Chapter XII: Tim Entertains

"TIM, there's a letter from your father by this evening's post," said Mr. Shuttleworth, opening his nephew's bedroom door, "and it contains news which will interest you. Why, dear me, what's amiss?" he inquired, as Tim rose hastily from his knees by the bedside and turned his tear-stained face towards him.

Receiving no response, Mr. Shuttleworth entered the room, and, seating himself on a chair by the window, surveyed the little boy through his spectacles, his expression one of deep concern.

"You are not home-sick?" he asked dubiously. Then, as Tim shook his head, he continued: "That's well. Cannot you tell me what troubles you? Perhaps I can help you."

Tim hesitated. His uncle's voice was very kind, and the near-sighted eyes which met his were full of sympathy. A great longing possessed Tim to confide in some one, and, obeying the impulse of the moment, he opened his heart to his uncle, and told him how he had killed Kitty's rabbit and subsequently denied having overturned the hutch, how he had tried to make amends, and how Kitty's humble request for forgiveness for her suspicion of him and her assurance that she knew he would not tell a lie for the world had made him feel the falsity and cowardice of his past conduct. Mr. Shuttleworth listened without remark until his nephew had finished his confession; then he said:

"It seems to me, Tim, there's only one course to be taken—to make a clean breast of everything to the people next door."

"I should like them to know, but I can't tell them—I can't!" cried Tim in great distress. "Think what a bad opinion they'll have of me, and they've all been so kind. I never meant to kill the rabbit, Uncle John; I didn't know what was in the box."

"It was a spiteful trick anyway, Tim, and I don't wonder you were ashamed afterwards when your temper had cooled down; but I don't comprehend why, instead of owning to the truth, you were led to tell a lie."

"It was because I was afraid the Glanvilles wouldn't have anything to do with me if they knew what I'd done, and I did so want to be friendly with them, Uncle John."

Mr. Shuttleworth was puzzled. He found himself incapable of entering into the workings of his nephew's mind; but he saw he was very conscience-stricken, and in great trouble, and longed to comfort him. "I wish I could set matters on a right footing for you, Tim," he said thoughtfully. "Would you like me to repeat to the Glanvilles all you have imparted to me to-night?"

"Oh, Uncle John, if you only would I should be so glad! I expect they will all despise me, but I can't have Kitty asking me to forgive her, when—Oh, I don't think I ever before told such a big lie as the one I told her, and it's worried me ever since."

"I'm glad to hear it, my boy; it shows me you're not in the habit of uttering falsehoods, It's a grand thing to be truthful, for it takes a deal of courage to be that."

"Yes, indeed it does," Tim rejoined with a sigh.

"The path of truth is difficult to walk because it's steep at times," Mr. Shuttleworth said gravely, "but you know the old adage about putting a stout heart to a steep hill, don't you? And the path of falsehood seems easy travelling at first, because it's all down hill, and we don't see the obstacles that are sure to rise before us as we go on. Take my advice and don't turn from the uphill path in the future, my boy."

"I will try not to," Tim responded earnestly, much touched by his uncle's little sermon. "It is very good of you not to be harder on me, Uncle John. Did you not say you had heard from father?"

"Dear me, I had forgotten that. Yes, I heard from your father by to-night's post; he is going to have his holiday from the bank next month, and proposes to come and fetch you home. What do you think of his plan?"

"I call it a capital one," said Tim, his face brightening.

"Your father will spend his holidays—a fortnight—here. It will be a great pleasure to me to have his society. I shall be sorry to lose you, Tim; and I have been thinking—"

But what Mr. Shuttleworth had been thinking he did not inform his nephew then, for he broke off in the middle of his sentence, and a few minutes later he went downstairs.

That night, after Tim had gone to bed, Mr. Shuttleworth made his call next door. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Glanville, and repeated Tim's confession to them. Needless to say they were greatly surprised; but much to Mr. Shuttleworth's relief, Mrs. Glanville seemed to understand Tim in the matter.

"I see he has a very passionate temper," she said, "and I can quite believe he did not know it was a rabbit's hutch he was overturning, for I am sure he would not wilfully injure a living creature. If only he had owned the truth and not told Kitty that lie!"

"To me that seems the worst part of the business," said Mr. Shuttleworth gravely. "But I think the lie brought its punishment, judging by the distress of mind I found Tim in to-night; I do not believe he will so easily give way to temptation again. I am afraid he has exhibited himself to you all in a very bad light in this matter, but I assure you he is sincerely repentant, and if your little girl and boy can find it in their hearts to forgive him and continue to be his friends, I shall be truly glad."

"I shall explain everything to Kitty and Bob," Mrs. Glanville replied, "and I am sure they will not be harsh in their judgment of Tim. Poor Tim! I must have a little talk to him myself."

Mrs. Glanville kept her word, and the following morning, whilst her children were at school, she made a point of seeing Tim and speaking to him as gently and sympathetically as his own mother would have done under such circumstances, pointing out to him that the fact of his having given way to his passionate temper and having sought revenge had brought about the death of an innocent creature, and had thus led him into further sin. No more was to be said on the subject, she told him, but she hoped he had learnt a lesson he would never forget.

"And Kitty and Bob?" Tim asked falteringly. "I suppose they won't be friends with me any longer now?"

"Oh, yes, indeed I hope they will," Mrs. Glanville replied. "You are going to entertain them on Saturday, you know. Had you forgotten that?"

"No," Tim answered in a low tone. "But I thought—I was afraid that they might not care to come. What did they say, Mrs. Glanville, when they heard it was I who overturned the hutch?" he inquired with considerable anxiety.

"Of course they were greatly astonished, but neither of them believe you meant to injure the rabbit; they know you are not in the least cruel. Kitty was hurt because you had told her a falsehood and Bob was incredulous at first—it seems he had formed a very high opinion of your sense of honour and truth."

Tim's cheeks burnt with shame on hearing this, and he wondered if he would ever be able to restore Bob's faith in him again. Well was it for him that he had not heard the words in which Bob had remarked on his conduct; he would have greeted his visitors on Saturday even more nervously than he did, had he known that it was to their mother he owed their having kept their appointment. For they had been justly indignant against the boy next door, who, as Kitty had taken care to point out, had acted the enemy's part, at least on one occasion, and by his own confession had proved that she had not been far from the truth after all.

But Kitty and Bob were kind-hearted children, and it was not in their natures to harbour resentment against any one for long; so that when Tim, rather falteringly, put forward the plan for making a tent in the back garden, they agreed to it cordially, and set to work with a will, and by the aid of a clothes' prop for a centre pole and several old wrappers, they managed to erect a kind of awning under which they decided they would have their tea.

"Won't Mr. Shuttleworth have tea with us?" asked Kitty, when Deborah arrived with the tea-things, which were placed on a small gipsy table inside the tent. "There's only room for two chairs, but he can have one, can't he?"

"And you must have the other, Kitty," said Tim. "For, of course, you'll pour out the tea."

"If you wish it, I will," the little girl replied, a look of extreme gratification settling on her face.

"I'll tell master you're beginning tea," remarked Deborah. "Then he can join you or not as he likes."

A few minutes later Mr. Shuttleworth appeared upon the scene. He thought it would have been more comfortable to have had the meal in the house; but as the children assured him it was much nicer to have it outdoors, he good-humouredly took the second chair in the tent, whilst Kitty poured out the tea, and the boys sat cross-legged on the ground. They were all very friendly and merry, and by-and-by a glad bark was heard, and Snip, who had been waiting for an opportunity of joining his young mistress and master all the afternoon, and had just gained admittance into the garden, jumped into Kitty's lap.

"Oh, Snip, you weren't invited, sir!" she cried reproachfully, kissing him on the top of his head.

"Nevertheless, he must have some tea," Mr. Shuttleworth said with a smile, as he poured out a saucer of milk for the little dog. "Dear me, he has been in the wars, has he not?"

Kitty immediately explained how Snip had come by his wounds, and went on to give Mr. Shuttleworth a graphic description of old Jacob Dottin and his shop, finally telling him that Fluffy had come from there.

"Who is Fluffy?" Mr. Shuttleworth inquired.

"The beautiful white rabbit Tim gave me in place of the one he killed," she replied. Whereat Tim turned crimson and looked terribly abashed, and Bob changed the conversation.

It was not until shortly before his visitors left that Tim plucked up sufficient courage to speak to them about the bad turn he had served them at the commencement of his acquaintance with them, and to beg their forgiveness, which was willingly granted.

"It was an unneighbourly trick, and we didn't deserve you should have done it," Bob said frankly, "but, of course, you never dreamt it was something living we had in the box. We'll never mention it more."

"And the lie I told," faltered Tim, looking at Kitty.

"Why didn't you own up to me?" she questioned.

"Because I was so afraid if I did you and Bob would never let me be your friend, that was my reason," he rejoined. "I bitterly repented afterwards that I hadn't told the truth."

"Well, you can be our friend still, if you like," Bob remarked, glancing at his sister, who nodded her head assentingly. "I'm sure we'd both of us much rather have a friend than an enemy next door."