He turned, and walked up the path towards the cottage. Of course I had
no faith in his word, and I determined to keep at a respectful distance
from him. When he had disappeared in the grove beyond the brook, I
raised the plank on one end, and then dropped it across the stream,
restoring the bridge to its original position. I crossed the brook, and
walked towards the house. When I came in sight of it, the buggy was
leaving the yard. I concluded Tom and his father had really adopted my
suggestion, and were going to Welch's Lane for the horse and chaise. But
I was too wary to advance without reconnoitring the ground.

"Your breakfast is all ready, Ernest," said old Betsey, the housekeeper,
as I approached the back door.

"Where are my uncle and the gentleman?" I asked.

"They told me they were going down to Parkville, and I need not wait
breakfast for them."

I went into the dining-room and sat down at the table, as much for the
purpose of getting something for Kate as to eat myself. I was scarcely
seated, when I was thrown over backwards, chair and all, and found
myself lying on the floor, held down by Tom Thornton.

CHAPTER X.

IN WHICH ERNEST STRIKES A HEAVY BLOW FOR LIBERTY.

"DEAR me! Good gracious! Why!" screamed Betsey, when Tom Thornton threw
me upon the floor. "I thought you'd gone off with Mr. Thornton. What in
the world are you going to do? Let the poor boy alone!"

Betsey did not think I was having fair play, and old and stiff as she
was, she rushed up to Tom, apparently with the intention of interfering.

"Out of the way, old woman!" growled Tom. "Go and get me a rope."

"A rope! I won't get you any rope! And if you don't let the poor boy
alone, I'll go out and call the neighbors," replied Betsey, bustling
about the room as though she intended to do some desperate thing.

For my own part, I felt that it would be useless for me to resist. Tom
was strong, and I was wholly in his power--taken by surprise, and at a
disadvantage which I could not overcome. I lay still, therefore, and
thus saved some hard knocks.

"What are you going to do with the poor boy? He shan't be treated so!"
persisted Betsey, who had not talked so much before for ten years.

"Be still, old woman! He's a bad boy. He stole my horse, and ran away
with a little girl. I shall not hurt him if he behaves himself," replied
Tom, who appeared to be afraid she would call in some person to take my
part.

"You act like a brute. Y