Chapter XIV: Beppo in Trouble

A far worse trouble than "cat" or "mat" came to poor Beppo a few days afterward. He worked away diligently and steadily in the garden and was always delighted to bring home his little earnings--six silver shillings every week--and give them to old Roger. Hayes, the gardener, was kind to him, and so was every one, except Jim Dawson, who also worked in the garden.

But then, Jim Dawson was kind to no one, not even to his sister Moll, for whom he seemed to have a sort of rough affection. Still, Jim Dawson did his work well enough; he was very strong and got through a good deal, if he _did_ idle sometimes when Hayes' back was turned. So Hayes was glad to have him.

Now Hayes had a peach tree of which he was particularly proud. It was like his child to him, for he had grown it from a very little thing, and had watched it day by day in the spring, when its beautiful pink buds became pinky-white flowers, and then dropped, and gave way to little hard balls, green and round, that would one day be peaches. He had taken off some of these, so that the rest might be finer, and now there were just four beautiful velvet peaches on the little tree. Such beauties they were! and soon would come the fruit-show; and how delightful it would be to see in the county paper that "Mr. Hayes, head-gardener to Mr. Seymour, had the first prize for a splendid dish of peaches grown out of doors!"

Every morning and every evening, and several times in the day, came Mr. Hayes looking after those treasures of his.

Can you fancy what Mr. Hayes' good-tempered face looked like when one day, about twelve o'clock, he came past, having already paid "his babies" a visit once that morning and found only three? Only three! The finest of all was gone; neatly gathered from the tree; so that there could be no suspicion of accident in the matter. It was too bad.

Stooping down, Mr. Hayes carefully examined the ground to see if there were any traces of footsteps by which he could discover the thief.

In one or two places the ground looked a little disturbed, as if some one had hastily covered over the traces of steps with some loose earth. Certainly a cunning thief had been at work, and Mr. Hayes' rage grew more and more violent; but his rage was quite useless. Storm at the two boys, Jim and Beppo, he could, and he did; question all the other gardeners, and the grooms, and John the coachman, and the kitchenmaid, and the laundrymaid, and the girl who fed and plucked the fowls; all this he did, but nothing could bring back his peach, and every one seemed equally innocent in the matter. Mr. Hayes was very angry, and for two days he remained so, spending much of his time in walking about that part of the garden, with his sharp eyes very wide open, and a thick stick in his strong hand.

Woe betide the unlucky thief who had gone near the peach tree on those days!

But by the third day Mr. Hayes' wrath had cooled a little; besides, he had very good news from a brother in Australia by the morning post; and so on that day he took a look at the three peaches that were left, and then went away whistling "Rule Britannia!" It was about the only tune he knew, and he whistled it whenever things went well.

It was a pity that a dark cloud should come up again that day over the sunny landscape of Mr. Hayes' broad red face; but it is a fact that, on coming again to visit his darlings, he found no longer three, but only two; and under the brick wall were again traces of steps carefully dusted over with earth, as before.

If Mr. Hayes had been angry before, he was now simply beside himself with passion. He did not storm, neither did he stamp this time--he was too angry for that.

Striding along the garden walk, without any distinct idea of where he meant to go or what to do, Mr. Hayes encountered Beppo, who rose up from his weeding, and looked as if he were about to speak. But the child shrank from the furious face that looked down at him--shrank away, and grew pale with fear.

Hayes looked at him steadily for a moment, then spoke fiercely, though quietly, trying to control himself. "Well, boy, what have you to say for yourself?"

Guilt was clearly painted on Beppo's face, and in every line of his trembling figure as he stammered out. "P'ease--Mr. Haye--I--so sorry. Not--mean--do it, sir!

"Not mean!" answered Hayes in a voice like suppressed thunder. "Sorry! what can your sorrow do, I'd like to know? Do you know what you have done? mischief that can never be mended!"

"Yes, sir," said Beppo humbly.

"Yes, sir! No excuse! You little foreign brat! you come along o' me, and get the best thrashing you ever had. Come on, I say!"

He seized Beppo by the collar, and marching him in front, strode toward the garden tool-house. There were plenty of sticks there that would answer his purpose of severely punishing the wretched little criminal, whose cries, moreover, would attract less notice there, he thought.

Coming toward them, the angry man and his prisoner met Bryda, singing merrily.

Her song soon stopped when she saw the poor little criminal in the strong grasp of Mr. Hayes who was policeman, judge, jury, lawyers, jailer, and executioner, all at once.

"What _is_ the matter? What has he done?" she gasped, quite frightened.

Hayes stopped.

"Done! The little varmint!" giving Beppo a shake as he held him still. "Done, Miss Bryda! Will he dare look you in the face again? Stolen my peaches, two of them, one after the other--heartless, greedy, thankless little monster as he is! Stolen my peaches that I hoped would get the prize--ay, he can't deny it!"

"I not stolen them!" cried Beppo, in bitter distress. "Oh, Miss Bryde! I not--I never done _that_! I often bad boy--never stole! Never! No! No! No!"

Bryda remembered the baker's roll, and quite believed him. He was hungry then, but he did not steal.

"Oh, Hayes! Indeed, indeed, I am sure he is telling the truth!" she said earnestly. "Please don't be angry with him till you are quite sure, at least."

"Lor', Miss Bryda," said the gardener impatiently, "you're that taken up with the sly little rascal you don't believe butter would melt in his mouth. But he spoke up and said he was sorry when I taxed him with it first. It's only the sight of you makes him bold, thinking you'll take his part through thick and thin. A sneaking, lying little thief! Never does he do another day's work here!"

"Miss Bryde," said Beppo, with flashing eyes in which there were no tears, "I not--I never did--not could--think I--steal--tell lies! I speak de truth now, and then, both, only I did think Mr. Hayes found something else, and I did want tell him----"

Here Jim Dawson, who had been looking on at the little scene, stepped up to Beppo suddenly, slipped his hand into Beppo's pocket, and drew out a peach-stone.

Silence fell on the little group. Bryda, distressed beyond words, looked from one to the other. Beppo, with a strange expression of face, looked at Jim, who stood grinning; and Hayes, after looking at the stone for some seconds, as if to be perfectly certain of Beppo's crime, pushed his hand more firmly into the boy's collar, strode to the garden-house, put him in, and said, before he closed the door, "Now, my lad, it's for your good. You bide there and think of the flogging you'll get so soon as I've time to give it to you."

Locking the door on the outside, he strode away, with the key in his pocket, leaving Beppo to his miserable expectations of the flogging that he would get; no light punishment it would be from the heavy hand of an angry man.

If Beppo was guilty, then miserable enough he was likely to be, with the burdens of a theft and a lie on his mind, and the prospect of punishment to come.

If, as he said, though appearances were against him, he was innocent, then he need not be very miserable, for a good conscience would be his companion, and the Friend of little children would send him comfort.

Crouching down in a wretched little heap on the floor, he remained so for some time, not crying, not trembling, but apparently thinking. Then slowly rising, he knelt down in a corner, and, clasping his hands, looked through the little window up to the blue sky.

He need not look to any beautiful angel now, whose help he used to hope for. He had another--better Friend, and quietly he said, half aloud, "Kind Lord Jesus, don't forget Beppo. I in great trouble, Lord Jesus!"

Was he guilty, or not? We shall see.