"Aren't you going to eat that crust of bread?" asked his uncle, as Dick laid aside a portion that was burned black. "It's a little too--too brown," replied the boy, who did not fancy burned bread. "That makes it all the better," said Mr. Larabee. "Bread should be well cooked to be digestible. Always eat your crusts. 'Sinful waste makes woeful want,' as the proverb says. I had to eat my crusts when I was young." Dick managed to get it down, and the meal finally came to a close. He felt considerably better after it, and when his uncle proposed a walk around the place, he was ready to accompany Mr. Larabee. Dick found much to admire in the well-kept grounds. Several men were at work, and the manner in which they hastened with their tasks when their employer approached spoke volumes for the way in which they regarded him. Dick paused in the stable to admire the horses, of which his uncle kept several. Without thinking he pulled a wisp of hay from a bale and offered it to one of the animals. "Don't do that!" exclaimed his uncle sharply. "You'll scatter it all over the barn. The man has just swept the place up, and I don't like a litter of dirt around." He stopped to pick up some pieces of hay Dick had inadvertently dropped, and looked so cross that the boy wished he had kept out of the stable. However, Mr. Larabee seemed a bit ashamed of himself a little later, for he showed Dick where he could find some withered apples to feed to the pigs. "Only don't scatter 'em on the ground," he cautioned. "I hate to see apples thrown about. I keep a man to look after the orchard, and I like it nice and tidy." Now Dick was not a careless youth, but he thought this was carrying things a little too far. However, he brightened up a bit when his uncle announced that he had to leave his nephew to his own devices for a time, as he had some duties to attend to. Dick managed to while away the afternoon looking at the sights around the place, for his uncle had a large farm, though he was wealthy enough not to need the income from it. Still he was the kind of a man who can not own the smallest bit of land without putting it to some use. Dick looked about for a sight of some lads of his own age with whom he might become acquainted and enjoy his enforced visit to Dankville, but boys seemed a scarce article around The Firs. He strolled back to the house, and, not seeing his aunt about, and being desirous of exploring the rather stately mansion, he started on a tour of it. Through the darkened hall he went until he came to what he thought would be the parlor. He opened the door, though it creaked on rusty hinges.