He was downstairs long before seven. The farmer was out. Mrs. Bolland, immersed in the early cares of the household, showed no traces of the excitement of eight hours earlier.

"Martin," she cried as soon as she caught sight of him, "I heerd a hen cluckin' a bit sen at t' bottom o' t' garth. Just look i' t' hedge an'

see if she's nestin'?"

This was a daily undertaking in a house where poultry were plentiful as sparrows in Piccadilly.

Martin hailed the mission as a sign that normal times were come again. A gate led into the meadow from the garden, but to go that way meant walking twenty yards or more, so the boy took a running jump, caught a stout limb of a pear tree, swung himself onto a ten-foot pile of wood, and dropped over into the field beyond.

Mrs. Bolland witnessed the feat with some degree of alarm. In the course of a few hours she had come to see her adopted son pa.s.sing from childhood into vigorous adolescence.

"Drat that lad!" she cried irately. "Does he want to break his neck?"

"He larnt that trick t' other day, missus," commented William, standing all lopsided to balance a huge pail of pig's food. "He'll mek a rare chap, will your Martin."

"He's larnin' a lot o' tricks that I ken nowt about," cried Mistress Martha. "Nice doin's there was last night. How comes it none o' you men saw him carryin' on i' t' fair wi' that little French la-di-dah?"

"I dunno, ma'am."

William grinned, though, for some of the men had noted the children's antics, and none would "split" to the farmer.

"But I did hear as how Martin gev t' Squire's son a fair weltin'," he went on. "One o' t' grooms pa.s.sed here an oor sen, exercisin' a young hoss, an' he said that beth young gentlemen kem yam at half-past ten.

Master Frank had an eye bunged up, an' a nose like a bad apple. He was that banged about that t' Squire let him off a bastin' an' gev t' other a double allowance."

Mrs. Bolland smiled.

"Gan on wi' yer wark," she said. "Here's it's seven o'clock, half t' day gone, an' nothin' done."

Martin, searching for stray eggs, suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He looked around and saw Jim Bates's head over the top of the lane hedge.

Jim held up a bundle.

"Here's yer coat an' hat," he said. "I dursent bring 'em last neet."

"Why did you run away?" inquired Martin, approaching to take his property.

"I was skeert. Yon woman's yellin' was awful. I went straight off yam."

"Did you catch it for being out late?"

"Noa; but feyther gev me a clout this mornin' for not tellin' him about t' murder. He'd gone te bed."

"n.o.body was murdered," said Martin.

"That wasn't Betsy's fault. It's all my eye about Mr. Pickerin' stickin'

a fork into hisself. There was noa fork there."

"How do you know?"

"Coss I was pullin' carrots all Sat.u.r.day mornin' for Mrs. Atkinson, an'

if there'd bin any fork I should ha' seen it."

"Martin," cried a shrill voice from the garth, "is that lookin' fer eggs?"

Jim Bates's head and shoulders shot out of sight instantaneously.

"All right, mother, I'm only getting back my lost clothes," explained Martin. He began a painstaking survey of the hedge bottom and was rewarded by the discovery of a nest of six hidden away by a hen anxious to undertake the cares of maternity.

At breakfast John Bolland was silent and severe. He pa.s.sed but one remark to Martin:

"Happen you'll be wanted some time this mornin'. Stop within hail until Mr. Benson calls."

Mr. Benson was the village constable.

"What will he want wi' t' lad?" inquired Mrs. Bolland tartly.

"Martin is t' main witness i' this case o' Pickerin's. Kitty Thwaites isn't likely te tell t' truth. Women are main leears when there's a man i' t' business."

"More fools they."

"Well, let be. I'm fair vexed that Martin's nem should be mixed up i'

this affair. Fancy the tale that'll be i' t' _Messenger_--John Bolland's son fightin' t' young squire at ten o'clock o' t' neet in t' 'Black Lion' yard--fightin' ower a la.s.s. What ailed him I cannot tell. He must ha' gone clean daft."

The farmer pushed back his chair angrily, and Mrs. Bolland wondered what he would say did he know of Martin's wild extravagance. Mother and son were glad when John picked up a riding-whip and lumbered out to mount Sam, the pony, for an hour's ride over the moor.

Evidently, he had encountered Benson before breakfast, as that worthy officer arrived at half-past ten and asked Martin to accompany him.

The two walked solemnly through the fair, in which there was already some stir. A crowd hanging around the precincts of the inn made way as they approached, and Martin saw, near the door, two saddled horses in charge of a policeman.

He was escorted to an inner room, receiving a tremulous, but gracious, smile from Evelyn as he pa.s.sed. To his very genuine astonishment and alarm, he was confronted not only by the district superintendent of police but also by Mr. Frank Reginald de Courcy Beckett-Smythe, the magnate of the Hall.

"This is the boy, your wuship," said Benson.

"Ah. What is his name?"

"Martin Court Bolland, sir."

"One of John Bolland's sons, eh?"

"No, sir. Mr. Bolland has no son. He adopted this lad some thirteen years ago."

Had a bolt from the blue struck Martin at that moment he could not have been more dumbfounded. Both John and Martha had thought fit to keep the secret of his parentage from his knowledge until he was older, as the fact might tend to weaken their authority during his boyhood. The adults in Elmsdale, of course, knew the circ.u.mstances thoroughly, and respected Mr. and Mrs. Bolland's wishes, while the children with whom he grew up regarded him as village-born like themselves.

It took a good deal to bring tears to Martin's eyes, but they were perilously near at that instant. Though the words almost choked him, he faltered:

"Is that true, Mr. Benson?"

"True? It's true eneuf, lad. Didn't ye know?"

"No, they never told me."