"Then that matter's settled," said Mr Temple. "Everything necessary has been done. The land is mine, and my solicitor has all the papers. Mr Will Marion, I too congratulate you on being a mine owner and on the road to fortune." "But look here, father," cried Dick suddenly, "what's the good of your white stone? You can't make tin pots and copper kettles of it." "No," said Mr Temple smiling; "but don't you know what that stone and the clay beneath it will make?" "Yes," cried Dick, "of course. Houses of brick made of the clay with white stone facings." "What do you say, Arthur?" said Mr Temple; but Arthur shook his head. "Can you tell, Marion?" said Mr Temple. "No, sir," said Will sadly; "I don't--Yes, I do. It's china-clay." "Right, my lad. A valuable deposit of china-clay, which we can send off after preparation to the potteries--perhaps start a pottery ourselves, who knows? Yes, it was about the last thing I thought of when I came down. My idea was to get hold of a vein of some little-worked metal, antimony, or nickel, or plumbago perhaps; but I have never found anything to equal this, and I thank you, Will Marion, from my very heart." Will Marion looked from one to the other as if stunned by the tremendous nature--to him--of the intelligence; then, unable to contain himself, he rushed out of the room to see old Uncle Abram. "Well, Dick, what do you think of it?" said Mr Temple as soon as they were alone. "Think, father? Why, I was never so pleased before in my life--at least I don't think I was. Poor old Will! how pleased he is!" There was not time to say much more, for there was a sharp tap at the door, and Uncle Abram came in to have the matter explained. "For you see, sir, I can't make neither head nor tail of Will here. Seems to me as if he's been dreaming." Then after it had all been explained the old man took three or four pulls at an imaginary pipe. "It's like being took all aback," he said, rubbing his grey head. "I can't understand it like quite. I knew he was always off hunting something, butterflies, or fishing up on the moor, but I didn't think it would turn out like that, sir. And I was always making a fender of myself 'twixt his aunt and him because she was wanting to know where he was, and me pretending he was painting the bottom of the boat and mending nets or something. Well, I've been terrible sorry sometimes at his being away so much; but I feel right down pleased, sir, and--and if you wouldn't mind shaking hands, sir, it would do me a power of good." Uncle Abram shook hands then with Mr Temple, and then with Dick and Arthur, and next with Will, after which he stared at all in turn, and ended by saying as he went out: "It's 'most more than I can understand after all." CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. WINDING UP WITH A DAB OF CLAY.