enting his presence, and
sundry thoughts of his being an interloper began to trouble the lad, as
he wondered how things would turn out. Every now and then, too,
something was said which suggested an oddity about his uncle, which
would give rise to all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. Still nothing
could have been warmer than his welcome; and every now and then
something cropped up which made the boy feel that this was not to be a
temporary place of sojourning, but his home for years to come.

"There," exclaimed Uncle Richard, when they rose from the table, "this
is a broken day for you, so you had better take your cap and have a good
look round at the place and village. Tea at six punctually. Don't be
late, or Mrs Fidler will be angry."

"I don't like to contradict you, sir," said the housekeeper, smiling
gravely; "but as Master Tom is to form one of the household now, he
ought, I think, to know the truth."

"Eh? The truth? Of course. What about?"

"Our way of living here, Master Tom," said the housekeeper, turning to
him. "I should never presume to be angry with your uncle, sir; I only
carry out his wishes. He is the most precise gentleman I ever met.
Everything has to be to the minute; and as to dusting or moving any of
the things in his workshop or labour atory, I--"

"Oh!" exclaimed Uncle Richard, grinding his teeth and screwing up his
face. "My good Mrs Fidler, don't!"

"What have I done, sir?" exclaimed the housekeeper.

"Say workshop, and leave laboratory alone."

"Certainly, sir, if you wish it."

"That's right. Well, Tom, what are you waiting for?"

"I thought, if you wouldn't mind, I should like to help you unpack the
boxes."

"Oh, by all means, boy. Come along; but I'm going to have a look over
the windmill first--my windmill, Mrs Fidler, now. All settled."

"I'm very glad you've got over the bother, sir."

"Oh, dear me, no," said Uncle Richard, laughing; "it has only just
began. Well, what is it?"

"I didn't speak, sir."

"No, but you looked volumes. What have they been saying now?"

"Don't ask me, sir, pray," said the housekeeper, looking terribly
troubled. "I can't bear to hear such a good man as you are--"

"Tut! stuff, woman. Nothing of the kind, Tom. I'm not a good man, only
an overbearing, nigger-driving old indigo planter, who likes to have his
own way in everything. Now then, old lady, out with it. I like to hear
what the fools tattle about me; and besides, I wan