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The following morning, as the two cousins were constructing an advanced trench in a supposed siege of the cucumber-frame, Helen came out and handed her brother a letter. Valentine read it, and passed id on to Jack. "What d'you think of that?" he asked. The epistle was a short one, and ran as follows: "GRENFORD MANOR, "Tuesday.
"Oh, he's a lazy blackguard called Ned Hanks; he's always poaching and getting drunk. He never does any work, except now and then he collects rags and bones, and sells them in Melchester." "How does he know you?" "He lives close to Grenford, and every one knows me there." "But how does he know us?" "I can't say. Haven't you ever seen him at Brenlands?" "No, never."
"How are you to-day? Did old Westford get my letter all right?" "What letter?" asked Valentine. "Why, the letter asking for you to come out." "But uncle wrote that!" "Not a bit of it!" answered Raymond triumphantly. "I did it. I had a bit of the manor note-paper, and I sent it to our man to post it from Grenford. Ha! ha! I told you I'd manage the business!"
"Now, Jack, do behave yourself!" cried Valentine, as the basket-carriage turned through two imposing-looking granite gate-posts into a winding drive which formed the approach to Grenford Manor.
One afternoon, when the boys were lying reading in the tent, Barbara suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and stamping her foot, cried, "Bother!" "What's up with you, Bar?" "Why, that wretched Raymond Fosberton is in the house talking to Aunt Mab. He's walked over from Grenford; and he is going to stay the night." Valentine groaned, and Jack administered a kick to an unoffending camp-stool.
He shook hands languidly with Valentine and the two girls, but greeted Jack with a cool stare, which the latter returned with interest. Grenford Manor was very different from Brenlands. Aunt Isabel was fussy and querulous, while Mr. Fosberton was a very ponderous gentlemen in more senses than one.
I don't want to go and see them; but I don't mind having some grub there, if they'll lend us a boat." "My senses! you ought to feel very much honoured at the thought of going to lunch at Grenford Manor," said Helen, laughing. "I'm sure I don't," answered her cousin. "I'd sooner have a feed in old 'Duster's' shop at Melchester." "Well, that's what we'll do," said Valentine.
"We must all write him a letter by to-night's post, to tell him that, of course, we don't think he's the thief, and to beg him to come back." "If you like to do it at once," said Raymond, "I'll post them at Grenford. They'll reach him then the first thing in the morning."
Pilson had the sentence, 'Give me something to drink; and as soon as he'd said it, he got a squirtful all over the back of his head, and Durand " "Oh, stop that!" said Valentine, laughing. "Look here! I vote we drive over to Grenford, and call on the Fosbertons, and ask them to lend us their boat; they'd give us lunch, and then we could take our tea with us up the river.
"We must get the boat into that backwater and tie her up. Though it'll be a beastly fag having to walk to Grenford." Dividing between them the things which had to be carried, the cousins made their way through a piece of waste ground studded with gorse-bushes, and gained the road, which ran close to the river.
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