"we sha'n't want that to-night."

"I shall," he said. "Good-night!"

"No, no," I cried. "We arranged to go to bed."

"You arranged to go to bed, Cob, but I did not. You don't suppose I
could behave so unfairly to my brothers as to neglect the task they
placed in my hands."

He did not say any more. It was quite sufficient. I felt the rebuff,
and was thoroughly awake now and ashamed of what I had proposed.

Without a word I took the lantern and held out my hand.

"Good-night, Uncle Jack!" I said.

He had seemed cold and stern just before. Now he was his quiet old self
again, and he took my hand, nodded, and said:

"Two o'clock, Cob. Good-night!"

I saw him go along the great workshop, enter the office and close the
door, and then I started on my rounds.

It was anything but a cheerful task, that keeping watch over the works
during the night, and I liked the first watch from ten to two less than
the second watch from two to six, for in the latter you had the day
breaking about four o'clock, and then it was light until six.

For, however much one might tell oneself that there was no danger--no
likelihood of anything happening, the darkness in places, the faint glow
from partly extinct fires, and the curious shadows cast on the
whitewashed walls were all disposed to be startling; and, well as I knew
the place, I often found myself shrinking as I came suddenly upon some
piece of machinery that assumed in the darkness the aspect of some
horrible monster about to seize me as I went my rounds.

Upon the other hand, there was a pleasant feeling of importance in going
about that great dark place of a night, with a lantern at my belt, a
stout stick in my hand, and a bull-dog at my heels, and this sensation
helped to make the work more bearable.

On this particular night I had paced silently all about the place
several times, thinking a good deal about my little encounter with Uncle
Jack, and about the last letters I had had from my father. Then, as all
seemed perfectly right, I had seated myself by the big furnace, which
emitted a dull red glow, not sufficient to light the place, but enough
to make it pleasantly warm, and to show that if a blast were directed in
the coals, a fierce fire would soon be kindled.

I did not feel at all sleepy now; in fact, in spite of the warmth this
furnace-house would not have been a pleasant place to sleep in, for the
windows on either side were open, having no glass, only