ject which the word balloon brought up,
and at last said to himself:

"Oh, if I could only invent the way how to fly."

"The boy has too much gas in his head," the doctor said to himself, as
they reached home; "and he must be checked, but somehow he has spoiled
my walk."

He threw himself into an easy chair after placing his basket on the
table, and into which Aunt Hannah peeped as Vane went up to his room.

"Botanical specimens, my dear," she said.

"Yes, for the cook," said the doctor dreamily.

"Oh, my dear, you should not bring them home. You know how Martha
dislikes trying experiments. My dear, what is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing, only Vane was talking to me, and it set me
thinking whether I have done right in trusting Deering as I have."

Aunt Hannah looked as troubled as the doctor now, and sighed and shook
her head.

"No," cried the doctor firmly, "I will not doubt him. He is a
gentleman, and as honest as the day."

"Yes," said Aunt Hannah quietly, "but the most honourable people are not
exempt from misfortune."

"My dear Hannah," cried the doctor, "don't talk like that. Why it would
ruin Vane's prospects if anything went wrong."

"And ours too," said Aunt Hannah sadly, just as Vane was still thinking
of balloons.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A TELL-TALE SHADOW.

"What's going on here?" said Vane to himself, as he was walking up the
town, and then, the colour rose to his cheeks, and he looked sharply
round to see if he was observed.

But Greythorpe town street was as empty as usual. There was Grader's
cat in the window, a dog asleep on a step, and a few chickens picking
about in front of the carrier's, while the only sounds were the clink,
clink of the blacksmith's hammer upon his anvil, and the brisk tapping
made by Chakes, as he neatly executed repairs upon a pair of shoes.

A guilty conscience needs no accuser, and, if it had not been for that
furtive visit to the clock, Vane would not have looked round to see if
he was observed before hurrying up to the church, and entering the
tower, for the open door suggested to him what was going on.

He mounted the spiral staircase, and, on reaching the clock-chamber, its
door being also open, Vane found himself looking at the back of a
bald-headed man in his shirt-sleeves, standing with an oily rag in his
hand, surrounded by wheels and other portions of the great clock.

Vane stopped short, and there was a good deal of colour in his face