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Updated: May 10, 2025
They were the sons of General Sir Arthur Champernowne, a famous fighter who'd got the Victoria Cross in India, and carried half the alphabet after his name. Well, there stood the young youth, and even in the owl-light I could see he was a bit troubled of spirit. He looked about him, moved nervously, and then fetched something out of his pocket.
Both Uncle Paul's ears seemed to twitch, and he scratched one as if it itched; but he said nothing, for just then Mrs Champernowne tapped at the door, to enter smiling, with a packet of letters. "Postman, sir," she said, placing the letters upon the table. "You won't mind me speaking another word, sir?" she said. "Oh no, Mrs Champernowne," said her visitor, rather gruffly. "What is it?"
"This looks serious, my boy. Well, I don't know. Perhaps he's only heard of the visit that has been paid here." "I beg pardon, sir; here is Mr Windell, one of the sergeants of the prison guard. Could he see you for a few minutes?" "Well, I'm rather Yes, yes, show him in, Mrs Champernowne. Rodney, my boy, you sit still and hold your tongue. I don't know what this man wants; but you leave it to me."
The remains of the old quadrangle were a treasure to local antiquaries, and the whole place was full of charm for an imaginative boy. Mr. Champernowne, the owner, was an intimate friend of the Archdeacon, to whom he left the guardianship of his children, so that the Froudes were as much at home in their squire's house as in the parsonage itself.
"God's my judge, Squire Champernowne, that I didn't mean to touch on that," I answered. "'Twas dead and buried in my heart, and the kind words you have said to me would have made me keep it there for evermore. I ban't your judge, though you be going to be mine, and I didn't speak them words in no sense to threaten, and I didn't speak 'em to remind you as you'd ever heard 'em before.
"But I say, uncle; it might have been worse." "But the clothes, my boy! The scoundrels! They'll go masquerading about in our things, and escaping, I'll be bound. But stop a minute. What did he say about exchange?" "Oh, that meant about the money." "Hullo! There's that wicked old woman again! Well, Mrs Champernowne, what is it now?" "The wood-shed, sir." "Well, I don't want the wood-shed.
"You are about the sleepiest chap I ever knew. There, I am afraid I shall have to wait for to-morrow morning's sunshine. Clear away, or help me. Let's put everything on a side-table, and I'll tell Mrs Champernowne that she isn't to touch what she sees there."
As she spoke the woman hurried into her kitchen, from which sharp crackling sounds announced that he was thrusting pieces of wood under the kettle, and as she busied herself she went on talking aloud so that they could hear "Did you hear the gun fire, sir, somewhere about one o'clock?" "Yes," grunted Uncle Paul. "Dinner-time, and we ate your sandwiches, Mrs Champernowne. They were delicious."
At the second drag I got him, and there, sure enough, was the thing that Mister Champernowne had throwed in the pool. But it weren't a bottle by no means. Instead, I found a black, tin, waterproof canister a foot long; and, working at it, the lid soon came off. Inside was one piece of paper and no more.
I will cook another rasher or two directly." "Madam, no," said Uncle Paul didactically. "What does the great classic author say?" "Really I don't know, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, with a perplexed look wrinkling up her pleasant face. "But it won't take many minutes." "Enough, madam, is as good as a feast. This has been a banquet, eh, Pickle?
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