ant to be addressed as "Thomas Blount," in that formal
way.

"I often regret," said the Vicar, "that I have so few opportunities for
genuine hard muscular work, and admire your uncle for the way in which
he plunges into labour of different kinds. For such work is purifying,
Thomas Blount, and ennobling."

This was all very strange, and seemed like the beginning of a lecture,
but Tom felt better, and he liked the Vicar--at least at other times,
but not now.

"Will you be honest with me, my lad?" said the visitor at last.

"Oh yes, sir," was the reply, for "my lad" sounded so much better than
formal Thomas Blount.

"That's right. Ahem!"

Another cough. A pause, and Tom coloured a little more beneath the
searching gaze that met his.

"Were you out last night?" came at last, to break a most embarrassing
silence.

"Yes, sir."

"Out late?"

"Yes, sir; quite late."

"Humph!" ejaculated the Vicar, who looked now very hard and stern. "One
moment--would you mind lending me your knife?"

"My knife!" faltered Tom, astounded at such a request; and then, in a
quick, hurried way--"I'm so sorry, sir, I cannot. I was looking for it
just now, but I've lost it."

"Lost it? Dear me! Was it a valuable knife?"

"Oh no, sir, only an old one, with the small blade broken."

"Would you mind describing it to me?"

"Describing it, sir? Of course not. It had a big pointed blade, and a
black and white bone handle."

"And the small blade broken, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Had it any other mark by which you would know it? Knives with small
blades broken are very general."

"No, sir, no other mark. Oh yes, it had. I filed a T and a B in it one
day, but it was very badly done."

"Very, Thomas Blount," said the Vicar, taking something from his
breast-pocket. "Is that your knife?"

"Yes," cried Tom eagerly, "that's it! Where did you find it, sir? I
know; you must have taken it off that bench by mistake when uncle showed
you round."

"No, Thomas Blount," said the Vicar, shaking his head, and keeping his
eyes fixed upon the lad; "I found it this morning in my garden."

"You couldn't, sir," cried Tom bluntly. "How could it get there?"

The Vicar gazed at him without replying, and Tom added hastily--

"I beg your pardon, sir. I meant that it is impossible."

"The knife asserts that it is possible, sir. Take it. A few pence
would have bought those plums."

The hand Tom had extended dropped to his side.