The boy stopped short with his heart beating, to find Mr Maxted seated upon a stump in the side of the fir-wood, evidently enjoying the glorious sunset tints spreading from the horizon nearly to the zenith.

"I--I didn't see you, sir," faltered Tom.

"Of course you did not, or you wouldn't have gone by. What a lovely sunset! Why, my good lad, whatever have you been doing?"

The Vicar rose from his seat and came forward, giving the boy a startled look.

"Your face is horribly bruised, and--did you fall from some tree? My dear lad, it's terrible--just as if you had been fighting."

"I have," said Tom bluntly, as he stood with his head erect, but his nearly-closed eyes fixed upon the ground.

"But there's no one to fight with here?"

"Yes--Pete Warboys."

"Bless my heart!" exclaimed the Vicar, laying his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "But tell me, did he a.s.sault you?"

"I suppose so, sir."

"But--er--er--did you hit him back?"

"Oh yes, sir," said Tom, with more animation now; "we had a regular set-to."

The Vicar coughed, and keeping his hand upon his companion's shoulder, he walked on by his side in silence for a few minutes. Then, after another cough--

"Of, course I cannot approve of fighting, Tom; but--er--he beat you then--well?"

"Oh no, sir," said Tom, flushing a little. "I beat. He lay down at last and cried."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Vicar. "Tell me how it began."

With wonderful clearness Tom related the whole adventure, and growing more animated as he went on, he finished by saying--

"It all came out of what you said, sir. I thought if Pete had some good in him, I'd try and help bring it out by being a little friendly; but I regularly failed, and uncle will be horribly cross with me for getting in such a state."

"Nothing of the kind," said the Vicar decisively. "I know your uncle better than you do, sir, and I can answer for what he will say. But you see, Tom, I was quite right about the lad."

"No, sir, I don't," replied Tom sharply. "Look at my face and hands."

"Oh yes, they do show wounds of the warpath, Tom; but they were received in a grand cause. I knew there was good in the lad, and you have done a deal to bring it out."

"I don't see much good yet, sir," said Tom, rather sulkily, for he was in a great deal of pain.

"Perhaps not," said the Vicar, "but I do. It seems to me that by accident you have gone the right way to work to make a change in Pete Warboys. You have evidently made him respect you, by showing him that you were the better man."

By this time they were getting pretty close to Heatherleigh, and the Vicar gave Tom's arm a grip.

"I'm afraid I shall not see you at church next Sunday, Tom," he said, with a smile.

"Are you going to be away, sir?" said Tom wonderingly.

"No: but you are."

"I?" cried the boy. "Why?"

"Go up into your bedroom, have a good bathe at your face, and then look in the gla.s.s. That will tell you why."

The Vicar walked away, and Tom slipped in quietly without being seen, hurried up to his room, and reversed the advice he had received; for instead of bathing himself first he walked straight to the gla.s.s, gave one long look, and turned away in despair, for his face looked far worse than it had done in the clear water.

"What will uncle say?" groaned Tom; and he forgot Mrs Fidler, who came up to his door to see if he had returned, and receiving no answer to her knock, she walked in, and then said a good deal, but it was while working hard to alleviate the boy's pain.

In the midst of it all Uncle Richard came home.

"Now for it," said Tom bitterly. "What will he say?"

He soon heard, and when he did, there was a singular choky feeling in his throat. For Uncle Richard called up the stairs--

"Feel well enough to come down, Tom? Never mind your looks."

He went down, still expecting a severe rating, but instead of meeting an angry face there was a very merry one, for he was saluted by a roar of laughter.

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Uncle Richard. "You're a nice ornament for the home of a simple country gentleman. But Mr Maxted says you gave him a thorough thrashing. Did you? Here, let's look at your knuckles."

Tom slowly held out his hands.

"Oh yes," said his uncle, nodding. "There's no mistake about that. And so you are going to make a model boy of Pete Warboys, eh?"

"I thought I'd try, uncle," said Tom bitterly.

"Oh, well, go on boy, go on. You must have beaten the clay quite soft.

When are you going to put it in the new mould?"

"I don't know, uncle," said Tom. "I expect the next thing will be that Pete will half kill me."

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

Tom saw very little more of Pete Warboys. He had slipped away to the fir-wood, and escaping all observation, went straight to the cave; but there was neither boy nor dog, and he left disappointed.

Three days pa.s.sed, and he did not go out, feeling perfectly unfit to be seen.

Then he began to grow uneasy, and wondered whether Pete was ill from the beating he had received, and the dog dead.

But the time went on, and he heard that Pete had gone away. David had told Mrs Fidler, and she bore the news to Tom.

"And it's a great blessing, my dear," she said, "for he was a very bad, wicked boy, and I don't know what he didn't deserve for beating you so dreadfully."

"Oh, but he was as bad, or worse," said Tom.