“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 Dick, 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 Dick, 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.”
Dick turned a look upon his father, such as a prisoner might turn upon a judge as he waited for him to speak.