The Adventures of Tom Leigh Read Free Page A

time and answer as fully as you can.”
    I told him all about our home at Lavenham, and why we had come to Yorkshire, and how we had lost ourselves, and the scene at the inn, and the voice that had sent my father stumbling down the bank—at this he and the fat woman exchanged looks of disbelief, which vexed me. But on the whole he seemed pleased, I thought, with my account.
    â€œYour father had a trade, then?”
    â€œOf course! He’s a weaver. A very
good
weaver.”
    â€œNot a vagrant, then,” said the fat woman.
    â€œSeems not,” said Mr. Gledhill.
    â€œWhat is a vagrant?” I asked.
    â€œSomebody who wanders about the country without money—a man with no trade—a beggar.”
    â€œHow dare you say my father is a beggar!” I shouted angrily.
    â€œWe just said he wasn’t, love,” said the fat woman. “Since he had a trade.”
    â€œHe has a trade and he has money,” I cried. “He has five guineas in gold and a handful of silver—well, nearly a handful,” I corrected myself, remembering my father paying for our meat and drink at the Fleece. “I’ll go to Halifax and find him, and then he’ll explain it all to you.”
    â€œListen, lad,” said Mr. Gledhill. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my boy, but it must be done. You’ve lost your father, Tom. He broke his neck when he fell into the stream. He fell on the rocks, you know.”
    â€œDo you mean he’s—dead?”
    â€œDead and buried,” said the fat woman.
    At this I fell into a kind of violent stormy shouting and weeping and beating my hands against the coverlet. The fat woman threw up her hands and left, but Mr. Gledhill drew up a chair and sat through it all in solemn silence. When from sheer exhaustion I quietened at last, he began to question me as to my family in Lavenham. But I had no blood kin living anywhere, and so I told him. He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
    â€œWe shall have to send you back to Lavenham, Tom,” he said. “You don’t belong to Barseland, you’ve no settlement here, you see. We can’t pay out Barseland rate money for a Lavenham pauper.”
    â€œI am not a pauper,” I said indignantly. “My father had money with him. Surely that money is now mine?”
    â€œAye, it is. Or it would be if we could find it,” said Mr. Gledhill. “Your father had no money on him when we found him. I examined him myself, Tom. There was no money.”
    â€œIt was in a bag in an inner pocket of his jacket.”
    â€œThere was no money, Tom.”
    â€œThen somebody stole it,” I cried.
    â€œAre you accusing me?” said Mr. Gledhill coldly.
    â€œNo, no. But the money was there.”
    â€œWe found no money, we entered him in our records as a vagrant. At present you are a pauper and must stay in this poorhouse until you can be sent back to Lavenham. You are under the orders of Mrs. Hollas, whom you have seen, and her husband, who is the Master of this poorhouse. They will set you to work as soon as you are able. I hope you soon will be able, for we have kept you for a fortnight already.”
    â€œA fortnight?” said I, staggered.
    â€œAye, a fortnight. You have been ill of a fever. What with lying out all night in Barseland stream, with rain and wind beating on you, and the bang on your head, perhaps it is no wonder,” said Mr. Gledhill.
    His voice, which had turned so cold when I said my father’s money had been stolen, seemed now to warm again, and I took courage.
    â€œMr. Gledhill, I accuse nobody, believe me I accuse nobody, but my father had money, just as I told you, it was in a calfskin bag. Maybe the bag fell into the pool? Please have a search made for it. Please, Mr. Gledhill!”
    â€œWell—when the pool has dried a little in this fine weather, I will have it dragged. Meanwhile, you had best keep quiet about the money, Tom. If