Mr. Hewitt, the schoolmaster, walked down the lane with his eyes on the ground; he did not share the general high spirits. The responsibilities of his profession weighed heavily upon him, for he was a conscientious person, and nature had not intended him for a schoolmaster.
"Together again," he muttered, looking after the two big boys as they walked off arm in arm.
"They're always huggermuggering over something," said the curate, coming up behind him. Mr. Hewitt turned round quickly, with a look of relief; he and the curate were old friends.
"I'm awfully worried about this business, Black," he said. "Do you think the Vicar suspects anything?"
"I'm certain he doesn't; he'd have turned the place inside out. You know how severe he is about anything immoral. Why, the other day, with Roscoe's girl — I thought he would have frightened her into a fit. It's all very well, Hewitt, but he goes too far. The girl's very young and ignorant, and it was not fair to press her so."
"I don't agree with you. As vicar of the parish he ought to know the seducer's name, for the protection of other girls. It was sheer obstinacy that made her refuse to tell."
"Or sheer terror. Anyhow, about the boys ------"
The schoolmaster drew back.
"For Heaven's sake!" he crifed; "you don't suspect one of my boys about the Roscoe girl?"
"No, no, of course not! It's some young fisherman. That is..." They both paused a moment.
"I hadn't thought of that," the curate went on, with a troubled face; "but Greaves and Polwheal... Anyway, it's no use imagining horrors like that till we have cause. And Heaven knows the other thing's black enough."
"It is indeed; and the worst is that I'm afraid the Vicar's own nephew is at the bottom of it all."
"Hewitt, are you sure of that? Jack is without exception the most troublesome boy I ever came across, but he doesn't look to me that sort, somehow. Now if you'd said Thompson ------"