CHAP. IX.—PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.

IETWEEN twelve and one on the second day,
Tommy came down the lane, waving over his
head a letter from India that had been sent him by
his parents. I must read it, and must listen to his
plans of what he would do when he was old enough
to be a soldier like his father, and to his present
intention in the meantime to write the next Indian
letter all himself. I had always helped at the pro-
duction of these letters, and I must help still, by
looking over and giving advice while he wrote ; and
when might he come and begin? Whenever he
pleased, I said ; only not in the evenings.

“No, I knows you're mostly out then. You have
no need to be afraid of the dusk, like Squire
Prickard,” said Tommy.

“Who? why? what do you mean ?” cried I.

‘Haven't you heard all the row that’s been going
on?” replied Tommy. “Why, the Squire’s been
making himself just as horrid as ever could be,