about the fly, Uncle Richard
came out, and expressed his satisfaction.

"Rather a lonely place in winter, Tom," he said, as he entered the
stably-smelling old fly.

"Yes, but very beautiful," replied Tom. "Have we far to go?"

"Three miles, my lad, to the village, and a quarter of a mile further to
the house."

It was a very slow ride, along sandy lanes, through which, as soon as
there was the slightest suggestion of a hill, the horse walked; but
everything looked lovely on this bright summer day. High banks where
ferns clustered, plantations of fir, where brilliantly-plumaged
pheasants looked up to see them pass, and every now and then rabbits
scuttled up the steep sandy slopes, showing their white cottony tails
before they disappeared amongst the bracken, or dived into a hole.
Wild-flowers too dotted the sides of the lane, and as Tom sat gazing out
of the window, drinking in the country sweets, his uncle nodded and
smiled.

"Will it do, my boy?" he said.

"Do!" cried Tom, ecstatically; "it's lovely!"

"Humph! yes. Sun shines--don't rain."

In due time they reached and passed through a pretty flowery village,
dotted about by the sides of a green, and with several houses of a
better class, all looking as if surrounded by large gardens and
orchards. Then, all at once, Tom's companion exclaimed--

"Here's the mill!" and he had hardly glanced at the tall round brick
tower, with its wooden movable cap, sails, and fan, all looking
weather-beaten and dilapidated, when his uncle exclaimed--"Here we are!"
and down on a slope, nearly hidden in trees, he saw the red-tiled gables
of a very attractive old English house, at whose gate the fly stopped.

"Drive in, sir?"

"Yes, of course. I'll have the boxes in the stable-yard. Pull up at
the door first. But ring, and the gardener will come to help."

The gate was swung back and the fly was led in, now, between two wide
grassy borders, with the soft, sandy gravel making hardly a sound
beneath the wheels. This drive wound in and out, so that a couple of
minutes had elapsed before they came in sight of the front of the house,
with its broad porch and verandah.

"Welcome to Heatherleigh, Tom--our home," said his uncle. "Ah, here's
Mrs Fidler."

This was as a very grim, serious-looking, grey-haired woman appeared in
the porch.

"Back again, Mrs F.," cried Uncle Richard cheerily. "Here, this is my
nephew, who has come to stay. Get my telegram?"

"Oh yes, s