his eyes upon the many
objects which filled him with wonder and delight; and even then it all
seemed to be so dreamlike, that he half expected to wake up and find
that he had been dozing in the hot office in Gray's Inn.

But it was all real, and he looked with delight at the snug little room,
whose window opened upon the garden, from which floated scents and
sounds to which he had long been a stranger.

"Look sharp and wash your hands, boy, the dinner-bell will ring in ten
minutes, I see, and Mrs Fidler is very particular. Will your room do?"

"Do, uncle!" cried Tom, in a tone which meant the extreme of
satisfaction.

"That's right. You see they've brought up your box. Come down as soon
as you are ready."

He went out and closed the door; and, with his head in a whirl, Tom felt
as if he could do nothing but stand there and think; but his uncle's
words were still ringing in his ears, and hurriedly removing the slight
traces of his journey, he took one more look from his window over the
soft, fresh, sloping, far-stretching landscape of garden, orchard,
fir-wood, and stream far below in the hollow, and then looked round to
the right, to see standing towering up within thirty yards, the
windmill, with its broken sails and weatherworn wooden cap.

He had time for no more. A bell was being rung somewhere below, and he
hurried down, eager to conform to his uncle's wishes.

"This way, Tom," greeted him; and his uncle pointed to the hat-pegs.
"You'd better take to those two at the end, and stick to them, for Mrs
Fidler's a bit of a tyrant with me--with us it will be now. Place for
everything, she says, and everything in its place--don't you, old lady?"

"Yes, sir," said the housekeeper, who was just inside the little
dining-room door, in a stiff black silk dress, with white bib and apron,
and quaint, old-fashioned white cap. "It saves so much trouble, Master
Tom, especially in a household like this, where your uncle is always
busy with some new contrivance."

"Quite right," said Uncle Richard. "So take your chair there, Tom, and
keep to it. What's for dinner? We're hungry."

Mrs Fidler smiled as she took her place at the head of the table, and a
neat-looking maid-servant came and removed the covers, displaying a
simple but temptingly cooked meal, to which the travellers did ample
justice.

But Tom was not quite comfortable at first, for Mrs Fidler seemed to be
looking very severely at him, as if rather res