But in Mr. John Oliver's roomy wooden house, standing on ground somewhat raised, and overlooked by the huge chimneys of a big mineral oil factory, was perfect warmth and comfort, for the great stoves built into the walls of the room, and faced with white glazed tiles, kept the whole place of an equal temperature.
It was about eleven o'clock, and two little boys were in bed in their nursery. Their narrow iron bedsteads were drawn close together, and in one of them a little fair-haired lad of about ten or eleven was fast asleep. Not so, however, his brother, who had raised himself to a sitting posture, and now, with his dark head and eager face bent over the sleeper, said in a whisper—
"Wake up, Bert! I want to tell you something. Do wake up!"
Bert stirred uneasily, then rubbed his eyes, yawned, and sat up.
"Oh, it's you, Alf!" he said drowsily. "I was in the middle of a dream. What's the matter?"
"Hush! Don't talk above a whisper. I don't want Niania (nurse) to come in before I've had time to tell you. Matter? Well, nothing yet, but there's going to be heaps the matter if what I've heard comes true."
"What have you heard?" questioned Bert, quite wide awake now.
"I'll tell you," said Alf. "After you'd gone to bed, and I'd finished my lessons for to-morrow, I remembered that I hadn't mended my skate that was broken, and so I went over to our own little workshop, for I hadn't any tools in the house. But as soon as I was inside I forgot all about what I'd come for."
"Did you? Oh, Alf, what was it?"
"Well, you know how thin the partition is between our workshop and the men's tool-room?"