Meanwhile we were going up the garden, and came suddenly upon a spot of
fire which kept glowing and fading, and resolved itself into Mr
Solomon's evening pipe in the kitchen-garden middle walk.
"Hallo! young gentlemen!" he exclaimed; and then, seeing his master:
"Anything the matter, Sir Francis?"
"Matter!" cried Sir Francis, who was in a great passion. "Why are you,
my head gardener, not protecting my place with the idle scoundrels I
pay? Here am I and my sons obliged to turn out of an evening to keep
thieves from the fruit."
"Thieves! What thieves?" cried Mr Solomon. "Why, Isaac, what are you
doing here?"
"Me!" said Ike. "Don't quite know. Thought I'd been having a nap. The
master says I've been stealing o' pears."
"Silence!" cried Sir Francis. "You, Brownsmith, see that those two
fellows come straight up to the library. I hold you answerable for
their appearance."
Sir Francis went on first and we followed, to find ourselves, about ten
minutes later, in the big library, with Sir Francis seated behind a
large table, and a lamp and some silver candlesticks on table and
mantel-piece, trying to make the gloomy room light.
They did not succeed, but there was light enough to show Courtenay and
Philip all the better for running up to their rooms and getting a wash
and brush, while I was ragged, dirty and torn, bruised and bleeding, for
I could not keep my nose from giving forth tokens of the fierce fight.
Courtenay was not perfect, though, for his mouth looked puffy and his
eyes were swelling up in a curious way that seemed to promise to reduce
them to a couple of slits.