or
instead of bathing himself first he walked straight to the glass, gave
one long look, and turned away in despair, for his face looked far worse
than it had done in the clear water.

"What will uncle say?" groaned Tom; and he forgot Mrs Fidler, who came
up to his door to see if he had returned, and receiving no answer to her
knock, she walked in, and then said a good deal, but it was while
working hard to alleviate the boy's pain.

In the midst of it all Uncle Richard came home.

"Now for it," said Tom bitterly. "What will he say?"

He soon heard, and when he did, there was a singular choky feeling in
his throat. For Uncle Richard called up the stairs--

"Feel well enough to come down, Tom? Never mind your looks."

He went down, still expecting a severe rating, but instead of meeting an
angry face there was a very merry one, for he was saluted by a roar of
laughter.

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Uncle Richard. "You're a nice ornament for
the home of a simple country gentleman. But Mr Maxted says you gave
him a thorough thrashing. Did you? Here, let's look at your knuckles."

Tom slowly held out his hands.

"Oh yes," said his uncle, nodding. "There's no mistake about that. And
so you are going to make a model boy of Pete Warboys, eh?"

"I thought I'd try, uncle," said Tom bitterly.

"Oh, well, go on boy, go on. You must have beaten the clay quite soft.
When are you going to put it in the new mould?"

"I don't know, uncle," said Tom. "I expect the next thing will be that
Pete will half kill me."

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

Tom saw very little more of Pete Warboys. He had slipped away to the
fir-wood, and escaping all observation, went straight to the cave; but
there was neither boy nor dog, and he left disappointed.

Three days passed, and he did not go out, feeling perfectly unfit to be
seen.

Then he began to grow uneasy, and wondered whether Pete was ill from the
beating he had received, and the dog dead.

But the time went on, and he heard that Pete had gone away. David had
told Mrs Fidler, and she bore the news to Tom.

"And it's a great blessing, my dear," she said, "for he was a very bad,
wicked boy, and I don't know what he didn't deserve for beating you so
dreadfully."

"Oh, but he was as bad, or worse," said Tom.

"He couldn't have been, my dear. Look at your poor face even now."

"No. Bother! I don't want to look at my face for ever so long yet,"
replied Tom. "Perhaps it