"Deceitful, uncle?"

"Yes, my boy, or your aunt will never forgive us."

"Why, what do you mean, uncle?" I said.

"I've been thinking, my boy, that I might go out somewhere and buy a grey parrot--one already stuffed. I dare not face her without."

I felt puzzled, and with a strong belief upon me that we were going to do a very foolish thing.

"Wouldn't it be better to go and tell Aunt Sophia frankly that we have had an accident, and spoiled the parrot, uncle?"

"Yes, my boy, much better," he said, "very much better; but--but I dare not do it, Nat, I dare not do it."

I felt as if I should like to say, "I'll do it, uncle," but I, too, shrank from the task, and we were saved from the underhanded proceeding by the appearance of my aunt at the tool-house door.

My unfortunate attempt at restuffing poor Polly made me less a favourite than ever with Aunt Sophia, who never let a day pa.s.s without making some unpleasant allusion to my condition there. My uncle a.s.sured me that I was in no wise dependent upon them, for my mother's money gave ample interest for my education and board, but Aunt Sophia always seemed to ignore that fact, so that but for Uncle Joe's kindness I should have been miserable indeed.

The time slipped away, and I had grown to be a tall strong boy of fifteen; and in spite of my aunt's constant fault-finding I received sufficient encouragement from Uncle Joe to go on with my natural history pursuits, collecting b.u.t.terflies and beetles, birds' eggs in the spring, and stuffing as many birds as I could obtain.

Some of these latter were very roughly done, but I had so natural a love for the various objects of nature, that I find the birds I did in those days, rough as they were, had a very lifelike appearance. I had only to ask my uncle for money to buy books or specimens and it was forthcoming, and so I went on arranging and rearranging, making a neatly written catalogue of my little museum in the tool-house, and always helped by Uncle Joe's encouragement.

I suppose I was a strange boy, seeking the companionship of my school-fellows but very little, after my aunt had refused to let any of them visit me, or to let me go to their homes. I was driven thus, as it were, upon my own resources, and somehow I did not find mine to be an unhappy life; in fact so pleasant did it seem that when the time came for me to give it up I was very sorry to leave it, and felt ready to settle down to aunt's constant fault-finding for the sake of dear tender-hearted old Uncle Joe, who was broken completely in spirit at my having to go.

"But it's right, Nat, my boy, quite right," he said, "and you would only be spoiled if you stayed on here. It is time now that you began to think of growing to be a man, and I hope and pray that you'll grow into one of whom I can be proud."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER.

One day when I came home from school I was surprised to find a tall dark gentleman in the drawing-room with my uncle and aunt. He was so dark that he looked to me at first to be a foreigner, and his dark keen eyes and long black beard all grizzled with white hairs made him so very different to Uncle Joseph that I could not help comparing one with the other.

"This is Master Nathaniel, I suppose," said the stranger in a quick sharp way, just as if he was accustomed to order people about.

"Yes, that's Joseph's nephew," said my aunt tartly, "and a nice boy he is."

"You mean a nasty one," I said to myself, as I coloured up, "but you needn't have told a stranger."

"Yes," said Uncle Joseph, "he is a very nice boy, Richard, and I'm very proud of him."

My aunt gave a very loud sniff.

"Suppose we shake hands then, Nathaniel," said the stranger, whom I immediately guessed to be my Aunt Sophia's brother Richard, who was a learned man and a doctor, I had heard.

He seemed to order me to shake hands with him, and I went up and held out mine, gazing full in his dark eyes, and wondering how much he knew.

"Well done, youngster," he said, giving my hand a squeeze that hurt me ever so, but I would not flinch. "I like to see a boy able to look one full in the face."

"Oh! he has impudence enough for anything," said my aunt.

"Oh! has he?" said our visitor smiling. "Well, I would rather see a boy impudent than a milksop."

"Nat was never impudent to me," said my uncle, speaking up for me in a way that made my aunt stare.

"I see--I see," said our visitor. "You never were fond of boys, Sophy."

"No, indeed," said my aunt.

"Cats and dogs were always more in your way," said our visitor. "Get out!"

This was to Nap, who had been smelling about him for some time, and he gave him so rough a kick that the dog yelped out, and in a moment the temper that I had promised my uncle to keep under flashed forth again, as I caught at Nap to protect him, and flushing scarlet--

"Don't kick our dog," I said sharply.

I've often thought since that my aunt ought to have been pleased with me for taking the part of my old friend and her favourite, but she turned upon me quickly.

"Leave the room, sir, directly. How dare you!" she cried. "To dare to speak to a visitor like that!" and I had to go out in disgrace, but as I closed the door I saw our visitor laughing and showing his white teeth.

"I shall hate him," I said to myself, as I put my hands in my pockets and began to wander up and down the garden; but I had hardly gone to and fro half a dozen times before I heard voices, and I was about to creep round by the side path and get indoors out of the way when Mr Richard Burnett caught sight of me, and shouted to me to come.

I went up looking hurt and ill-used as he was coming down the path with Uncle Joe; but he clapped me on the shoulder, swung me round, and keeping his arm half round my neck, walked me up and down with them, and I listened as he kept on telling Uncle Joseph about where he had been.

"Five years in South America, wandering about away from civilisation, is a long time, Joe; but I shall soon be off again."

I p.r.i.c.ked up my ears.

"Back to South America, d.i.c.k?"

"No, my dear boy, I shall go in another direction this time."

"Where shall you go this time, sir?" I said eagerly.

"Eh? where shall I go, squire?" he said sharply. "Right away to Borneo and New Guinea, wherever I am likely to collect specimens and find new varieties."

"Do you collect, sir?" I said excitedly.

"To be sure I do, my boy. Do you?" he added with a smile.

"Yes, sir, all I can."

"Oh yes! he has quite a wonderful collection down in the tool-house, Richard. Come and see."

Our visitor smiled in such a contemptuous way that I coloured up again, and felt as if I should have liked to cry, "You sha'n't see them to make fun of my work." But by that time we were at the tool-house door, and just inside was my cabinet full of drawers that uncle had let the carpenter make for me, and my cases and boxes, and the birds I had stuffed. In fact by that time, after a couple of years collecting, the tools had been ousted to hang in another shed, and the tool-house was pretty well taken up with my lumber.

"Why, hallo!" cried our visitor; "who stuffed those birds?"

I answered modestly enough that it was I.