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yepairoffalse,pratin’scoundrels;yeweretalkin’
o’me–come,whatdidhesay,sirrah?”
“Narrawordaboutye.”
“Youlie;outwi’it,sir,orI’llmakeyourheadsing
likethechurchbell.”
Andheshookhisstickinhisgreattremulousfist,
withalookthatTomwellknew.
“Narrawordaboutyoufromfirsttolast,”saidTom;
andhecursedandsworeinsupportofhisstatement,
foraviolentmastermakesliarsofhisservants,andthe
servilevicescropupfastandrankundertheshadow
oftyranny.
“Idon’tbelieveyou,”saidtheSquireirresolutely,
“you’realiar,Tom,ablackliar;ye’llchokewi’lies
someday–you–fool!”
ButtheSquireseemedpartlyappeased,andstood
withthepointofhissticknowupontheground,
lookingdownonlittleTom,withasomewhatgrimand
dubiousvisage,andafterafewmoment’ssilence
heasked–
“Where’sMissAlice?”
“Takin’awalk,sir.”
“
Where
,Isay?”
“Shewenttowardstheterrace-garden,”answered
Tom.
Andtowardtheterrace-gardenwalkedwithastately,
totteringsteptheoldSquire,withhisgreatmastiff
athisheels.Undertheshadowoftalltrees,oneside
oftheirruggedstemslightedwiththeyellowsunset,
theotherinsoftgray,whilethesmallbirdswere
singingpleasantlyhighoverhisheadamongquivering
leaves.
Heenteredthegarden,ascendingfivewornsteps
ofstone,betweentwoweather-wornstone-urns.
Itisaprettygarden,alltheprettierthoughsadderfor
itsneglectedstate.Talltreesovertopitswallsfrom
without,andthosegraywallsarehereandthere
overgrownwithaluxuriantmantleofivy;withinare
yew-treesandwonderfullytalloldmyrtles;laurelsnot
