Shock turned his face away from me and knelt there, throwing scraps of
wood, cinder, and dirt into the fire, with his head bent down; and
though I tried in all kinds of ways to get him to speak again, not a
single word would he say.
I gave him up as a bad job at last and left him.
That night, just before going to bed, Old Brownsmith sent me out to one
of the packing-sheds to fetch the slate, which had been forgotten. It
was dark and starlight, for the wind had risen and the rain had been
swept away.
I found the slate after fumbling a little about the bench, and was on my
way back to the door of the long packing-shed when I heard a curious
rustling in the loft overhead, followed by a thump on the board as if
something had fallen, and then a heavy breathing could be heard--a
regular heavy breathing that was almost a snore.
For a few moments I stood listening, and then, feeling very
uncomfortable, I stole out, ran into the house, and stood before Old
Brownsmith with the slate.
"Anything the matter?" he said.
"There's someone up in the loft over the packing-shed--asleep," I said
hoarsely.
"In the loft!" he said quickly. "Oh! it is only Shock. He often sleeps
there. You'll find his nest in amongst the Russia mats."
Surely enough, when I had the curiosity next morning to go up the ladder
and look in the loft, there was Shock's nest deep down amongst the mats
that were used to cover the frames in the frosty spring, and some of
these were evidently used to cover him up.
I came down, thinking that if I were Old Brownsmith I should make Master
Shock go to his lodging and sleep of a night, and try whether I could
not make him live like a Christian, and not go about feeding on snails
and hedgehogs and other odds and ends that he picked up in the fields.