ng guided him. Near the edge of the
coppice Tom Gaunt was lopping at some bushes. At sight of Derek he
stopped and stood waiting, his loquacious face expressionless, his
little, hard eye cocked.

"Good morning, Tom. It's ages since I saw you."

"Ah, 'tis a proper long time! You 'ad a knock."

Derek winced; it was said as if he had been disabled in an affair in
which Gaunt had neither part nor parcel. Then, with a great effort, the
boy brought out his question:

"You've heard about poor Bob?"

"Yaas; 'tis the end of HIM."

Some meaning behind those words, the unsmiling twist of that hard-bitten
face, the absence of the 'sir' that even Tom Gaunt generally gave him,
all seemed part of an attack. And, feeling as if his heart were being
squeezed, Derek looked straight into his face.

"What's the matter, Tom?"

"Matter! I don' know as there's anything the matter, ezactly!"

"What have I done? Tell me!"

Tom Gaunt smiled; his little, gray eyes met Derek's full.

"'Tisn't for a gentleman to be held responsible."

"Come!" Derek cried passionately. "What is it? D'you think I deserted
you, or what? Speak out, man!"

Abating nothing of his stare and drawl, Gaunt answered:

"Deserted? Oh, dear no! Us can't afford to do no more dyin' for
you--that's all!"

"For me! Dying! My God! D'you think I wouldn't have--? Oh! Confound
you!"

"Aye! Confounded us you 'ave! Hope you're satisfied!"

Pale as death and quivering all over, Derek answered:

"So you think I've just been frying fish of my own?"

Tom Gaunt, emitted a little laugh.

"I think you've fried no fish at all. That's what I think. And no one
else does, neither, if you want to know--except poor Bob. You've fried
his fish, sure enough!"

Stung to the heart, the boy stood motionless. A pigeon was cooing; the
sappy scent from the lopped bushes filled all the sun-warmed air.

"I see!" he said. "Thanks, Tom; I'm glad to know."

Without moving a muscle, Tom Gaunt answered:

"Don't mention it!" and resumed his lopping.

Derek turned and walked out of the little wood. But when he had put a
field between him and the sound of Gaunt's bill-hook, he lay down and
buried his face in the grass, chewing at its green blades, scarce dry
of dew, and with its juicy sweetness tasting the full of bitterness. And
the gray shade stalked out again, and stood there in the warmth of the
August day, with its scent and murmur of full summer, while the pigeons
cooed and dandelio