"It isn't seeing you," he replied, "it's seeing me. No, I sha'n't go out till I get some clothes."

Bob kept his word, and for the rest of the holidays when I went out it always used to be with Bigley Uggleston. But we did not neglect poor Bob, for we went to see him nearly every day, and played games with him in the garden, and finished the gooseberries, and began the apples, contriving to enjoy ourselves pretty well.

As for the doctor, it was his way of dealing with his son, and I suppose he thought he was right; but it was very unpleasant, and kept poor Bob out of many a bit of enjoyment, those clothes being locked away.

I said that Bob would not go out. I ought to have said, by daylight, for he used to go with us after dark down to the end of the tiny pier, where we sat with our legs swinging over the water, each holding a fishing-line and waiting for any fish that might be tempted to take the raw mussel stuck upon our hooks.

But somehow that narrow escape of ours seemed to act like a damper upon the rest of our holidays, and I spent a good deal of my time with Bigley, watching the preparations made by the masons at the works in the Gap.

We all declared that we were not sorry when one morning old Teggley Grey's cart stopped at our gate to take up my box. Bob Chowne's was already in, and he was sitting upon it, while Bigley was half-way up the slope leading over the moor waiting by the road-side with his.

I said "Good-bye" to my father, who shook my hand warmly.

"Learn all you can, Sep," he said, "and get to be a man, for you have a busy life before you, and before long I shall want you to help me."

I climbed in, and old Teggley drew out the corners of his lips and grinned as if he was glad that Bob Chowne was so miserable. For Bob did not move, only sat with his hands supporting his face, staring down before him, bent, miserable, and dejected.

"What's the matter, Bob?" I said, trying to be cheerful. "Got the toothache?"

"Yes," he said sourly, "all over."

"Get out! What is it? Father made you take some physic?"

"Yes, pills. Verb.u.m nasticusis, and bully draught after."

"What! Has he been scolding you?"

"Scolding me! He never does anything else. I sha'n't stand it much longer. I shall run off to sea and be a cabin-boy."

"Hi, hi, hi!"

"What are you laughing at?" snapped Bob, turning sharply upon old Teggley.

"At you, Mars Bob Chowne, going for a cabin-boy."

_Whop_!

That last was a severe crack given to admonish the big bony horse old Teggley drove; but he was a merciful man to his beast, and always. .h.i.t on the pad, the collar, or the shafts.

"S'pose I like to go for a cabin-boy, 'tain't no business of yours, is it?" cried Bob snappishly.

"Not a bit, my lad, not a bit. I'll take your sea-chest over to Barnstaple for you when you go."

"No, you won't," grumbled Bob viciously, "for I won't have one."

"Ahoy! Bigley," I shouted, looking out from under the tilt. "Hooray for school!"

"Aha! Look at him--look at him!" shouted Bob, whose whole manner changed as soon as he saw Bigley's doleful face. "I say, old Grey, here's a little boy crying because he is going back to school."

Bigley did not say anything, only gave Bob a reproachful glance as he handed his box up to the carrier, and then climbed in.

"Gently, Mars Uggles'on," cried the old carrier, who seemed to consider that he had a right like other people to joke Bigley about his size; "gently, my lad, or you'll break the sharps. I didn't know I was going to have a two-horse load."

"Look here, old Teggley Grey!" cried Bigley firing up; "if you say another word about my being so large, I'll pitch you out of the back of the cart, and drive into Barnstaple without you."

"Do, Bigley, do," cried Bob in ecstasy. "Here, I'll hold the reins.

Chuck him out."

"Don't talk that way, Mars Bob Chowne," whined the old man. "You wouldn't like me to be hurt."

"Oh, just wouldn't I!" cried Bob spitefully. "Pitch him overboard, Bigley, old boy, and hurt him as much as you can."

"No, no, you wouldn't, Mars Bob Chowne. You wouldn't like me to have to be carried home on a wagon, and your father have to tend me for broken bones and such."

"I tell you I would," cried Bob savagely; "and I hope you'll bite your tongue, and then you won't be so ready to ask questions. There!"

"Me ask questions!" exclaimed the old carrier in an ill-used tone. "As if I ever did. Well, never mind, he'll know better some day."

The old man sniffed several times quite severely, and sat bolt upright at the side of the cart, looking out at his horse's ears, and left us to ourselves. Bob's fit of melancholy was over, and he was ready to make remarks upon everything he saw; but neither Bigley nor I spoke, for we were intent upon something the latter told me.

"I don't want to tell tales," he said to me in a low tone, "but father makes me miserable."

"But do you think it is so bad as you say?"

Bigley nodded.

"He goes and sits on a stone with his spy-gla.s.s where he can see them, but they can't see him, and he stops there watching for hours everything they do, and comes back looking very serious and queer."

"Well, what does it matter?" I said. "He won't hurt us. He can't, because he is my father's tenant, and if he did he'd have to go."

"Don't talk like that, Sep," whispered Bigley. "It's bad enough now, and it would be worse then."

"I say, what chaps you two are!" cried Bob Chowne. "Why don't you talk to a fellow?"

No one answered, and Bob turned sulky and went and sat on the front of the cart, where he began to whistle.

"What do you mean by being worse?" I said.

Bigley shook his head.

"I don't know; I can't say," he whispered. "I mean I don't want father to be very cross."

"I say, Big," I whispered. "Your father really is a smuggler, isn't he?"

Bigley looked sharply round to gaze at old Teggley Grey and Bob Chowne, creeping as he did so nearer to the tail-board of the cart, and I followed him.

"I oughtn't to tell," he whispered back.