Читать книгу The Hampdenshire Wonder - J. D. Beresford - Страница 24

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Later, I reverted to that speech of the child’s, that intelligent, illuminating speech that seemed to prove that there was indeed a powerful, thoughtful mind behind those profoundly speculative eyes.

“That time he spoke, Stott,” I said, “was he alone?”

“Ah!” assented Stott. “In the garden, practisin’ walkin’ all by ’imself.”

“Was that the only time?”

“Only time I’ve ’eard ’im.”

“Was it lately?”

“ ’Bout six weeks ago.”

“And he has never made a sound otherwise, cried, laughed?”

“ ’Ardly. ’E gives a sort o’ grunt sometimes, when e’ wants anything—and points.”

“He’s very intelligent.”

“Worse than that, ’e’s a freak, I tell you.”

With the repetition of this damning description, Stott fell back into his moody pacing, and this time I failed to rouse him from his gloom. “Oh! forget it,” he broke out once, when I asked him another question, and I saw that he was not likely to give me any more information that day.

We walked back together, and I said good-bye to him at the end of the lane which led up to his cottage.

“Not comin’ up?” he asked, with a nod of his head towards his home.

“Well! I have to catch that train …” I prevaricated, looking at my watch. I did not wish to see that child again; my distaste was even stronger than my curiosity.

Stott grinned. “We don’t ’ave many visitors,” he said. “Well, I’ll come a bit farther with you.”

He came to the bottom of the hill, and after he left me he took the road that goes over the hill to Wenderby. It would be about seven miles back to Pym by that road. …