CHAPTER VIII.

"CONSCIENCE MAKES COWARDS OF US ALL."

ON first peeping into the shed, Bill was disconcerted to see a goose on one of the nests.

But Bill was no coward when there was anything to be gained. He went cautiously forward towards the furthest boxes, keeping an eye on the sitting bird the while, and ready to beat a retreat on the first alarm. But the goose had no intention of quitting her position. She only raised her head with a little warning scream and hiss; and he reached the nests without further challenge.

Bill uttered an exclamation of delight. In the first nest were three eggs; in the second, two. "Let's make 'em even," said he, possessing himself of the odd egg, and stowing it carefully in his jacket-tail.

Just as he was about to turn, however, an idea came to him. Ten to one such a splendid chance would not return in a hurry. "One a-piece 'll be fairer," said he, taking an egg from the other nest, and tucking it in the opposite pocket. "They can lay another," added he, with a grin. Then he recrossed the shed, and regained the door.

Peeping round, before venturing out, he saw that Blazer had come out of his kennel, and was standing on the alert, waiting for somebody to bark at. Bill's first impulse was to draw back. Perhaps the dog had heard the goose's scream. But second thought convinced him that to think of remaining longer in the shed was useless, and that, in fact, the sooner he got out of it the better, since by this time it must be very close on half-past eight. With another glance at Blazer, he slipped out and darted round the side of the shed. But Blazer had seen him, and dashed forward on his chain with a furious bark.

Bill turned, terrified, half expecting to see Blazer on his heels; and not looking to see where he was going, ran full tilt against the corner of the shed, leaving the print of a louvre-board on his eyebrow. But anyhow he was safe behind the shed, and Blazer was not loose.

Bill felt his pockets tenderly, congratulating himself that the blow had been in front instead of behind. Then the difficulty of getting through the gap without smashing the eggs occurred to him for the first time. "Head first 'll be the style," decided he at length; and with another guilty glance, to make sure that Blazer was not on his track, down he went on hands and knees, wriggling through the gap, and reaching down with his hands until they touched the bottom then paddling along sideways, much after the fashion of a lizard coming out of his hole.

It was not surprising that his face was pretty red by the time he got to his feet. His first thought was to feel whether the eggs were safe. He had been terribly afraid they would roll out of his pockets as he felt his jacket-tails fall forward on to his shoulders whilst he was upside down; but they were none the worse.

He was still feeling them over when he suddenly became aware of the artist standing on the bank looking down at him. He had set up his easel, and was waiting for his chair.

Bill's hands came out of his pockets all in a hurry. Like all people who have anything to conceal, he felt as if everybody must guess his guilty secret.

"Hullo!" said the artist. "I should come through feet first next time, if I were you. Where's all chair? Wouldn't they give it you?"

Bill was one of those unscrupulous people who are never at loss for an answer.

"Dog's got loose," said he.

"Ah!" said the artist, glancing uncomfortably at the gap through which Bill had just come. Where a boy could get through, a dog could also. "A savage brute, is he?" asked he.

"Well, rather," admitted Bill. "I'd sooner you met him than me," he added, feeling his injured eyebrow tenderly. "I ran agen' the shed, I did."

"He isn't likely to come through after you?" asked the artist, still with an uneasy eye on the gap.

Bill shook his head.

"Couldn't say for positive," answered he. "Dogs is wonderful keen. But I could go round to the front and tell 'em to chain him up."

"Do so," said the artist promptly.

And Bill, feeling rather awkwardly conscious of his jacket-tails, started off, to lay siege to Grip's domain.

Within the space of ten minutes he returned, carrying a chair, and followed by Elspeth, who had in view two ends—first, to insure the safety of her chair; second, to inform the gentleman that if he should be wanting lunch, she could make arrangements for his comfort in her front kitchen. Bill having intimated that the gent was rather timid of dogs, she also added that there was nothing to fear from either animal, as they were both on the chain.

Meanwhile Bill, with the eggs still in his pockets, stood at the artist's elbow, watching his preparations with a curious eye, and waiting for his copper.

"I'm going to make a picture of the church," said the artist presently. "Perhaps I may want a boy in the foreground. Would you like me to put you in?"

Bill looked up sharply, and nodded.

"That'd be two coppers, sir, wouldn't it?" said he.

"Well, yes; I suppose it would," admitted the artist carelessly. "Go and stand yonder against that tussock, and let me see how picturesque you can look."

Bill obeyed.

"Put your arms up as if you were carrying something," the artist called to him. Then after a minute or so, beckoning him back. "I shan't want you for an hour or two," said he. "No doubt you could bring a basket or a bundle. Or stay! You haven't got a goat or a donkey—or a little brother?"

Bill hadn't; but he thought it might be possible to borrow one.

"That'd be three coppers, sir, wouldn't it?" bargained that mercenary young scamp.

"Oh! Come," returned the artist; "you're too sharp by half for a country boy. I daresay some one else will come along who will think it an honour to be put in a picture and hung in the Academy. If it ever attains to that honour," he added to himself, as Bill anxious not to lose all by his grasping, declared himself ready and willing to stand on any terms.

"Very well, then," concluded the artist, who had taken rather a fancy to the boy's shaggy appearance. "In an hour or two, I shall expect you back."

And Bill went off up the field towards the river.

Truth to tell, those two goose eggs were beginning to weigh very heavy in Bill's pockets. It was quite a chance when he might meet with Dick Crozier; but it was plain he could not carry an egg about in his pocket until he did. One, of course, he intended to suck as soon as he was at a safe distance from the farm; but meantime the other must be hidden somewhere. Bill wandered on; but the fine day had brought a good many people out, and he kept meeting first one, then another, until at length he arrived at the riverbank without having had a chance of tasting his stolen sweets.

The geese had reached the bank too, and were standing about in various attitudes of burlesque dignity, some snapping the grass with their great, broad bills, others with their awkward necks upstretched, always ready to scream. They numbered ten or a dozen.

"Ah! Mrs. Geese," Bill thought to himself as he approached, "I wonder which of you these eggs belong to. You'll just have the trouble of laying a couple more, unless you choose to go short of eggs to sit on."

He had often been that way before, and laughed at the idea of being afraid of geese; but somehow this time, as he drew near, every head in the flock seemed turned to look upon him, and when they commenced their usual "Ya-hi!—Ya-hi!" he stopped short, to consider the advisability of going on.

Of course it was nonsense to suppose that they could know anything about the theft. But the thief knew, which was the same thing with a difference; it is so true, that wise old saying that "conscience makes cowards of us all."

If Bill had looked behind, he would have seen Dick Crozier coming along from the opposite direction.

Dick had at length determined upon using "his common sense" in the matter. Having accidentally transgressed his father's injunctions on the morning when he made the Squire's acquaintance, he had come to the conclusion that he would get no harm by repeating the accident on purpose, with regard to the river. He had found his way by another field-path, a mile or two beyond the Manor Farm, and was now coming along the towing-path, with the intention of returning by the way which Bill had just come.

Bill, however, was too much engrossed to notice anything but the geese. He was having a fight with his own cowardice, and had just gained the victory.

"It's all rubbish," he was saying to himself; "as if they could know!" And he set forward at a determined pace.

Just then the foremost goose waddled forward, assuming a decidedly hostile attitude; and at the same instant Dick, recognising Bill from behind, gave a shrill whistle. Between the goose and the whistle, Bill was so startled that he came to a sudden halt, completely unmanned; then seeing the goose still advance, he turned to fly.

This, of course, was the last thing he should have done; for the bird no sooner saw his back, than ducking her head and opening her wings, she rushed forward with a scream. Bill heard her coming, and put on the speed; but the goose was sure to win the race. A minute later, she would have had him by the back of his small clothes, had not Bill, in flinging a terrified glance over his shoulder, swerved to the edge of the towing-path, and overbalancing himself, slipped and fallen, rolling over and over down the incline into the ditch that separated the bank from the field.

The enraged goose was after him like lightning, screaming and flapping her wings. But Bill's terrified imagination put spurs to his energy. Imagining that the whole flock had taken up the fray, he scrambled to his feet, and plucking up all his valour, just as the goose rushed forward, he caught her in the breast-bone with such a fling of his heavy boot as sent her staggering and rolling over backwards, silenced at any rate for the present.

Meanwhile Dick, seeing Bill in difficulties, had maintained a safe distance; he now came on, whilst Bill, fearing the recovery of the goose, or the vengeance of her allies, fled towards him, panting and red in the face.

"Killed her?" called Dick excitedly.

"Dunno," cried Bill, without so much as turning to look back. "Run!"

And Dick adopting the suggestion, both lads sped as if for their lives.

"That was a first-rate kick!" was Dick's admiring comment, when they at length stopped where a bend of the river and a clump of weeping-willows suggested safety.

The terrible geese were now only visible a long way behind over the water, with their necks still upstretched, and now and then screaming a faint "ya-hi!" as a bird flew across, or some equally unimportant matter arrested their attention.

Bill felt rather foolish. "Guess I shan't come this way again in a hurry," observed he.

Dick remarked that he didn't know geese were dangerous.

"Oh! Ain't they, though," said Bill, changing his opinions to suit his case. "You've only seen 'em hangin' up by the necks, I guess. Never offered to touch me before, though," added he, with a touch of bravado. "Seems like they know when you've been meddling with their nests."

"Have you got it?" asked Dick eagerly, referring to the promised egg.

Bill nodded. "One a-piece," said he, clapping a hand to each jacket-tail. Then suddenly remembering his roll down the bank, his face fell,—"I'm licked!" exclaimed he with a blank look. "If they ain't all smashed! Now, there's a go!"

What a mess it was; and what a face Bill made as he drew his hands out, yellow and sticky, and stood staring helplessly at Dick!

"There's a go!" repeated Dick. "My word and honour!"

"After all that trouble!" added Bill, thinking of the sitting goose and Farmer Bluff's dog Blazer, and all the other obstacles he had surmounted. "It's sixpence all the same though," added he.

Bill had pulled his jacket off by this time, and was down upon his knees on the grass, turning out the pockets.

"Don't you wish you may get it!" returned Dick derisively. "You don't call that an egg?"

Bill had got his mouth down to one pocket, lapping, up the yellow mess. "It warn't my fault they broke," said he, looking up, his face all smeared with yolk.

"Nor mine; that's certain," retorted Dick decisively, turning on his heel. "You can have the other one too," he called over his shoulder as he went.

"Stop a bit!" cried Bill. "Hi! Stop! It's sixpence, or I split on you!"

"Will you though!" retorted Dick, facing round with a jeer. "Who stole 'em?"

"Who asked me to?" retorted Bill.

"Who offered to?" Dick flung back.

"I don't do anything again for you in a hurry," said Bill, applying his mouth to the other pocket. "You're a sneak!"

But Dick only jeered, and went his way.

Bill knelt upright a minute or two, to look after him; then he proceeded to lay himself out flat on the bank, feet furthest from the edge, and set to work washing out the pockets in the river.

[Illustration]