Tom saw very little of Pete Warboys during the next fortnight or so. The fruit kept on ripening, and twice over raids were made upon the garden, but whoever stole the fruit left no clue but a few footmarks behind, and these were always made by bare feet.
“It’s that there Pete,” said David; “but foots is foots, and I don’t see how we can swear as they marks is hisn.”
Meanwhile the telescope progressed, and busy work was in progress in the mill, where a large tube was being constructed by securing thin narrow boards planed very accurately to half-a-dozen iron hoops by means of screws and nuts.
Then came a day when Uncle Richard found that he must go to town again to get sundry fittings from an optician, and Tom was left the task of grinding three small pieces of plate-glass together, so as to produce one that was an accurate plane or flat.
It was understood that Uncle Richard would not be back for three days, and after seeing him off, Tom felt important in being left in full charge, as he was in the lower part of the mill polishing away when the door was darkened.
“How are you getting on, sir?” said David, as he stood there smiling.
“Pretty well; but this is a long job.”
“What are you doing, sir?”
“Polishing these glasses together so as to get one of them perfectly flat.”
“Tchah! that’s easy enough. What d’yer want ’em so flat for?”