lied David, with a chuckle, as he trotted back
with the barrow, and Uncle Richard came down from the observatory to
take out the screws and unpack the two discs.

Within an hour they were at work again, and day after day passed--wasted
days, David said.

"Master and you had a deal better set to work and build me a vinery to
grow some more grapes," he grumbled; but Tom laughed, and the speculum
gradually began to assume its proper form.

There had only been one brief letter in answer to two sent making
inquiries, and this letter said that Uncle James was much better, and
regularly attending the office.

"My vegetables," said David, when he was told. "Nothing like 'em, and
plenty o' fresh air, Master Tom, to set a man right. But just you come
and look here."

He led the way down the garden to where, the Marie Louise pear-tree
spread its long branches upon the wall, each laden with the soft green
fruit hanging to the long thin stalks, which looked too fragile to bear
so great a weight.

"Pears?" said Tom. "Yes, I was looking at them yesterday, and thinking
how good they must be."

"Nay, but they am't, Master Tom; that's just it. If you was to pick one
o' they--which would be a sin, sir--and stick your teeth into it, you'd
find it hard and tasting sappy like chewed leaves."

"Why I thought they were ripe."

"Nay, not them, sir. You want to take a pear, sir, just at the right
moment."

"And when is the right moment for a pear?"

David laughed, and shook his head.

"Tends on what sort it is, sir. Some's at their best in September, and
some in October. Then you goes on to December and January, and right on
to April. Why the round pears on that little tree yonder don't get ripe
till April and May. Like green bullets now, but by that time, or even
June, if you take care on 'em, they're like brown skins' full o' rich
sugary juice."

"But these must be ripe, David."

"Nay, sir, they're not. As I told you afore, if you pick 'em too soon
they srivels. When they're quite ripe they're just beginning to turn
creamy colour like."

"Well, they're a very nice lot, David."

"Yes, sir; and what am I to do?"

"Let 'em hang."

"I wish I could, sir, but I feel as if I dursn't."

"Dare not! Why?"

"Fear they might walk over the wall."

"What, be stolen?"

"Ay, my lad. I come in at that gate at six this morning, and was going
gently down the centre walk, when it was like having a sort o' stroke,
for t