The sun was just setting, and the busy day hum of the wasps hushed to a faint, low murmur, while not a single insect could be seen either going in or out of the hole. Mr Inglis then made Harry apply the mass of clay to the nozzle of the bellows, and fix it tightly round them, so that when the instrument was applied to the hole the clay could be pushed close up, and every cranny closed by the plastic mass, so that nothing but the deadly vapour would go in.
At last all was ready, and the first puff was given by Philip, for he was operating under the direction of his father. At that first puff of the bellows the faint hum within the fallen tree increased to almost a roar, as the infuriated little insects vainly rushed about to gain an exit from the suffocating prison in which they were closely confined. Upon hearing the noise Philip almost dropped the bellows, but, at a word from his father, he kept on steadily—puff—puff—puff, till the noise within the tree grew fainter and fainter, and at last entirely ceased; and then they knew that the fatal work was done then the bellows were withdrawn, the hole carefully closed up with clay, and the tree left as it was till the Monday morning, when Sam was to get some wedges and a beetle and split it open, so as to obtain the nest without damage, if possible. Harry was for having the tree split at once, but Mr Inglis was of opinion that it had better be left as it was for the time, and led the way towards the house.
As soon as they were all seated in the dining-room, Mr Inglis brought out the large mahogany box containing the microscope, with the different specimens which he had prepared for inspection, and Fred was soon astonished with the wonder which he saw, such as flies’ eyes, displaying within themselves innumerable other tiny eyes, each evidently possessing its own powers of vision. Then there was down off a butterfly’s wing; the wings of flies; the wing-cases of beetles, displaying colours of the most gorgeous hues, and glittering like precious stones; tiny insects, such as seen creeping upon the opening buds of roses: and all these, with numberless other things, were displayed to the astonished boy’s gaze. Most of these had been seen by Harry and Philip many times before, so that Fred had a very long inspection of the microscopical wonders, and was greatly puzzled to understand how many hundreds of times any little object could be magnified; and, on afterwards looking beside the microscope at the speck upon the glass plate, which, when he looked through the instrument, had appeared to be of the most gorgeous tints, he could scarcely believe that both objects were the same; and he kept taking his eye from the instrument to look down the side, and then, with a wondering air, back again.
And so the evening quickly passed away, for Mr Inglis had a large collection of objects for the microscope, and, what was more, a genial way of chatting about them, imparting plenty of useful knowledge at the same time, but in so interesting a manner that the boys were never-tired of listening, and would hardly believe it when they heard at last it was bed-time.
Chapter Fourteen.
Sunday in the Country.
The next day being Sunday, the boys walked over to church with Mr and Mrs Inglis—to the pretty old church that looked as if it was built of ivy, so thoroughly were tower, nave, and chancel covered with the dark green leaves, which had to be kept cut back or they would have soon covered up the windows; and even then, long green shoots were dangling about in all directions, ready to take advantage of a week or two’s neglect, and commence veiling the old stone mullioned windows.
This was Fred’s first visit to the church, for on the first Sundays of his stay the days had been lowering, and Mr Inglis read prayers in the dining-room; and now that the lad followed his cousins out of the bright sunshine, through the old porch, and into the dim venerable-looking building, everything struck him as being so very different from what he had been accustomed to see in London. Here there were the bare whitewashed walls, with the old tablets upon them, and here and there an old rusty helmet, or a breastplate and a pair of gauntlets. Then there were the quaint old brasses of a knight or squire and his wife, with a step-like row of children by their side, and all let in the old blue slabs that paved the floor, ever which the worshippers of succeeding generations had passed for hundreds of years since. Then, too, there was the recumbent figure of the Knight Templar lying cross-legged, with his feet resting upon a dog, or some curious heraldic beast, and carved to represent his having worn chain, armour; the old oak pulpit; the fragments of stained glass in the windows; and, above all, the quaint appearance of many of the country people, dressed as they were in their Sunday best. These were among the things that took Fred’s especial attention when he first entered the old village church; but when, instead of an organ, the choir commenced singing to the accompaniment of an old clarionet, a bassoon, and bass viol, Fred was completely astonished, for he had never been in a church before where there was not an imposing-looking instrument, with its large rows of gilt pipes. However, the hymn, in spite of the bad accompaniment, was very sweetly sung, and the service beautifully read in the soft silence of that old, old church, with the thousand scents of the country floating in through the open doors and windows, like Nature’s own incense entering the temple of Nature’s God.