes, as far as that goes.Iremember the old gentleman when I was a child--so fine, and clean, and pleasant, it was a sight just to see him ride by on his dappled horse.He always lifted his hat to me, too, when he passed me in the road, and once he gave me some peaches for opening the red gate for him.I never could help liking him, and I was sorry when he lost his money and they had to sell the Hall."Fletcher choked over his coffee and grew purple in the face.
"Hang your puling!" he cried harshly."I'll not stand it, do you hear? The old man was a beggarly, cheating spendthrift, and the young one is a long sight worse.I'd rather wring Will's neck than have him mixed up with that batch of paupers."Miss Saidie shrunk back, frightened, behind the silver service.
"Of course you know best, brother," she hastened to acknowledge, with her unfailing good-humour."I'm as fond of the child as you are, I reckon--and of Maria, too, for that matter.Have you seen this photograph she sent me yesterday, taken at some outlandish place across the water? I declare, I had no idea she was half so handsome.She has begun to wear her hair low and has filled out considerable.""Well, there was room for it," commented Fletcher, as he glanced indifferently at the picture and laid it down."Get Will's clothes packed to-day, remember.He starts off tomorrow morning, rain or shine."Pushing back his chair, he paused to gulp a last swallow of coffee, and then stamped heavily from the room.
At dinner Will did not appear, and when at last the supper bell jangled in the hall and Fletcher strode in to find the boy's place still empty, the shadow upon his brow grew positively black.As they rose from the table there were brisk, light steps along the hall, and Will entered hurriedly, warm and dusty after the day's hunt.Catching sight of his grandfather, he started nervously, and the boyish animation he had brought in from the fields faded quickly from his face, which took on a sly and dogged look.
"Whar in the devil's name have you been, suh?" demanded Fletcher bluntly.
