MR. TEMPLE LEARNS MORE OF WILL MARION'S CHARACTER WRITTEN IN STONES.

"Don't say anything about it, my lad, to Will; he don't like it known,"

said Uncle Abram one day; "and I wouldn't let out about it to his aunt."

"I won't tell anybody but Taff and my father," said d.i.c.k.

Uncle Abram took his pipe out of his mouth and scratched the side of his nose with it very softly, as he looked out through the window, and its climbing-roses, to sea.

Mrs Marion had gone into Corntown marketing; Arthur was up the cliff reading in a snug corner he affected; Mr Temple had gone out alone along the cliff "on an exploring trip," he had said with a smile; and Will was down with Josh at the lugger "overhauling," as Josh called it, which meant running over the nets previous to a visit to the pilchard ground.

d.i.c.k was just going to join them when Uncle Abram, who was fumigating his rose-trees and enjoying his pipe at the same time, made him a signal, as he called it, and asked him if he would like to see Will's room.

"Well," said the old man, after a good deal of scratching with the red waxed end of his tobacco pipe.

"I s'pose you're right, Master Richard, sir. I say don't tell Will, because he's so modest like, and don't want people to know; and, I say, don't tell his aunt, because she's so particular like with him, and if she know'd all, she'd think he was neglecting his regular work, and that if he could find time, you see, for doing this sort of thing, he could be doing more to the boats. But I don't see why your brother should not know, and I don't hold with a lad keeping anything from his father."

"And who wants to keep anything from his father?" said Mr Temple, who was just pa.s.sing the window on his return. "What is it?" he continued, entering the room.

"Oh, nothing, sir; only I was going to show Master Richard here our Will's room, and I was asking him to be a bit secret like for the lad's sake. Mrs Marion, you see, is a--"

"Oh, yes, I understand," said Mr Temple. "May I come too?"

"If you please, sir," said the old man smiling. "It's in your way rather, you see, both of you being a bit fond of chip-chopping stones; not that there's many up there now, for you see his aunt makes the lad clear 'em away now and then. Won't have the litter, she says. But I've got 'em all in a box down in my toolshed, where the boy can have 'em when he likes."

"Let's go and see his room, then," said Mr Temple, smiling.

"'Tarn't much of a place, sir, being a garret," said Uncle Abram apologetically; "but lads as goes to sea has snugger quarters sometimes than our Will's."

He put his pipe back in his mouth--it was out now--and held it steady as he led the way to a door in a corner at the end of the pa.s.sage, and up a very steep flight of stairs to a little room with sloping ceiling, over the kitchen.

"I had this knocked up for the lad o' purpose," said Uncle Abram proudly. "Made it as like a cabin as I could, meaning him to be sea-going, you understand, sir, only he's drifting away from it like.

Why, bless your heart, though, Mr Temple, sir, I never find no fault with him, for there's stuff enough in him, I think, to make a real lord-mayor. There: there's our Will's room."

He stood smiling as the visitors had a good look round the scrupulously clean little cabin-like bed-room with lockers and a swinging shelf of books, and everything arranged with a neatness that was most notable.

"Those are his books, sir. Spends a deal of time over 'em."

"Novels and romances, eh?" said Mr Temple, going to the shelf. "Why, hullo! Fowne's _Chemistry_, Smyth's _Mineralogy_, Murchison's _Geology_. Rather serious reading for him, isn't it?"

"Not it, sir," cried Uncle Abram. "He loves it, sir; and look here," he continued, opening one of the lockers; "as full of specimens as can be.

All sorts of stones and bits of ore that he gets from the mines. Ah!

that's a new net he's making; small meshed seine to catch sand-eels, sir, for bait. That's a new shrimp-net he made for me. Mixes it up like--reads and makes nets together. Once you've got your fingers to know how to make a net, they'll go on while you read."

"What are these?" said Mr Temple, pointing at a series of rough gla.s.s bottles and oil flasks.

"Oh, that's his apparatus he made, sir. Does chemistry with them, and there's a little crucible in my tool-house, where he melts down tin and things sometimes, to see what they're made of. I always encourage him, I do, just. Can't do the boy any harm."

"Harm! no," said Mr Temple quietly, as he glanced through Will's treasures with a good deal of curiosity, spending most of the time over a small gla.s.s case which was full of glittering pieces of ore.

"He seems to like the pretty bits best," said Mr Temple; but Uncle Abram shook his head.

"Oh no, sir. Those are what his aunt likes best. She won't have the bits of tin and rough copper ore; says they're rubbish, bless her. She don't know what one bit's worth more than another, only goes by the eye, you see. I've got the rough bits hid away for him when he wants 'em."

Mr Temple seemed unusually thoughtful, so it seemed to d.i.c.k, who was delighted with the quaintness of the little attic, and declaring to himself that it was just the place he should like for himself; but he wondered a little bit at his father looking so stern.

"Here, quick!" cried Uncle Abram excitedly; "that's my boy's step coming in back way. I don't want him to see us. Looks like spying on him, poor lad, and I want him to enjoy himself when he isn't at work."

"And quite right too," said Mr Temple quietly, as he followed the old man down the steep stairs, and they had just reached the parlour when there was a knock at the door.

"Beg pardon, sir," said Will, who was flushed with hurrying; "but you said you would like the young gentlemen to have a sail in the trawler."

"Sail in the trawler!" cried d.i.c.k, bounding across the room excitedly.

"Yes! Well?" said Mr Temple, smiling.

"She's lying off the harbour, sir. I've seen the master, and he says the young gentlemen are welcome, and there's a fine breeze, sir, and it's a lovely day."

d.i.c.k turned a look upon his father, such as a prisoner might turn upon a judge as he waited for him to speak.

"I suppose you would not like to go, d.i.c.k?" said Mr Temple dryly. "You would miss your dinner."

"Why, father," cried d.i.c.k in a tone of reproach, "I can have a dinner every day."

"And a sail in a trawler only once perhaps in your life. Then be off."

d.i.c.k bounded to the door and then stopped.

"May Taff come, father?" he cried.

"If he likes; but perhaps he wouldn't care to go. Make him sea-sick perhaps."

"But he may go, father?"

"Yes. But stop. Take something to eat with you in a basket."

"The master of the smack said if the young gentlemen would come in they could have a bit of dinner on board. We could cook some fish, sir."

"Oh!" cried d.i.c.k excitedly.

"Come, this is tempting," said Mr Temple. "I'm half disposed to come too."

"Do, father," cried d.i.c.k, catching his hand. "Oh, do come."

"No, my boy, I have some important business on hand. There, go and enjoy yourselves. You're going, Will?" he said quietly.

"Yes, sir, if uncle can spare me, and Josh too."

"That's right; take care of my boys--that is, if your uncle can spare you."