ing out of his chair
and listening for a few moments before stealing across the room to open
the door cautiously and thrust out his head.

There was no sound to be heard, and the boy re-closed the door and went
back to the hearth.

"I wonder uncle didn't hear," he muttered, stooping down. "I've done it
now, and no mistake."

As he spoke he picked the remains of the broken box from inside the
fender.

"Smashed!" he continued. "Good job too. Shan't have any more of that
bother. How much is there? Let's see!"

There was a small fire burning in the old-fashioned grate, and with a
grim look the boy finished the destruction of the money-box by tearing
it apart at the dovetailings and placing the pieces on the fire, where
they caught at once, blazing up, while the lad hunted out and picked up
the coins which lay scattered here and there.

"Three--four--five--and sixpence," muttered the boy. "I thought there
was more than that. Hullo! Where's that thin old half-crown? Haven't
thrown it on the fire, have I? Oh, there you are!" he cried, ferreting
it out of the fleeces of the thick dark-dyed sheepskin hearth-rug at his
feet. "Eight shillings," he continued, transferring his store to his
pocket. "Well, I'm not obliged to spend it all. Money-box! Bother!
I'm not a child now. Just as if I couldn't take care of my money in my
pocket."

He gave the place a slap, turned to the window, looked out at the soft
fleecy clouds gliding overhead, and once more made for the door, crossed
the little hall paved with large black slates, and then bounded up the
oak stairs two at a time, to pause on the landing and give a sharp
knuckle rap on the door before him; then, without waiting for a "Come
in," he entered, to stand, door in hand, gazing at the top of a big
shaggy grey head, whose owner held it close to the sheets of foolscap
paper which he was covering with writing in a bold, clear hand.

"Want me, uncle?"

The head was raised, and a pair of fierce-looking eyes glared at the
interrupter of the studies from beneath enormously-produced, thick,
white eyebrows, and through a great pair of round tortoise-shell
spectacles.

"Want you, boy?" was the reply, as the speaker held up a large white
swan-quill pen on a level with his sun-browned and reddened nose. "No,
Lick. Be off!"

"I'm going to run over to Rockabie, uncle. Back to dinner. Want
anything brought back?"

"No, boy; I've plenty of ink. No.--Yes. Bring m