om hastily; and he
made a grimace.

"Well, sir, who are you that you are not to be dosed with prune tea?"
said Uncle Richard, with a mock-serious look. "Mrs Fidler has on more
than one occasion tried to play the doctor's part with me."

"And I'm sure, sir, I meant it for the best," said the housekeeper,
drawing herself up.

"Of course you did, Mrs Fidler," said Uncle Richard. Then, to change
the conversation--"Well, Tom, how about the plane mirror; have you got
one perfect yet?"

"Perfect, uncle?" said Tom, smiling. "I'm afraid not."

"So am I, my lad; but have you made one as perfect as possible?"

"Yes, uncle, I've done that," said Tom, who, ever since he rose that
morning, had been in a state of mental perturbation, eager to tell his
uncle about the breaking into the mill, but fully determined not to say
a word--for several reasons--until they were alone.

"Well, let's hear what you did."

"Exactly as you told me, uncle. I took the three pieces of thick
plate-glass, and ground them together, changing their positions over and
over again, and ended by polishing them one over the other till I think
they are as flat as they can possibly be."

"That remains to be proved, Tom--in the telescope. One of the three
ought to be good enough for us; but we shall see."

Then the breakfast went on, with Uncle Richard spending a good deal of
time over his letters; and at last Mrs Fidler rose and left the room,
while Tom felt his cheeks grow warm with excitement.

The time had come for speaking about the robbery, and the question was
how to begin. For the boy felt that he had been left in charge of the
observatory, and that his uncle might fancy that he had neglected
something in the way of securing the place. How then to begin?

While he was mentally seeking for the words connected with the first
plunge, the difficulty was solved, the announcement coming out quite
naturally, just as Tom felt that he must plunge at once into the story
of how he had--in his ignorance--become once more poor.

"What was the matter with you, my boy?" said Uncle Richard, suddenly
dropping the letter he was reading, and looking searchingly at his
nephew.

"Matter, uncle?"

"Yes, when Mrs Fidler wanted to physic you. There must have been
something wrong or she would not have noticed it. Too much fruit?"

"Oh no, uncle," cried Tom eagerly. "She saw how dull and tired I looked
after that night in the mill."

"What? you never we