e began to moan
softly again, and moved toward the chair.

"Won't you stop for a bit, and chat with Sam?" said Uncle Richard.

"Eh? Yes, if you like," said his brother, hanging upon him feebly.
"But it doesn't much matter now."

"Oh yes, it does, Jem, a good deal. Here, Sam, my lad, try and cheer
your father up with what news you have of his business."

"All right, uncle; but I say, you've got a pretty place here."

"Glad you like it, my lad."

"But I say, uncle, I haven't had my breakfast. Started off so early."

"I dare say something is being got ready for you," replied his uncle,
smiling. "My housekeeper is very thoughtful."

_Click_! came from through the dining-room window.

"That sounds very much like the coffee-pot lid," continued Uncle
Richard. "Take your cousin in, Tom. I'll lead your uncle round the
garden while Sam has his breakfast, and then they can have their chat."

"I couldn't do it, Dick--I couldn't do it," groaned his brother
piteously. "I'm as feeble as a babe."

"Then the fresh air will strengthen you," said Uncle Richard; and
moaning softly as he drew his breath, James Brandon went slowly down the
gravel walk.

"Only does that moaning noise when he thinks about it," said Sam, as he
entered the house.

"No, I've noticed that," replied Tom; but all the same he felt annoyed
by his cousin's brutal indifference. "Let me take your hat."

"No, thanks. Hang it up myself. Don't want it spoiled."

Tom drew back while the hat and cane were deposited in their places; and
then the pair entered the little dining-room, where a luncheon tray was
already placed at one end of the table, but with coffee-pot and
bread-and-butter just being arranged by Mrs Fidler.

"Ah, that's your sort," said Sam; "but I say, old lady, I'm peckish;
haven't you got anything beside this?"

"Some ham is being fried, sir, and some eggs boiled," said Mrs Fidler
rather stiffly.

"Hah! that's better," said Sam; and Mrs Fidler left the room. "Well,
young fellow, how are you getting on?" he continued, as he seated
himself and began upon the breakfast. "What do you do here--clean the
knives and boots?"

"No," said Tom.

"I thought you did. Hands look grubby enough."

Tom glanced at his hands, and saw that they were as rough and red as his
cousin's were white and delicate.

"I help uncle do all sorts of things," he said quietly, "and sometimes I
garden."

"And wish yourself back at Mornington Crescent, I