ellows," said Uncle Richard, smiling, "and I think we
shall get on faster."

The next morning there was a surprise. It was Saturday, and about
eleven, just when Tom had dragged round the invalid chair ready for the
invalid, he saw a sprucely-dressed figure, with a "button-hole" in his
coat, get down from the station fly, pay the man, and push open the gate
with a cane, whose ivory crutch handle was held by a carefully-gloved
hand.

For a few moments Tom was astounded; then he came to the conclusion that
it was not very wonderful for a son to come down to see his sick father,
and he left the chair, and went to meet his cousin.

"Hallo, bumpkin," said Sam contemptuously, "how are you?"

"Quite well," said Tom hesitatingly, and then frankly holding out his
hand.

"All right; quite well, thanks," said Sam, tapping the extended hand
with the cane. "Don't want to dirt my glove. What have you been
doing--digging potatoes?"

"Only tidying up the chair for Uncle James."

"Hands look grubby. You should wash 'em. I say, what a beastly
out-of-the-way place this is. Where's Uncle Dick? I only had a coffee
and roll before I left London. Can I have some breakfast?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"How's dad?"

"Uncle James is better," said Tom quietly; and just then there was a
loud groaning sound from within the porch.

"Oh--oh--oh!" at regular intervals.

"Hullo!" said Sam; "what's the matter? been killing somebody?"

"No. That's Uncle James being brought down from his room."

"Why, he wrote up and said he was better."

"It's because his breath is so short first thing in the morning."

"Oh, that's it," said Sam coolly, and he gave a sharp look round. "Is
that the old windmill Uncle Dick bought?"

"Yes," said Tom, who felt rather disgusted with his cousin's
indifference and cavalier airs.

At that moment they had nearly reached the porch from which the low
groaning sounds issued, and the brothers appeared, with James
leaning-heavily upon Richard's arm.

Uncle James started on seeing his son, and left off groaning.

"Morning, gov'nor," said Sam. "Better? Morning, Uncle Richard."

"Is--is anything wrong at the office?" cried Uncle James excitedly.

"Wrong? No. We get on all right."

"Then why have you come?"

"Oh, it was Saturday. Mother was going down to Brighton, and I thought
I'd run down here from Saturday to Monday, and see how you were."

"Oh," said Uncle James in a tone of relief; and then h