The Adventures of Tom Leigh by Phyllis Bentley Page B

farewell now, Tom,” said Mr. Defoe. “I must go write this market down in my notes.”
    Indeed he seemed half away already in his mind, and hurried off towards the Rose and Crown. I was truly sorry to part from him.
    Here I made what was perhaps a mistake. Having breakfasted so well at the inn with Mr. Defoe, I thought Ineed not eat again that day, and seeing all manner of agreeable things in the shops as I wandered about the town, I used my groat to buy a blue ribbon for little Gracie. This, as I say, was perhaps a mistake, for as the day went on I grew exceedingly hungry.
    Halifax is a strange town, built at the foot of one great hill and lying up the slope of another rather less steep; the church is at the bottom, the gibbet at the top, the market cross midway between. I went down to the church, which is old and handsome enough (though not as large as Lavenham’s) with very fine tall windows of plain glass, agreeably patterned by leads, and a most strange brightly painted wooden figure by the door, life size and dressed in quaint old-fashioned clothes. This figure, which gave me quite a start when I first entered the church, for I thought it a real man, was made to resemble a noted beggar who had lived nigh on two hundred years ago; it held a poorbox in front of it, in its hands. However, this Old Tristram, as they called him, is not really part of my story, except that, looking at him and at the church, and (I must confess) playing at ball with some lads I met around there, not only took my time but tired me out, hungry as I was, and made me long for a place to rest. As I had no money I could not enter an inn. So it was that I made my way to the Old Cock some hours before the time Jeremy had set. Mr. Gledhill’s wagon stood in the yard with its shafts up—the horse would be in the stable—and two sacks of wool lying on it.
    I climbed on to these sacks and pulling them about a little arranged a comfortable bed for myself. An ostler shouted at me, but I convinced him who I was and of my right to be there, on my master’s wool, and he let me be. I curled myself up on the sacks, and what with hunger and fatigue and the excitement of the day and the hot sun beating down on me, I fell asleep.
    I was wakened by being violently shaken by my shoulder. I started up and found myself gazing into the angry face of Mr. Gledhill.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Tom Leigh?” he said sternly.
    â€œWaiting for Jeremy, sir,” I said.
    â€œJeremy left long ago,” said Mr. Gledhill.
    â€œWhat? He has gone? He’s left me? But how could he, when I am on your wagon?”
    â€œYou are not on any wagon, either mine or anybody else’s,” said Mr. Gledhill drily.
    I looked around, and saw to my amazement that I was in a dark corner of a stable, lying on straw, with Mr. Gledhill and the ostler gazing down at me.
    â€œBut I was on your wagon,” I repeated stupidly, being but half awake.
    â€œAye, that’s right, Mester Gledhill, he
was
on t’ wagon,” said the ostler. “I saw him there mysen, and bawled him out. Didn’t I, lad? I bawled him out for lying on wool sacks, Mr. Gledhill, I did that.”
    I got to my feet and dusted the straw from my breeches.
    â€œBut how did I come into the stable?”
    â€œYon Jeremy must have carried thee in.”
    â€œBut why should he do such a daft thing?”
    â€œHe’s always against me, Mr. Gledhill,” said I.
    I own I had a great inclination to weep at this point, but lads of fourteen do not weep, so I choked down the lump in my throat, and said as boldly as I could:
    â€œWell, no great harm has been done. It is but five miles, I can easily walk home.”
    â€œTom Leigh, th’art either the daftest or the unluckiest boy I ever did encounter,” said Mr. Gledhill, his expression softening somewhat. “Art sure, now, that tha wert not trying to break thy indentures and run