Chapter Thirty Nine.
That next morning when Tom jumped out of bed, he felt light-hearted, and ready for anything. He threw open his window to have a look round, and knew by a low whistling that David had come to work. Then reaching out to have a look at the mill, with his head full of telescope, he stared, for the door was open; and excited by this, and fearing something was wrong, he hurriedly dressed, went down, and found that it only wanted a quarter to eight.
“And I thought it was only about half-past six,” he muttered, as he hurried out and across to the mill.
All was still there, and he looked round, but nothing appeared to have been disturbed; but upon looking up he could see the keys were in the laboratory door, and he paused with his heart beating.
“Pooh!” he muttered to himself, as he drove away the hesitation. “Nobody would be there now.”
He went up the stairs, though softly, as if in doubt, and looked through the ajar door, to see that which made him steal softly down again, for, with a black bag on the front of the old bureau, Uncle Richard was busily writing, evidently getting some business done before he went off to town.
“Morning, Tom,” he said a quarter of an hour later, as he entered the breakfast-room, black bag in hand; “you needn’t have crept down again, I was only doing a little business before breakfast.”
“Then you heard me, uncle?”
“To be sure I did, my lad.—Morning, Mrs Fidler.”
“Good-morning, sir,” said the housekeeper; “and—and I sincerely hope you will find your poor brother better when you get up to town.”