"Stop," said Uncle Richard.

"Really, I should like to see the end of the experiment."

"And hear the end of the lecture directly after dinner," said Uncle Richard. "Tom, run in and tell Mrs Fidler to put another chair to the table. Mr Maxted will stay. Now let's have a walk down the garden till the dinner-bell rings."

CHAPTER THIRTY.

"Now to prove the success of the magical trick," said the Vicar, as they all rose from the table, and walked across to the old mill. "Really, Brandon, honestly I never felt so much interest in chemistry before, and I feel quite disposed to take it up where one left off at college. But oh, dear, how little time one has!"

"True," said Uncle Richard, "the days always seem too short to a busy man. Now, Tom, let's look and see whether we have succeeded or failed."

"Succeeded," cried Tom excitedly, when the heavy fragment of the speculum was lifted out of the hot sunshine perfectly dry, and laid flat upon the bench. "Look, Mr Maxted, you can see that it is silvered all over."

"Yes; a dull, dingy coating of silver," said the Vicar, who had put on his gla.s.ses and was now leaning over the gla.s.s. "Wonderful indeed. And now, I suppose, you polish this metal face, and make it like a looking-gla.s.s?"

"Yes, with leather and rouge," said Uncle Richard, as he too put on his gla.s.ses and examined the surface carefully. "But there is something wrong about it."

"Wrong? Oh no, uncle; that stuff has all turned to silver plainly enough," cried Tom.

"True, boy, but my instructions tell me that the result ought to be a bright metallic surface of a golden rosy hue, and that a very little polishing should make it brilliant."

"Perhaps this will be," said the Vicar, "when it is polished."

"I'm afraid not," said Uncle Richard. "There is a hitch somewhere.

Either I have made some error in the quant.i.ties of my chemicals, or I have left the gla.s.s in the solution too long, with the result that the silver has become coated with the dirty-looking precipitation left when the metallic silver is thrown down. However, we are very near success, and we'll polish and see what result we get. Now, Tom, up into the laboratory, and bring down from the second shelf that small bottle of rouge, the packet of cotton-wool, and the roll of fine chamois leather.

One moment--the scissors too, and the ball of twine."

Tom ran up-stairs, found the articles required, and was about to descend, when, glancing from the window, he caught sight of Pete Warboys, who had raised himself by getting his toes in some inequality of the wall, and was now resting his folded arms upon the top and his chin upon them, staring hard at the mill.

"Oh, how I should like to be behind him with a stick!" thought Tom; and he laughed to himself as he turned away and went down, to find that his uncle had just uncovered the great speculum they had ground and polished, where it stood upon a stout shelf at the far side of the workshop, and was pointing out its perfections to the Vicar.

"Yes, Brandon," said the latter, "I suppose it is very beautiful in its shaping, but to me it is only a disc of gla.s.s. So you are going to silver that?"

"When I am sure of what I am doing," replied Uncle Richard. "I must experimentalise once or twice more first. Here, Tom, set those things down and come here. I don't like this gla.s.s to lie upon the shelf.

We'll lay a board down here, and turn the speculum face downwards upon the floor."

Tom hurried to his uncle's side, and after the board had been laid upon the floor, and covered with a soft cloth and several sheets of paper, the speculum was carefully lifted, turned over face downwards, covered with another cloth, and left close to the wall.

"No fear of that falling any farther," said Uncle Richard, smiling, as he crossed the workshop deliberately. "Now for the polishing."

He cut off a piece of the soft, delicate leather, about three inches square, made a ball-like pad of cotton-wool, and covered it with the leather, and then tied the ends tightly with some of the twine, making what resembled a soft leather ball with a handle, and patted it in his hand so as to flatten it a little.

"Now then," he said, "this is to be another magic touch. If I succeed, you will see your faces brilliantly reflected in the gla.s.s; if I fail--"

"If you fail," said the Vicar, laughing, "I can't apply Lord Lytton's words to you. If it were Tom, I should say, 'In the bright lexicon of youth, there is no such word as fail.'"

"Very well then, though no longer youthful, I'll take the words to myself. Now then for the magic touch that shall change this dull opaque silver to glistening, dazzling light."

He held the leather polisher over the gla.s.s for a few moments, and then, as the others looked on, he let it fall smartly upon the silvered face, covered with greyish powder, and began to rub it smartly, when--

_Crash_!

One cutting, tearing, deafening, sharp, metallic-sounding explosion, that seemed to shake the old mill to its foundations; the windows were blown out; bottles, vessels, and tray were shivered, and the gla.s.s flew tinkling in all directions; and then an awful silence, succeeded by a strange singing noise in the ears, through which, as Tom struggled half-stunned and helpless to his feet, he could hear a loud shrieking and yelling for help.

"What has happened? what, has happened?" he muttered, as he clapped his hands to his ears, and tried to look about him; but his eyes had been temporarily blinded by the brilliant flash of light which had blazed through the workshop, and some moments elapsed before he could make out whence came a moaning--"Oh dear me, oh dear me!"

Then he dimly saw the Vicar seated on the floor against the wall, holding his hands to his ears, and rocking himself gently to and fro.

Hardly had Tom realised this when he caught sight of Richard Brandon upon his side in the middle of the place, perfectly motionless; and, with his ears singing horribly, the boy ran to his uncle's side, and tried to raise his head.

And all the while the shrieking and cries for help came from the outside, mingled now with the trampling of feet.

Then, sounding m.u.f.fled and strange, and as if from a great distance, Tom heard David's voice.

"What is it? where are you hurt?"

"Oh, all over," came in Pete's voice; "I was a-lookin' over the wall and they shot me with a big gun."

"Yah!" cried David, as if still at a great distance, but his words sounded with peculiar distinctness through the metallic ringing.

"Shootin'! It was a thunderbolt struck the mill."

"Oh, what is the matter?" came now in Mrs Fidler's voice.

"Thunderbolt, mum; I saw the flash," cried David; and as Tom still held up his uncle's head, and knelt there confused, half-stunned and helpless, Mrs Fidler's voice rose again.

"Quick! help them before the place falls. Master! poor master! Mr Maxted--Master Tom!"

Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and as Tom looked up, to see the ceiling above him come crumbling down, more questioning voices were heard outside, and Pete's voice rose again.

"They shot me with a big gun--they shot me with a big gun."

"Master! master!" shrieked Mrs Fidler. "Oh, there you are! Oh, Master Tom, don't say he's dead."

Tom shook his head feebly; he could not say anything. Then, as he felt himself lifted up, he heard the Vicar say--

"Oh dear me; I don't know--I'm afraid I'm a good deal hurt."

Then quite a cloud gathered about them, and with his ears still singing, Tom felt himself lifted out, water was sprinkled over his face, and he began to see things more clearly; but every word spoken sounded small and distant, while the faces of David, Mrs Fidler, and the people who gathered about them in a scared way looked misty and strange. Then he heard the Vicar's voice.

"Thank you--yes, thank you," he said; "I'm getting better."

"Bones broke, sir?" said David.

"No, I think not; see to poor Mr Brandon. I was thrown against the wall, right across; I can't quite get my breath yet, and I'm as if I was deaf. Ah, Tom, my boy, how are you?"

"I don't know, sir, I don't think I'm hurt; but ask the people not to shout so, it goes through my head." Then, as if he had suddenly recollected something, "Where's uncle?"