t if I had said it, I
don't suppose I should have been far wrong."

"Nay, lad, I did nowt to the dog. I did nowt--I--"

He let his hand fall, and a feeling of relief from some expectation came
over his face. He had been talking to me, but it was in a curious way,
and all the time he talked he seemed to be looking over my shoulder more
than in my face.

But now he drew a long breath and seemed satisfied with the explanation;
and just then I uttered a cry of horror, for there was a loud report,
and the yard seemed to be filled with flying cinders and smoke.

Stevens gave me a grim look and laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Lucky yow weern't theer," he said. "Might have been hurt. Come and
see."

We joined the men who were hurrying in the direction of the smoke that
obscured one end of the yard.

"What is it, Uncle Jack?" I cried, as I ran to his side.

"I don't know yet," he said.

"It was somewhere by the smithies."

"Yes; that's plain enough," said my uncle, and we pressed on in front of
the men, to come upon Pannell, tending down and rubbing his eyes.

"Pannell!" I cried; "you are not hurt?"

"Nay, not much," he said sourly. "Got the cinder and stuff in my eyes,
but they missed me this time."

"What! Was it not an accident?"

"Oh, ay!" he replied, "reg'lar accident. Powder got into my little
forge, and when I started her wi' some hot coal from t'other one she
blew up."

"But you are not hurt?"

"Nay, lad, I weer stooping down, and were half behind the forge, so I
didn't ketch it that time."

The smoke was by this time pretty well cleared away, and we walked into
the smithy to see what mischief had befallen us.

Fortunately no harm had been done to the structure of the building, and
there being no glass in the windows there was of course none to blow
out. The coal ashes and cinders had been scattered far and wide, and
the iron funnel-shaped chimney knocked out of place, while some of the
smiths' tools, and the rods of steel upon which Pannell had been
working, were thrown upon the floor.

The walls, forge, and pieces of iron about told tales for themselves
without the odour of the explosive, for everything had been covered with
a film of a greyish-white, such as gunpowder gives to iron or brickwork
when it is fired.

"Where was the powder?" cried Uncle Jack, after satisfying himself that
Pannell had not the slightest burn even upon his beard.

"In little forge all ready for me when I