Chapter Forty Six.
Uncle Richard came back late the second night after the robbery, tired out, and glad to go to bed, so that nothing was said respecting the events at the observatory till the next morning at breakfast.
“Hah! no place like home, Mrs Fidler,” he exclaimed. “London hotels are all very well, but I’m always glad to get back to Heatherleigh.”
“It does me good to hear you say so, sir,” said the housekeeper, “for I’m always afraid, sir, that when you come back from the grand places you’ve been at you’ll be dissatisfied.”
“No fear of that, Mrs Fidler,” said Uncle Richard merrily. “Well, Tom, my lad, I need not ask how you are; you look quite hardy.”
“There, Mrs Fidler,” said Tom, “you hear that?”
“Yes, my dear, I hear that,” said the housekeeper, compressing her lips; “but you can’t deceive me. You know you were ill.”
“I know you wanted to dose me with prune tea,” cried Tom hastily; and he made a grimace.
“Well, sir, who are you that you are not to be dosed with prune tea?” said Uncle Richard, with a mock-serious look. “Mrs Fidler has on more than one occasion tried to play the doctor’s part with me.”
“And I’m sure, sir, I meant it for the best,” said the housekeeper, drawing herself up.