aid Tom, looking at him wonderingly.

"You pull it so awkwardly.--Oh dear me! how short my breath is!--And you
get in the way so when I want to see the country. Go behind."

"All right, uncle. Which way would you like to go? Through the
village?"

"What! down there by the churchyard? Ugh! No; go along that upper lane
which leads by the fir-wood and the sand-pits. The air is fit to
breathe there."

"Yes, glorious," said Uncle Richard cheerily. "Off you go, donkey, and
bring your uncle back with a good appetite for dinner."

"All right, uncle. Now, Uncle James, hold tight."

"Be careful, sir, be careful," cried the invalid; and he kept up his
regular moaning as Tom pushed the chair out into the lane, and then
round past the mill, and on toward the woods.

"How much did your uncle spend over workpeople for that whim of his?"
said the invalid, suddenly leaving off moaning and looking round.

"Oh, I don't know, uncle; a good deal, I believe."

"Yes, yes; oh dear me! A good deal, no doubt. Keep out of the sand; it
jolts me."

"There's such a lot of sand along here, uncle; the carts cut the road up
so, coming from the pits."

"Yes; horrible roads. There--oh--oh--oh! Go steady."

"All right, uncle," said Tom; and he pushed on steadily enough right
along the lane where he had chased Pete Warboys not so long before.
Then the fir-wood was reached, and at last the road rose till it was no
longer down between two high sand-banks crowned with furze and pine, but
opened out as they reached the top of the slope which ran down past the
sand-pit to the river with its shallow ford.

"Which are your uncle's woods?" said Uncle James suddenly.

"Right away back. You can see them when you lean forward. Stop a
moment; let's get close to the edge. That's better," he said, as he
paused just at the top of the slope. "Now lean forward, and look away
to the left a little way from the church tower. That's one of them.
I'm not sure about the others, for Uncle Richard does not talk about
them much."

_Whizz! Rustle_.

"What's that?" said Uncle James, ceasing his tiresome moaning.

"Don't know, uncle. Rabbit, I think."

_Rap_!

"Yes, it was a rabbit. They strike the ground with their feet when they
are startled."

"Ah! Then that's his wood is it?" said James Brandon, leaning forward.
"A nice bit of property."

_Crack_!

"What's that, boy?"

"Somebody's throwing stones," cried Tom excitedly, turning to