Free Cynthia Bailey Pratt by Gentlemans Folly Page B

back to the house, replaced quickly by the fear that perhaps Constable Regin had crept up on him once more. Fortunately, it was neither of those two fearful authorities. Arnold instinctively liked this man. His clothes looked like his own, comfortable, though another might call them shabby.
    As Arnold looked up (it seemed a very long way) into the stranger’s lean face, he half-smiled. He felt a kinship as if the man remembered his own boyhood clearly. Seeing only an answering smile, Arnold straightened up, disdaining to brush at his breeches.
    “Nice bit of river you’ve got here. Is it yours?”
    “As much mine as anybody’s. Nobody else ever comes here.” Arnold dragged a dirty hand across his face. “Built a dam along here someplace last year.”
    “Are you going to build another?”
    Arnold shrugged. “Maybe.”
    “If you did it right, you could keep fish in it. Save a lot of money, raising your own fish.” The stranger picked up a stone and tried to skim it across a smooth place. The stone sank. He made a face. “I used to be able to do that quite well. Got out of the habit, I suppose.”
    Arnold shook his head. “Wrong kind of water. You need a lake. Bigger, calmer.”
    “You’re right. I did use to do it at the Lakes.” The man put out his hand. “I’m Hammond. How do you do?”
    “Very well, sir. I’m Arnold Luckem.” They shook hands.
    “I know,” Hammond said. “I’ve heard of you.”
    Arnold grinned. He knew what kind of stories were told about him. The stranger chuckled. “Yes, you’re right. Very little of it was to your credit. So little, I was surprised to see you in church.”
    “My cousin makes me go. You must have walked fast to get here so soon.” His tone indicated he hadn’t expected such a feat from an old man.
    “Yes, I’m a fast walker. I’m tired now.” Hammond sat down on a largish rock, without looking to see if it was clean. He put his black stick down beside him and stretched out his long legs with a sigh. The sunshine was pleasant on his upturned face. He almost wished he had no business.
    “You seem to be a leader of men and boys, Arnold. Do you know anyone named Joss or maybe Josh?”
    Arnold grew wary. So far, they shared a pleasant conversation about important things, but now the man came up with a strange question. It didn’t seem quite fair, as if he were asking for information he had no right to. Arnold looked sideways at the man on the rock. “Joss or Josh?” he repeated slowly, his brain working fast.
    After a moment he smiled and spread his hands. “No, sir. I don’t know anyone by that name.” He wondered gleefully what Jocelyn had been doing the other day in Libermore and of what use this secret could be to him.
    Reaching down and plucking a piece of lank grass, Hammond changed the subject. “All right. No Joss. Do you know Matt Hodges?”
    “Yes, of course. Everybody knows him.”
    “What do you know about him?” He noticed Arnold’s sidelong look and said, “Nothing embarrassing, old fellow. Just who his friends are, where he goes, where he is now?” Hammond knew they’d need a clergyman to tell them where Hodges was now.
    “I’d like to talk to him.” Hammond laid the blade of grass on his thumbs, lifted them to his lips, and blew gently, making the grass vibrate with a sharp whistle.
    “Show me!” Arnold demanded, coming closer.
    Hammond obliged, showing him the right type and width of grass. “That’s right. Easy, isn’t it, when you know how?”
    “Why’d you come to church?” Arnold asked suddenly.
    “I like church.”
    Arnold groaned, clutching his stomach. The man ignored his theatrics and went on. “It’s the best place to find out what is going to happen.”
    “They don’t know anything,” the boy said scornfully. “Just mumble, mumble. Amen. Mr. Fain is dull as Cicero. He even makes the good stories come out rotten, like Daniel in the lion’s den. Now, Jocelyn can—” Hurriedly, Arnold said, “Well, you