The old boatman never did any thing as other people did it; and though Noddy had put on the best face he could assume to meet the shock of the accusation which he was confident would be brought against him, Ben said not a word about the boat-house.  He did not seem to be aware that it had been burned.  He ate his dinner in his usual cheerful frame of mind, and talked of swamp pinks, suggested by the branch which the young reprobate had brought into the servants’ hall.

Noddy was more perplexed than he had been before that day.  Why didn’t the old man “pitch into him,” and accuse him of kindling the fire?  Why didn’t he get angry, as he did sometimes, and call him a young vagabond, and threaten to horsewhip him?  Ben talked of the pinks, of the weather, the crops, and the latest news; but he did not say a word about the destruction of the boat-house, or Noddy’s absence during the forenoon.

After dinner, Noddy followed the old man down to the pier by the river in a state of anxiety which hardly permitted him to keep up the cheerful expression he had assumed, and which he usually wore.  They reached the smouldering ruins of the building, but Ben took no notice of it, and did not allude to the great event which had occurred.  Noddy was inclined to doubt whether the boat-house had been burned at all; and he would have rejected the fact, if the charred remains of the house had not been there to attest it.

Ben hobbled down to the pier, and stepped on board the Greyhound, which he had hauled up to the shore to enable him to make some repairs on the mainsail.  Noddy followed him; but he grew more desperate at every step he advanced, for the old man still most provokingly refused to say a single word about the fire.

“Gracious!” exclaimed Noddy, suddenly starting back in the utmost astonishment; for he had come to the conclusion, that if Ben would not speak about the fire, he must.

The old boatman was still vicious, and refused even to notice his well-managed exclamation.  Noddy thought it was very obstinate of Ben not to say something, and offer him a chance, in the natural way, to prove his innocence.

“Why, Ben, the boat-house is burned up!” shouted Noddy, determined that the old man should have no excuse for not speaking about the fire.

Ben did not even raise his eyes from the work on which he was engaged.  He was adjusting the palm on his hand, and in a moment began to sew as though nothing had happened, and no one was present but himself.  Noddy was fully satisfied now that the boatman was carrying out the details of some plot of his own.

“Ben!” roared Noddy, at the top of his lungs, and still standing near the ruins.

“What do you want, Noddy?” demanded Ben, as good-naturedly as though everything had worked well during the day.

“The boat-house is burned up!” screamed Noddy, apparently as much excited as though he had just discovered the fact.

Ben made no reply, which was another evidence that he was engaged in working out some deep-laid plot, perhaps to convict him of the crime, by some trick.  Noddy was determined not to be convicted if he could possibly help it.

“Ben!” shouted he again.

“Well, Noddy, what is it?”

“Did you know the boat-house was burned up?”

There was no answer; and Noddy ran down to the place where the sail-boat was hauled up.  He tried to look excited and indignant, and perhaps he succeeded; though, as the old man preserved his equanimity, he had no means of knowing what impression he had produced.

“Did you know the boat-house was burned up?” repeated Noddy, opening his eyes as though he had made a discovery of the utmost importance.

“I did,” replied Ben, as indifferently as though it had been a matter of no consequence whatever.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” demanded Noddy, with becoming indignation.

“Because I decided that I wouldn’t say a word about it to any person,” answered Ben.

“How did it happen?”

“I haven’t anything to say about it; so you mustn’t ask me any questions.”

“Don’t you know how it caught afire?” persisted Noddy.

“I’ve nothing to say on that subject.”

Noddy was vexed and disheartened; but he felt that it would not be prudent to deny the charge of setting it on fire before he was accused, for that would certainly convict him.  The old man was playing a deep game, and that annoyed him still more.

“So you won’t say anything about it, Ben?” added he, seating himself on the pier.

“Not a word, Noddy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t if I were you,” continued Noddy, lightly.

Ben took no notice of this sinister remark, thus exhibiting a presence of mind which completely balked his assailant.

“I understand it all, Ben; and I don’t blame you for not wanting to say anything about it.  I suppose you will own up when Mr. Grant comes home to-night.”

“Don’t be saucy, Noddy,” said the old man, mildly.

“So you smoked your pipe among the shavings, and set the boat-house afire ­did you, Ben?  Well, I am sorry for you, you are generally so careful; but I don’t believe they will discharge you for it.”

Ben was as calm and unruffled as a summer sea.  Noddy knew that, under ordinary circumstances, the boatman would have come down upon him like a northeast gale, if he had dared to use such insulting language to him.  He tried him on every tack, but not a word could he obtain which betrayed the opinion of the veteran, in regard to the origin of the fire.  It was useless to resort to any more arts, and he gave up the point in despair.  All the afternoon he wandered about the estate, and could think of nothing but the unhappy event of the morning.  Fanny did not show herself, and he had no opportunity for further consultation.

About six o’clock Bertha returned with her father; and after tea they walked down to the river.  Fanny complained of a headache, and did not go with them.  It is more than probable that she was really afflicted, as she said; for she had certainly suffered enough to make her head ache.  Of course the first thing that attracted the attention of Mr. Grant and his daughter was the pile of charred timbers that indicated the place where the boat-house had once stood.

“How did that happen?” asked Mr. Grant of Ben, who was on the pier.

“I don’t know how it happened,” replied the boatman, who had found his tongue now, and proceeded to give his employer all the particulars of the destruction of the building, concluding with Noddy’s energetic exclamation that he wished the boat-house was burned up.

“But did Noddy set the building on fire?” asked Bertha, greatly pained to hear this charge against her pupil.

“I don’t know, Miss Bertha.  I went up to the house to get my morning instructions, as I always do, and left Noddy at work washing up the boat-house.  I found you had gone to the city, and I went right out of the house, and was coming down here.  I got in sight of the pier, and saw Miss Fanny come out of the boat-house.”

“Fanny?”

“Yes; I am sure it was her.  I didn’t mind where she went, for I happened to think the mainsail of the Greyhound wanted a little mending, and I went over to my room after some needles.  While I was in my chamber, one of the gardeners rushed up to tell me the boat-house was afire.  I came down, but ’twasn’t no use; the building was most gone when I got here.”

“Did you leave anything in the building in the shape of matches, or anything else?” asked Mr. Grant.

“No, sir; I never do that,” replied the old man, with a blush.

“I know you are very careful, Ben.  Then I suppose it was set on fire.”

“I suppose it was, sir.”

“Who do you suppose set it afire, Ben?” said Bertha, anxiously.

“Bless you, miss, I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was Noddy?”

“No, Miss Bertha, I don’t think it was.”

“Who could it have been?”

“That’s more than I know.  Here comes Noddy, and he can speak for himself.”

Noddy had come forward for this purpose when he saw Mr. Grant and Bertha on the pier, and he had heard the last part of the conversation.  He was not a little astonished to hear Ben declare his belief that he was not guilty, for he had been fully satisfied that he should have all the credit of the naughty transaction.

“Do you know how the fire caught, Noddy?” said Mr. Grant.

“I reckon it caught from a bucket of water I left there,” replied Noddy, who did not know what to say till he had felt his way a little.

“No trifling, Noddy!” added Mr. Grant, though he could hardly keep from laughing at the ridiculous answer.

“How should I know, sir, when Ben don’t know?  I tried to make him tell me how it caught, and he wouldn’t say a word about it.”

“I thought it was best for me to keep still,” said Ben.

“This is very strange,” continued Mr. Grant.  “Who was the last person you saw in the boat-house, Ben?”

“Miss Fanny, sir.  I saw her come out of it only a few moments before the fire broke out.”

Noddy was appalled at this answer, for it indicated that Fanny was already suspected of the deed.

“Of course Fanny would not do such a thing as set the boat-house on fire,” said Bertha.

“Of course she wouldn’t,” added Noddy.

“What made you say you did not think Noddy set the fire, Ben?” asked Mr. Grant.

“Because I think he had gone off somewhere before the fire, and that Miss Fanny was in the building after he was.  Noddy was sculling off before he had done his work, and I called him back.  That’s when he wished the boat-house was burned down.”

“It is pretty evident that the fire was set by Noddy or Fanny,” said Mr. Grant; and he appeared to have no doubt as to which was the guilty one, for he looked very sternly at the wayward boy before him.

“I think so, sir,” added Ben.

“And you say that it was not Noddy?” continued Mr. Grant, looking exceedingly troubled as he considered the alternative.

The boatman bowed his head in reply, as though his conclusion was so serious and solemn that he could not express it in words.  Noddy looked from Ben to Mr. Grant, and from Mr. Grant to Ben again.  It was plain enough what they meant, and he had not even been suspected of the crime.  The boatman had seen Fanny come out of the building just before the flames appeared, and all hope of charging the deed upon some vagabond from the river was gone.

“Do you mean to say, Ben, that you think Fanny set the boat-house on fire?” demanded Mr. Grant, sternly.

“I don’t see who else could have set it,” added Ben, stoutly.

“I do,” interposed Noddy.  “I say she didn’t do it.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because I did it myself.”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Mr. Grant, greatly relieved by the confession.

Ben was confused and annoyed, and Noddy was rather pleased at the position in which he had placed the old man, who, in his opinion, had not treated him as well as usual.

“Why didn’t you own it before?” said Mr. Grant, “and not allow an innocent person to be suspected.”

“I didn’t like to,” answered the culprit, with a smile, as though he was entirely satisfied with his own position.

“You must be taken care of.”

“I am going to take care of myself, sir,” said Noddy, with easy indifference.

This remark was capable of so many interpretations that no one knew what it meant ­whether Noddy intended to run away, or reform his vicious habits.  Bertha had never seen him look so self-possessed and impudent when he had done wrong, and she feared that all her labors for his moral improvement had been wasted.

Some further explanations followed, and Noddy was questioned till a satisfactory theory in regard to the fire was agreed upon.  The boy declared that he had visited the boat-house after Fanny left it, and that she was walking towards the Glen when he kindled the fire.  He made out a consistent story, and completely upset Ben’s conclusions, and left the veteran in a very confused and uncomfortable state of mind.

Mr. Grant declared that something must be done with the boy at once; that if he was permitted to continue on the place, he might take a notion to burn the house down.  Poor Bertha could not gainsay her father’s conclusion, and, sad as it was, she was compelled to leave the culprit to whatever decision Mr. Grant might reach.  For the present he was ordered to his room, to which he submissively went, attended by Bertha, though he was fully resolved not to be “taken care of;” for he understood this to mean a place in the workhouse or the penitentiary.