Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 62

William smiled. The Quaker never bestowed decided praise, and never thought any one could be trusted in the making-up department, himself and James Meeking excepted. William had been exercised in the making-up for the past eighteen months, and he thought he ought to do it pretty well by this time. Mr. Lynn was turning away, when his keen sight fell on several dozens at a little distance. He took up one of the top pairs with a hasty movement, knitted his brow, and then took up others.

"Thee has not exercised thy judgment or thy caution here, friend William."

"I did not make up those," replied William.

"Who did, then?"

"Cyril Dare."

"I have told Cyril Dare he is not to attempt the making-up," returned

Samuel Lynn, in severe tones. "When did he do these?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"There, again! He knows the gloves are not made up in a winter's afternoon. I myself would not do it by so obscure a light. Thee go over these thyself when thee has finished the stack before thee."

Samuel Lynn was not one who spared work. He mixed the offending dozens together indiscriminately, and pushed them towards William. Then he turned to his own place, and went on with his work: he was also making up. Presently he spoke again.

"What does thee do at the back of my house of a night? Thee must find the walk cold."

William turned his head with a movement of surprise. "I don't do anything at the back of your house. What do you mean?"

"Not walk about there, watching it, as thee did last night?"

"Certainly not! I do not understand you."

Samuel Lynn's brows knit heavily. "William, I deemed thee truthful. Why deny what is a palpable fact?"

William Halliburton put down the pair of gloves he had in his hand, and turned to the Quaker. "In saying that I do not walk at the back of your house at night, or at the back of any house, I state the truth."

"Last night at seven o'clock, I _saw_ thee parading there in thy cloak.

I saw thee, I say, William. The night was unusually light."

"Last night, from tea-time until half-past nine, I never stirred out of my mother's parlour," rejoined William. "I was at my books as usual. At half-past nine I ran up to say a word to Henry Ashley. You saw me returning."

"But I saw thee at the back with my own eyes," persisted the Quaker. "I saw thy cloak. Thee had on that blue cap of thine: it was tied down over thy ears; and the collar of the cloak was turned up, to protect thee, as I surmised, from the cold."

"It must have been my ghost," responded William. "_Should_ I be likely to pace up and down a cold field, for pastime, on a January night?"

"Will thee oblige me by putting on thy cloak?" was all the answer returned by Samuel Lynn.

"What--now?"

"Please."

William, laughing, went out of the room, and came back in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned cloak--a remarkable cloak--a dark plaid, its collar lined with red. Formerly worn by gentlemen, they had now become nearly obsolete; but William had picked this up for much less than half its value. He did not care much for fashion, and it was warm and comfortable in winter weather.

"Perhaps you wish me to put on my cap?" said William, in a serio-comic tone.

"Yes; and turn down the ears."

He obeyed, very much amused. "Anything more?" asked he.

"Walk thyself about an instant."

His lips smiling, his eyes dancing, William marched from one side of the room to the other. While this was in process Cyril Dare bustled in, and stood in amazement, staring at William. The Quaker paid no attention to his arrival, except that he took out his watch and glanced at it. He continued to address William.

"And thee can a.s.sure me to my face, that thee was not pacing the field last night in the moonlight, dressed as now?"

"I can, and do," replied William.

"Then, William, it is one of two things. My eyes or thy word must be false."

"Did you see my face?" asked William.

"Not much of that. With the ears down and the collar up, thy face was pretty effectually concealed. There's not another cloak like thine in all Helstonleigh."

"You are right there," laughed William; "there's not one half so handsome. Admire the contrast of the purple and green plaid and the scarlet collar."

"No, not another like it," emphatically repeated the Quaker. "I tell thee, William Halliburton, in the teeth of thy denial, that I saw thee, or a figure precisely similar to thee, parading the field-path last night, and stealthily watching my windows."

"It's a clear case of ghost," returned William, with an amused look at Cyril Dare. "How much longer am I to make a walking Guy of myself, for your pleasure and Cyril's astonishment?"

"Thee can take it off," replied the Quaker, his curt tone betraying dissatisfaction. Until that moment he had believed William Halliburton to be the very quintessence of truth. His belief was now shaken.

In the small pa.s.sage between Mr. Ashley's room and Samuel Lynn's, William hung up the cloak and cap. The Quaker turned to Cyril Dare, who was taking off his great-coat, stern displeasure in his tone.

"Dost thee know the time?"

"Just gone half-past nine," replied Cyril.

Mr. Lynn held out his watch to Cyril. It wanted seventeen minutes to ten. "Nine o'clock is thy hour. I am tired of telling thee to be more punctual. And thee did not come before breakfast."

"I overslept myself," said Cyril.

"As thee dost pretty often, it seems. If thee can do no better than thee did yesterday, as well oversleep thyself for good. Look at these gloves."

"Well!" cried Cyril, who was a good-looking young man, in stature not far short of William. At least he would have been good-looking, but for his eyes; there was a look in them, almost amounting to a squint; and they did not gaze openly and honestly into another's eyes. His face was thin, and his features were well-formed. "Well!" cried he.

"It is well," repeated the Quaker; "well that I looked at them, for they must be done again. Firsts are mixed with seconds, thirds with firsts; I do not know that I ever saw gloves so ill made up. What have I told thee?"

"Lots of things," responded Cyril, who liked to set the manager at defiance, as far as he dared.

"I have desired thee never to attempt to make up the gloves. I now forbid thee again; and thee will do well not to forget it. Begin and band these gloves that William Halliburton is making ready."

Cyril jerked open the drawer where the paper bands were kept, took some out of it, and carried them to the counter, where William stood. Mr.

Lynn interposed with another order.