As it ran, and Tom watched, Uncle Richard carefully held the short arm of the syphon, guiding it till the sediment at the bottom of the pan was nearly reached, when he quickly withdrew it, and the basin was then placed beside the pan.

"There, Tom," said Uncle Richard, "that's our sixty-minute emery."

"But I thought you said you wanted it very fine. You've only washed it."

"We're playing at cross purposes, Tom," said Uncle Richard. "You are talking about the contents of the pan, I about those of the basin."

"What! the clear water--at least nearly clear?"

"Ah, there you have hit it, boy--nearly clear. That water contains our finest polishing powder, and it will have to stand till to-morrow to settle."

"Oh!" said Tom, who felt very much in the dark, and he followed his uncle to the neat sink that had been fitted in the laboratory, and helped him wash a series of wide-mouthed stoppered bottles, which were afterwards carefully dried and labelled in a most methodical way.

"Saves time, Tom, to be careful," said Uncle Richard, who now took up a pen and wrote upon the label of the smallest bottle "Emery, 60 min."

"There, that's for the contents of the big basin."

"Want a genii to get a pailful into that little bottle, uncle," said Tom, laughing.

"We'll get all we want into it to-morrow, Tom," was the reply. "Now then, how do you feel--ready for one hour's more grinding at the speculum, or shall we leave it till to-morrow?"

"I want to finish it, and see the moon," said Tom st.u.r.dily, as he rolled up his sleeves a little more tightly. "Let's get on, uncle, and finish it."

"Or get an hour nearer," said Uncle Richard; and they went down and ground till Mrs Fidler summoned them to their meal.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

The next morning came a letter from Mornington Crescent, announcing that James Brandon had met with an accident, and been knocked down by a cab.

The letter was written by Sam, evidently at his father's dictation, and on the fly-leaf was a postscript self-evidently not at James Brandon's dictation, for it was as follows--

"P.S.--Dear Uncle, there isn't much the matter, only a few bruises, only the pater makes such a fuss. Thought you'd like to know."

"Charming youth, your cousin," said Uncle Richard, as he rose and went into his little study to answer the letter, leaving Tom at liberty for a few minutes, which he utilised by going down the garden to where David was busy.

"Morning, sir. How's the machine getting on?"

"Capitally, David."

"That's right, sir. I hope you and the master 'll make some'at out of it, for people do go on dreadful about it down the village."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Well, sir, of course it's their higgorance. You and me knows better, and I shouldn't like master to know, but they lead me a horful life about it all. They say master's got a crack in his head about that thing he's making, and that he ought to be stopped."

"Why?" said Tom, laughing.

"Oh, it's nothing to laugh about, sir. They say the place won't be safe, for he'll be having a blow-up one of these days with his contrapshums."

"What nonsense!"

"Well, sir, I don't know about that. He did have one, and singed all his hair off, and blew out his libery window."

"Tom!"

"Coming, uncle."

"Don't you say a word to him, sir, please."

"Oh, no; all right, David; and next time the people say anything to you about uncle's experiments, you tell them they're a pack of bull-geese!"

"Bull-geese!" said David, turning the word over two or three times as if he liked it, "bull-geese! Yes, sir, I will," and he began to chuckle, while Tom joined his uncle, who was already on his way to the mill.

As Tom reached the lane he was just in time to meet Pete Warboys, who came slouching along with his hands as far down in his pockets as he could reach, his boots, two sizes too large, unlaced, and his dog close behind him.

Pete's body went forward as if all together, but his eyes were on the move the while, searching in every direction as if for prey, and settled upon Tom with a peculiarly vindictive stare, while the dog left his master's side, and began to sniff at Tom's legs.

"Not afraid of you now," thought the boy, as he remembered the fir-cones, and felt sure that a stone would send the dog flying at any time. But as he met Pete's eye he did not feel half so sure. For Pete was big-boned and strong, and promised to be an ugly customer in a battle.

"And besides, he's so dirty," thought Tom, as he pa.s.sed on to the gate, through which his uncle had just pa.s.sed.

Pete said nothing until Tom had closed the gate. Then there was the appearance of a pair of dirty hands over the coping of the wall, the sc.r.a.ping noise made by a pair of boot toes against the bricks, and next Pete's head appeared just above the wall, and he uttered the comprehensive word expressive of his contempt, defiance, and general disposition to regard the boy from London as an enemy whose head he felt disposed to punch. Pete's word was--

"Yah!"

Tom felt indignant.

"Get down off that wall, sir!" he cried.

This roused Pete Warboys, who, as the daring outlaw of Furzebrough, desired to play his part manfully, especially so since he was on the other side of the said wall; and, wrinkling up his snub nose, he cried--

"She-arn't! 'Tain't your wall."

"Get down!" cried Tom fiercely.

"Get down yerself. Who are you, I should like to know?"

Tom stooped and picked up a clod of earth, and Pete ducked his head, the motion causing his toes to slip out of a crevice between two bricks, and he disappeared, but only to scramble up again.

"You heave that at me," he cried fiercely, "and I'll come over and smash yer."

Tom felt disposed to risk the smashing, and drew back his hand to throw the clod, when his wrist was caught, for his uncle had heard what pa.s.sed, and returned to the door.

"Don't do that, my boy," he said quietly. Then to Pete, "Get down off that wall."

"She-arn't! Who are you?" cried the great hulking fellow, and he scrambled a little more upward, so as to hang over with his elbows on the top bricks.

"Then stop there," said Uncle Richard quietly. "Don't take any notice of him, Tom; the fellow is half an idiot."