ram
apologetically; "but lads as goes to sea has snugger quarters sometimes
than our Will's."

He put his pipe back in his mouth--it was out now--and held it steady as
he led the way to a door in a corner at the end of the passage, and up a
very steep flight of stairs to a little room with sloping ceiling, over
the kitchen.

"I had this knocked up for the lad o' purpose," said Uncle Abram
proudly. "Made it as like a cabin as I could, meaning him to be
sea-going, you understand, sir, only he's drifting away from it like.
Why, bless your heart, though, Mr Temple, sir, I never find no fault
with him, for there's stuff enough in him, I think, to make a real
lord-mayor. There: there's our Will's room."

He stood smiling as the visitors had a good look round the scrupulously
clean little cabin-like bed-room with lockers and a swinging shelf of
books, and everything arranged with a neatness that was most notable.

"Those are his books, sir. Spends a deal of time over 'em."

"Novels and romances, eh?" said Mr Temple, going to the shelf. "Why,
hullo! Fowne's _Chemistry_, Smyth's _Mineralogy_, Murchison's
_Geology_. Rather serious reading for him, isn't it?"

"Not it, sir," cried Uncle Abram. "He loves it, sir; and look here," he
continued, opening one of the lockers; "as full of specimens as can be.
All sorts of stones and bits of ore that he gets from the mines. Ah!
that's a new net he's making; small meshed seine to catch sand-eels,
sir, for bait. That's a new shrimp-net he made for me. Mixes it up
like--reads and makes nets together. Once you've got your fingers to
know how to make a net, they'll go on while you read."

"What are these?" said Mr Temple, pointing at a series of rough glass
bottles and oil flasks.

"Oh, that's his apparatus he made, sir. Does chemistry with them, and
there's a little crucible in my tool-house, where he melts down tin and
things sometimes, to see what they're made of. I always encourage him,
I do, just. Can't do the boy any harm."

"Harm! no," said Mr Temple quietly, as he glanced through Will's
treasures with a good deal of curiosity, spending most of the time over
a small glass case which was full of glittering pieces of ore.

"He seems to like the pretty bits best," said Mr Temple; but Uncle
Abram shook his head.

"Oh no, sir. Those are what his aunt likes best. She won't have the
bits of tin and rough copper ore; says they're rubbish, bless her. She
don't know