HAPTER TWELVE.

PANNELL'S SECRET.

Every day the works grew more busy, and prosperity seemed to be coming
upon us like sunshine. The men worked steadily and well, and the old
opposition had apparently died out; but all the same the watching was
kept up as regularly as if it was during war time, though, saving an
occasional burst of barking from Piter, who used to have these fits
apparently without cause, there was nothing to alarm the watchers.

It was my turn at home, and I was up early the next morning, wondering
how Uncle Jack and Uncle Bob had got on during the night, when I came
down and found Mrs Stephenson and Martha the maid enjoying themselves.

Their way of enjoying themselves was peculiar, but that it afforded them
pleasure there could be no doubt. It might have been considered a
religious ceremony, but though there was a kind of worship or adoration
about it, there was nothing religious in the matter at all.

What they did was this:--To mix up a certain quantity of black-lead in a
little pie-dish, and then kneel down before a stove, and work and slave
at it till there was a tremendous gloss all over the iron.

In effecting this Mrs Stephenson used to get a little smudgy, but
Martha seemed to have an itching nose which always itched most on these
occasions, and as you watched her you saw her give six scrubs at the
grate with the front of the brush, and then one rub with the back on her
face or nose.

This act must have been pleasant, for as she bent down and scrubbed she
frowned, as she sat up and rubbed her nose with the back of the brush
she smiled.

Now if Martha had confined her rubs to her nose it would not have much
mattered, but in rubbing her nose she also rubbed her cheeks, her chin,
her forehead, and the consequence was a great waste of black-lead, and
her personal appearance was not improved.

I was standing watching the black-leading business, an affection from
which most north-country people suffer very badly, when Uncle Jack came
hurrying in, looking hot and excited. "Where's Dick?" he cried.

"In his room drawing plans," I cried. "What's the matter? Is Uncle Bob
hurt?"

"No, not a bit!"

"Then Piter is?"

"No, no, no. Here, Dick!" he shouted up the stairs. There was a sound
on the upper floor as if some one had just woke an elephant, and Uncle
Dick came lumbering down.

"What's wrong?" he cried.

Uncle Jack glanced round and saw that Mrs Stephenson was looking up
from