"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 what one bit's worth more than another, only goes by the eye, you see. I've got the rough bits hid away for him when he wants 'em." Mr Temple seemed unusually thoughtful, so it seemed to Dick, who was delighted with the quaintness of the little attic, and declaring to himself that it was just the place he should like for himself; but he wondered a little bit at his father looking so stern. "Here, quick!" cried Uncle Abram excitedly; "that's my boy's step coming in back way. I don't want him to see us. Looks like spying on him, poor lad, and I want him to enjoy himself when he isn't at work." "And quite right too," said Mr Temple quietly, as he followed the old man down the steep stairs, and they had just reached the parlour when there was a knock at the door. "Beg pardon, sir," said Will, who was flushed with hurrying; "but you said you would like the young gentlemen to have a sail in the trawler." "Sail in the trawler!" cried Dick, bounding across the room excitedly. "Yes! Well?" said Mr Temple, smiling. "She's lying off the harbour, sir. I've seen the master, and he says the young gentlemen are welcome, and there's a fine breeze, sir, and it's a lovely day." Dick turned a look upon his father, such as a prisoner might turn upon a judge as he waited for him to speak. "I suppose you would not like to go, Dick?" said Mr Temple dryly. "You would miss your dinner." "Why, father," cried Dick in a tone of reproach, "I can have a dinner every day." "And a sail in a trawler only once perhaps in your life. Then be off." Dick bounded to the door and then stopped. "May Taff come, father?" he cried. "If he likes; but perhaps he wouldn't care to go. Make him sea-sick perhaps."