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Updated: May 23, 2025
And so indeed it proved, for by the time they reached the door Miss Barnicroft had been shown into the study, and to their great disappointment the girls saw her no more.
"At any rate," returned Miss Barnicroft, fixing him sharply with her cold light eyes, "you knew it wasn't yours. I was always taught that to take what was not mine was stealing." "We thought it was Roman," said David, still undaunted, "and they're all dead." Then, seeing no reason for staying longer, he added quickly, "Good-bye! father's waiting for us."
It was truly dreadful to Ambrose to hear his father talk in that calm soothing tone, and to imagine how he would feel if he knew that his own son Ambrose had taken Miss Barnicroft's money, and that the hateful little crock of gold was at that very moment lying quite near him in David's garden. His heart beat so fast that the sound of it seemed to fill the room. Would Miss Barnicroft never go away?
Won't you have some ambrosia before you go?" Ambrose had no idea what ambrosia could be, but he at once concluded that it was something poisonous. "No, thank you," he said, pulling David's sleeve to make him refuse too. "It's honey and goat's milk," said Miss Barnicroft persuasively; "very delicious. You'd better taste it."
"In Rumborough Camp," murmured Ambrose. "I knew the thief was in your father's parish," said Miss Barnicroft, "and I'm not surprised to find that it's a boy; but I certainly didn't suspect the vicar's own son." "We didn't know the money was yours," broke in David, "and father says we are not thieves."
At first the conversation was not interesting, for it was about some question of taxation which he did not understand; but suddenly dropping this, Miss Barnicroft began to tell a story of some white owls who lived in the keep of a castle in Scotland.
Pennie! Look! Phere's Miss Barnicroft going to call." Mrs Hawthorne roused herself at once from her book, for no one could look forward with indifference to a visit from Miss Barnicroft. Not very far from the Roman camp Rumborough Common ended in a rough rutty road, or rather lane, and about half-way down this stood a small white cottage with a thatched roof.
"Well, but," said David, feeling that there was a difference between the two cases "he stole a thing out of a house, and we didn't; and his father was a hedger and ditcher, and our father is vicar of Easney." "That wouldn't matter," said Ambrose. "It would depend on Miss Barnicroft. She wouldn't let us off. She said she couldn't bear boys. She'd be glad to have us punished."
"A month ago," she continued, "I put away some gold pieces for which I had no use, and they have been stolen." "Did you lock them up?" asked Mr Hawthorne. "I did a safer thing than that," said Miss Barnicroft, laughing contemptuously; "I buried them." "In your garden?" "No. I put them into a honey-jar and buried it in what, I believe, is called the Roman Camp, not far from my house."
He had in truth forgotten all about Miss Barnicroft and her money, for he had thought it merely one of her own crazy inventions. That Ambrose and David should have anything to do with it seemed impossible, and yet the guilty solemn looks of the two little boys showed that they were in the most serious earnest. "Miss Barnicroft's money!" he repeated.
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