“I shall be very, very glad when Uncle Richard gets back again,” said Tom that night when he went to his bedroom, and then he began thinking about Pete. He got no further with him, but whenever he saw the dog, the animal always barked and wagged his tail.
“Dog’s easier than boy,” thought Tom. “Well, I can’t help it; I tried to be friends, and I fancied he meant to be now; but I suppose he can’t forgive me for the beating. Still, he doesn’t shout after me now. How I do long to get on again with telescope work!”
The thought of this made him go to the window, pull up the blind, and throw the casement wide.
He listened for a few moments as he gazed over the dark garden, and then laughed softly, for there was no likelihood, he thought, of any one coming after the apples; then kneeling down so that he could rest his arms upon the window-sill, and gaze out at the intensely black sky, which was now ablaze with stars shining out with wondrous clearness. Constellation after constellation glittered above his head, with many a great star which he had now learned to know. There was Vega brilliant in the extreme. There too was Altair. The bull’s-eye shone out of a deep golden hue; and below it, and more to the south, he made out Sirius glittering in its diamond lustre.
“That’s Jupiter too,” said Tom to himself; and as his eyes swept on, he could see Venus low-down in the south-west, just passing out of sight.
Gazing on, with his eyes sweeping along the west, he passed Cygnus, with its great triangle, mighty Arcturus, and—
“What’s that?”
Tom’s question to himself was put not concerning a bright star or planet, but apropos of a noise which came from the direction of the mill.
He listened intently, with his heart beginning to throb, for there was a faint noise as of a step on gravel, and then a faint whispering.
Tom’s heart ceased throbbing for a few moments, and then went on again in a way which felt suffocating, as he felt convinced that there was some one in the mill-yard.