"And Kitty and Bob?" Tim asked falteringly. "I suppose they won't be friends with me any longer now?"
"Oh, yes, indeed I hope they will," Mrs. Glanville replied. "You are going to entertain them on Saturday, you know. Had you forgotten that?"
"No," Tim answered in a low tone. "But I thought—I was afraid that they might not care to come. What did they say, Mrs. Glanville, when they heard it was I who overturned the hutch?" he inquired with considerable anxiety.
"Of course they were greatly astonished, but neither of them believe you meant to injure the rabbit; they know you are not in the least cruel. Kitty was hurt because you had told her a falsehood and Bob was incredulous at first—it seems he had formed a very high opinion of your sense of honour and truth."
Tim's cheeks burnt with shame on hearing this, and he wondered if he would ever be able to restore Bob's faith in him again. Well was it for him that he had not heard the words in which Bob had remarked on his conduct; he would have greeted his visitors on Saturday even more nervously than he did, had he known that it was to their mother he owed their having kept their appointment. For they had been justly indignant against the boy next door, who, as Kitty had taken care to point out, had acted the enemy's part, at least on one occasion, and by his own confession had proved that she had not been far from the truth after all.
But Kitty and Bob were kind-hearted children, and it was not in their natures to harbour resentment against any one for long; so that when Tim, rather falteringly, put forward the plan for making a tent in the back garden, they agreed to it cordially, and set to work with a will, and by the aid of a clothes' prop for a centre pole and several old wrappers, they managed to erect a kind of awning under which they decided they would have their tea.
"Won't Mr. Shuttleworth have tea with us?" asked Kitty, when Deborah arrived with the tea-things, which were placed on a small gipsy table inside the tent. "There's only room for two chairs, but he can have one, can't he?"
"And you must have the other, Kitty," said Tim. "For, of course, you'll pour out the tea."
"If you wish it, I will," the little girl replied, a look of extreme gratification settling on her face.
"I'll tell master you're beginning tea," remarked Deborah. "Then he can join you or not as he likes."
A few minutes later Mr. Shuttleworth appeared upon the scene. He thought it would have been more comfortable to have had the meal in the house; but as the children assured him it was much nicer to have it outdoors, he good-humouredly took the second chair in the tent, whilst Kitty poured out the tea, and the boys sat cross-legged on the ground. They were all very friendly and merry, and by-and-by a glad bark was heard, and Snip, who had been waiting for an opportunity of joining his young mistress and master all the afternoon, and had just gained admittance into the garden, jumped into Kitty's lap.
"Oh, Snip, you weren't invited, sir!" she cried reproachfully, kissing him on the top of his head.
"Nevertheless, he must have some tea," Mr. Shuttleworth said with a smile, as he poured out a saucer of milk for the little dog. "Dear me, he has been in the wars, has he not?"
Kitty immediately explained how Snip had come by his wounds, and went on to give Mr. Shuttleworth a graphic description of old Jacob Dottin and his shop, finally telling him that Fluffy had come from there.
"Who is Fluffy?" Mr. Shuttleworth inquired.
"The beautiful white rabbit Tim gave me in place of the one he killed," she replied. Whereat Tim turned crimson and looked terribly abashed, and Bob changed the conversation.
It was not until shortly before his visitors left that Tim plucked up sufficient courage to speak to them about the bad turn he had served them at the commencement of his acquaintance with them, and to beg their forgiveness, which was willingly granted.
"It was an unneighbourly trick, and we didn't deserve you should have done it," Bob said frankly, "but, of course, you never dreamt it was something living we had in the box. We'll never mention it more."
"And the lie I told," faltered Tim, looking at Kitty.
"Why didn't you own up to me?" she questioned.
"Because I was so afraid if I did you and Bob would never let me be your friend, that was my reason," he rejoined. "I bitterly repented afterwards that I hadn't told the truth."
"Well, you can be our friend still, if you like," Bob remarked, glancing at his sister, who nodded her head assentingly. "I'm sure we'd both of us much rather have a friend than an enemy next door."
CHAPTER XIII.
A REGULAR BRICK.
"KITTY! Kitty!" called Bob. "Oh, there you are! Keep Snip here with you, will you, till I'm gone? Don't let him get away and follow me!"
"Why not?" demanded Kitty.
It was again a Saturday afternoon, several weeks having passed since the sister and brother had been entertained next door. The little girl, who had been watching Fluffy eating a sprig of parsley, turned away from the rabbit hutch as she spoke, and joined Bob, who, fishing rod in hand, and accompanied by Snip, had addressed her from the back door.
"Because I'm going to Lang's pond, with Shuttleworth," he explained, "and if Snip went with us he'd for certain spoil our sport by hunting for water-rats and disturbing the fish. He seems to have an idea that I want to get rid of him, for he's keeping as near me as he can, and—"
"Oh, do let me go with you this afternoon!" interposed Kitty, eagerly. "Why can't I?" she asked, as her brother shook his head.
"Well," he said, "it's possible that we may meet Richards, and that he may ask us to his house to tea—that is, if you're not there."
"Then you'd better go your own way!" snapped Kitty, adding under her breath, "Such selfishness!"
"But will you keep Snip with you?" questioned Bob.
Kitty assented. She took Snip into the house, and shut herself into the dining-room with him, feeling deeply aggrieved. Mr. and Mrs. Glanville had gone away for the day, therefore it was exceedingly unkind of Bob, she considered, to go off with Tim Shuttleworth and leave her.
"He makes a great deal too much of Tim," she reflected. "It's all very well to let bygones be bygones, but Bob seems to have forgotten altogether how disgusted he was with Tim at one time, and is making him his chief friend. I haven't such a short memory as Bob."
This was true. Bob had a happy knack of putting anything he wished to forget away from him. But Kitty, though she had agreed never again to mention the ill-turn Tim had done her, often allowed her mind to dwell on it, and the consequence was that she was considerably less genial to him than was her brother.
By-and-bye, when she judged the boys must have taken their departure, she decided to go out with Snip. It had rained earlier in the day, but the weather had cleared about noon, and now the sun was shining brilliantly. It was a really perfect May afternoon.
"I'll get some wild hyacinths for mother," the little girl thought, remembering that she had heard Mrs. Glanville remark at breakfast that they must now be in bloom and she would like some. "And on my way home, I'll pass by Lang's pond and pay the boys a surprise visit. I'll see Snip doesn't interfere with them."
Accordingly she sallied forth, with a basket on her arm, and accompanied by the faithful Snip. First she went to a confectioner's, where she purchased some chocolate creams, then left the town by a side street, and a quarter of an hour later found her in a pretty wood, carpeted with masses of wild blue hyacinths. She filled her basket with the fragrant flowers, after which she sat down on the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree, and ate her chocolates, sharing them with Snip.
"There!" she cried, as she popped the last chocolate into her mouth, and rose. "Now we'll go to Lang's pond—we've as much right there as anyone, eh, Snip? Still, I think I'd better lead you. Bob can't complain if I do that."
Nevertheless Bob was not altogether pleased when, ten minutes later, standing by the side of Tim Shuttleworth, on the edge of Lang's pond, his eyes fixed on the float of his fishing rod, he heard a shout and recognised his sister's voice.
"It's Kitty," Tim informed him. "She's brought Snip with her, but she has him on the leash."
"Well, boys, what sport?" Kitty questioned, as she joined them. "The fish are biting well, I suppose, after the rain? Let me see what you've caught!"
She opened a fishing-basket which lay on the ground, and gave a little laugh as she viewed its contents.
"Three dace, two roach, and an eel!" she cried. "The dace are the smallest I ever saw. You ought to have put them back into the water again, they aren't worth cooking. The roach are not so bad, but—"
"I daresay you think you could catch bigger ones!" Bob broke in, sarcastically. He was disappointed that they had not had better sport, and his sister's candid comments had vexed him.
"Richards is not here, I see," observed Kitty, after a few minutes' silence.
"No, he has not turned up," Tim answered. "He did not promise to come—only said that he might. What lovely hyacinths you have there!"
"Yes, haven't I?" said Kitty.
She placed her basket on the ground, and stood watching the boys for some while, but she soon tired of inactivity, and strolled around the edge of the pond, still leading Snip. By-and-bye she caught sight of some fine forget-me-nots growing close to the water, and stooped to gather them. At that exact moment Snip spied a water-rat, and, jerking the leash out of his mistress' hand, sprang Into the water in pursuit of it.
"There!" cried Bob. "I knew what it would be!" He threw aside his rod as he spoke, and glared angrily at his sister. "You must have let him go on purpose, Kitty!" he asserted.
"I did not!" the little girl declared. "Indeed I did not! Oh, Bob, I'm so sorry! Come here, Snip! Come here, sir!"
But Snip paid not the least attention to her. He was now swimming around the edge of the pond, and sniffing into the rat-runs which undermined the bank. Tim was secretly as vexed with Kitty as was Bob, but out of pity for her he did not show his feelings, and stood listening in silence to the hot words which were now passing between the sister and brother.
"Well," Bob said at length, his anger beginning to cool, "of course, if you say you didn't let him go on purpose, I believe you, and we'll drop the subject. We'd better go home to tea now, I suppose."
"I'm sorry I came," murmured Kitty, almost tearfully. "I know you didn't want me. Oh, oh!" she cried, her tone suddenly changing to one of great excitement. "Look at Snip, boys! Oh! Do look! What's the matter with him? Oh, see how he's struggling! Oh, Bob! Oh, Tim! He'll drown—he'll drown!"
Snip had turned a rat out of its lair in the bank, and had been swimming across the pond, which was very deep in the centre, after it, when something had become entwined about his hind legs, and he was now struggling in vain to get them free.
"Don't be silly, Kitty!" Bob said, speaking sharply, because he was frightened and could not think what had happened to the dog. "How can Snip drown when he can swim like—"
"Oh, you don't understand!" broke in Kitty, wringing her hands in her distress. "It's the leash! It's got around his legs, and—Oh, Bob, go to him, go to him!"
It was all very well to say "Go to him!" But Bob could not swim, and knowing that he would be out of his depth in the water before he could reach Snip, he naturally hesitated. At that minute, evidently realizing the peril of his situation, the little dog uttered a piteous cry, which nearly drove his mistress frantic; she would have dashed into the pond herself if her brother had not prevented her.
"Oh, what can we do?" she wailed. "Oh, this is awful—awful! Oh, Bob, can't you do anything? Oh, Tim!—where's Tim?"
"Here!" answered Tim, behind her. "It'll be all right, Kitty! Don't you be frightened! I'll get him!"
Kitty now perceived that Tim had divested himself of his coat and waistcoat, and was hurriedly unlacing his boots.
"I can swim—a little," he told her. "I think I shall be able to reach him. There!"—As he pulled off his last boot. "Now I'm ready!"
He waded into the pond till the water reached his chin, Kitty and Bob watching him with deepest anxiety, then swam a few strokes which brought him within reach of Snip. He grasped the little dog by the back of the neck, and, turning, essayed to swim back with him, but Snip continued to struggle, and no progress was made.
"Can you get off the leash?" shouted Bob. "Try! Try!"
Tim did try, and, after several vain attempts, succeeded in disentangling the leash, and setting the dog free. That done Snip swam ashore of his own accord, and his rescuer followed him, to be greeted with tearful thanks from Kitty as he waded out of the pond, and a warm hand-clasp from Bob, who told him that he was "a brave chap, and no mistake!"
"Yes, indeed," agreed Kitty. "But for you, Tim, poor Snip would certainly have been drowned. Oh! I wonder what mother and father will say when they hear about this? Oh, dear me, how dreadfully wet you are, to be sure!"
"It would be a miracle if he was not!" Bob exclaimed, with a laugh, which hid deep feeling. "What silly remarks you do make, Kitty! We must get you home as quick as we can, Tim, or you'll catch cold!"
Tim had pulled on his boots over his wet stockings with some difficulty by this time, and was now kneeling to lace them up.
"Oh, I shan't catch cold!" he declared cheerfully.
"I hope not," said Kitty, her voice full of concern, "because if you did you might get pneumonia again. Oh, Tim, I haven't thanked you for what you've done."
"Please don't!" Tim interposed, adding—"I'm so glad I could swim!"
He rose from his knees as he spoke, and, meeting Kitty's eyes, still rather tearful, smiled at her.
"Oh," the little girl cried, "you don't know how grateful I feel to you."
"You're a brick, Tim—yes, a regular brick!"
CHAPTER XIV.
CONCLUSION.
"YOU'LL find me in the garden when you've finished your lessons," said Kitty, one evening, a few weeks later, as she poked her fair head around the dining-room door to address her brother, who was seated at the table, at work on his French translation. "I want to consult you about something," she added impressively.
"All right," Bob answered. "I'll be with you before long."
Kitty went into the garden, and took up her position on a seat under the apple tree. There, in a very few minutes, Bob joined her.
"Well?" he said interrogatively.
"Tim has gone out with his uncle," Kitty informed him. "I saw them start together; so I thought this would be a good opportunity to consult you about something—Tim not being about, you know."
"The 'something' has to do with Shuttleworth, then?" questioned Bob.
Kitty nodded. "He'll be going home soon now," she observed. "Dear me, it's quite remarkable we should both of us be so friendly with him after—"
"Not remarkable at all," her brother broke in, rather impatiently. "He's a jolly nice fellow—he's proved it. Speak out! What is it you want to consult me about?"
"Well, I've been thinking that before Tim leaves we ought to give him a present," Kitty said eagerly. "You know, he really did save Snip's life. Father says that the poor little thing would certainly have drowned if Tim hadn't gone to him and freed him from the leash."
"And you think he should have a testimonial as a reward?" suggested Bob, with a teasing smile.
"I think nothing of the kind," the little girl answered, flushing. "You are pretending to misunderstand me. I meant this—that we may never see Tim again, and I should like to give him a present for a keepsake, something that will put him in mind of us when he looks at it."
"Well, I don't think that's a bad idea," Bob said, now speaking seriously. "Let me consider. What could we give him? How much money have you by you?"
"One shilling and two-pence, but I shall be having my sixpence pocket-money on Saturday, of course."
"So you'll be good for one shilling and eight-pence. If I put a couple of shillings to that, what could we buy? I know! A pocket-knife! We could get a beauty, with three blades, the best that's made, for three shillings and sixpence or four shillings."
"Oh, Bob, that would be the very thing! Tim has only an old bone-handled pocket-knife with one blade, and that blade is broken! When shall we get it! The new one, I mean? On Saturday?"
"Yes, if you like."
"And how shall we give it to him? I mean, will you, or shall I? You are the elder, but it was my idea that we should make him a present. Still, if you'd like to give it to him—" Kitty broke off, and looked at her brother inquiringly.
"We can draw lots to decide that point," he answered, "then everything will be fair."
Thus it came to pass that the following Saturday, shortly before one o'clock, when Tim spoke to Kitty over the garden wall, and inquired how she and Bob were going to spend the afternoon, she replied, with an air of reserve, which puzzled him and rather aroused his curiosity, that they were going into the town on private business.
"But we shall not be away very long," she added. "And I daresay we shall see you as soon as we get back."
"I don't know about that," he answered, rather piqued because the little girl seemed afraid that he might suggest accompanying her and her brother. "I may not be at home then."
After the mid-day meal Tim had half a mind to go for a walk in the country by himself, for his uncle betook himself as usual to his study. But, as Kitty had spoken of seeing him on her return from the town, he decided to remain at home, write to his mother, and afterwards stroll out into the garden, so that the young folks next door could hail him if they wanted him. Accordingly, he settled himself in the dining-room, and had barely finished his letter, when, to his great amazement, Deborah opened the door, and announced:
"Miss and Master Glanville!"
"Kitty! Bob!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat at the table, and looking quickly from one to the other of his visitors. "Why didn't you call to me from the garden as you usually do? I should have heard you."
"If you're writing to your people perhaps you don't want to be disturbed, and we'd better not stay?" suggested Bob. "Hurry up, Kitty!" he whispered to his sister.
"Oh, do stay!" cried Tim. "Sit down, won't you? Here, Kitty, have this easy chair?"
Kitty sank into the chair indicated, but not before she had put her hand in her pocket, and drawn therefrom a small package. It had fallen to her lot to present the pocket-knife.
"I daresay you thought it was rather odd of me not to tell you where Bob and I were going this afternoon," she commenced, addressing Tim. "Now, didn't you?"
"Well, yes, I did," he admitted, candidly. "Of course, I saw you didn't want me to go with you—"
"That was just it," Kitty broke in. "We didn't want you to go with us because we were thinking of buying you a present. We've bought it! Bob chose it! It's a pocket-knife, and, oh, I do hope you'll like it! There was one with a tortoiseshell handle I rather fancied, but Bob said he was sure you'd prefer this one—if not, the man in the shop won't mind changing it. This one has three blades, all of the very best steel, they cut like lances, and it has a buck-horn handle. Oh, look at it, do!" She thrust the little package into Tim's hands as she spoke.
Tim, who had become quite red in his surprise, opened the package with fingers which trembled with eagerness, and a very handsome pocket-knife was revealed to view.
"You have bought this for me?" he cried, glancing first at Kitty, who was watching him anxiously, trying to read from the expression of his countenance if he approved of her brother's choice, and then at Bob, who nodded assent. "Oh, how kind—how very, very kind of you both! Oh, thank you—thank you! Oh, it's a grand knife! Three blades! Oh, I say, I shall never be able to thank you half enough for this!" His eyes were sparkling with delight.
"Do you prefer it to one with a tortoiseshell handle?" questioned Kitty.
"Of course he does!" Bob exclaimed, without giving Tim time to answer for himself, "Any boy would! That tortoiseshell handled knife wasn't half as strong as this one; it was nice enough in its way, but it was only fit for a girl."
"You couldn't have given me one I should have liked better than this," Tim said earnestly, "I'm quite sure of that."
Kitty was satisfied. "That's all right then!" she said.
"Mother told us to ask you to tea with us, Shuttleworth," remarked Bob, a few minutes later, after Tim had tried all three blades of his new pocket-knife on a lead pencil. "Will you come?"
"Oh, thank you, I should like to—you know that," Tim replied. "Just wait whilst I put away my writing things and tell uncle where I'm going. I say, whatever made you think of giving me a present?"
"It was Kitty who thought of it," said Bob. "And when she mentioned it to me, I considered it a very good idea and wondered I hadn't thought of it myself. We're awfully pleased you like the knife—it's a keepsake, you know—something for you to remember us by."
Tim was much touched—so touched, indeed, that he could find no words to answer, but his face was eloquent of all the feelings in his warm Irish heart.
"We shall be very sorry when you're gone," said Kitty, looking at him with friendly blue eyes. "We shall miss you, oh, ever so much! You'll think of us all, and of Snip—oh, I shall never forget that you saved Snip's life! But, come, I'm sure it's near tea-time. I'm getting so hungry!"
The three young people were very happy and merry together during the hour or so which followed. After tea they repaired to the garden, and on the trunk of the big apple tree Tim carved Kitty's initials, and then Bob's, and then his own, with the big blade of his new treasure.
"There!" he cried, as he surveyed his finished handiwork, "How's that!"
"Beautifully done!" answered Kitty, admiringly.
"Ah," said Tim, "I've a good tool—I never before handled such a splendid knife." He shut it with a snap, and returned it to his pocket.
"Glad it suits you, old fellow!" said Bob, whilst Kitty looked very gratified. "Yes, the initials look all right—they're very well done indeed."
* * * * *
Shortly before midsummer, Tim's father arrived at B—, and, after his fortnight's holiday, returned to Dublin, taking his son with him. Tim had been quite low-spirited at parting with his friends next door although he had been going home; he had been sorry to say good-bye to his uncle, too. But, as it happened, he was not to be absent from B— long; for his uncle had offered to take him to live with him and to send him to the B— Grammar School. And as he was to go to his own people for the Christmas and the summer holidays, he was simply delighted with this arrangement. So the end of September found him once more a resident beneath his uncle's roof; and at the beginning of the autumn term he was entered as a pupil at B— Grammar School, where he was introduced to the boys by Bob Glanville as "my friend, Shuttleworth."
Kitty and Bob scarcely ever think of the old days now when they were so prejudiced against Tim Shuttleworth, and there is no one for whom Kitty has a greater liking and regard than the boy whom she once looked upon as her enemy.
THE END.
HEADLEY BROTHERS, 18, DEVONSHIRE STREET, E. C. 2; AND ASHFORD, KENT.