l most carefully."

"He may come down to-morrow, for I have written saying he is most
welcome."

"Make yourself quite easy, sir. His room shall be ready. I beg pardon,
sir; is his good lady coming with him?"

"No, he is coming down alone. I have told him to telegraph by what
train, so that I may go and meet him."

The miserable dinner soon came to an end, and Uncle Richard, instead of
chatting pleasantly, never so much as looked at his nephew. But Mrs
Fidler did, with her head on one side; and every time Tom caught her
eye, which seemed to be nearly every minute, she shook her head at him
gently, and gave him such appealing looks, that he felt exasperated at
last, and as if he would like to throw something at her.

"She thinks I did it now," he said to himself; and when his uncle left
the table and went into his study he had full proof, for Mrs Fidler
seized the opportunity, and shaking her head at him again, said in a
whisper--

"Oh, Master Tom, my dear, the truth may be blamed, but can never be
shamed."

"Well, I know that," cried the boy angrily.

"Hush, my dear! I know it's very hard, but do--do go and tell your
uncle the truth, and he'll forgive you."

"I have told him the truth," cried Tom hotly.

"Oh, my dear, my dear, I'm afraid not, or else your face wouldn't be so
dreadfully red and guilty-like, and I'm sure as your uncle thinks you
broke it."

"Yes," cried Tom; "everybody seems to think so."

"Then pray, pray, my dear, be open."

"Don't, Mrs Fidler, don't," cried Tom pettishly. "I feel as if I can't
bear it."

"Now, sir, I'm waiting," said Uncle Richard, suddenly appearing at the
open window. "Come over to the observatory at once."

"Yes, uncle; coming," cried Tom.

"And do, pray, pray tell him all the truth, my dear," whispered Mrs
Fidler.

"Ugh! you stupid old woman," exclaimed Tom to himself, as he ran out
into the hall, got his cap, and followed his uncle, who was walking
sharply on toward the mill-yard, with the keys hanging from his hand.

"And he's thinking all the time that I did it," muttered Tom. "He might
have waited."

"Pst! pst!" came from among the bushes, and the boy turned sharply, to
see David working his arms about like an old-fashioned telegraph.

"Can't stop. What is it?" said Tom roughly.

"I ain't going to stop you, Master Tom; but you go and tell the truth."

"Bah!" cried Tom.

"The truth may be shamed, sir, but can never be blamed," said the
gar