take his master's
orders about turning the mill-yard into a shrubbery and garden.

A week with plenty of help from the labourers completely transformed the
place. Then plenty of big shrubs and conifers were taken up from the
garden, with what David called good balls to their roots, and planted
here and there, loads of gravel were brought in, the roller was brought
into action, and a wide broad walk led with a curve to the mill-door;
there was a broad border round the tower itself, and a walk outside
that; and Tom and Uncle Richard stood looking at the work one evening in
a very satisfied frame of mind.

"There, Tom, now for tying up my money-bag. That's all I mean to spend.
Now you and I will have to do the rest."

The next day was devoted to furnishing the interior with the odds and
ends of scientific apparatus. The small telescope was mounted in the
top-floor, the new apparatus, boxes, bottles, and jars were placed on
tables and shelves in the middle floor, and the two great glass discs
were carefully carried into the stone-floored basement, where a cask was
stood up on end, a hole made in the head, and barrowful after barrowful
of the fine silver sand plentiful in amongst the pine-trees was wheeled
up and poured in, like so much water, with a big funnel, till the cask
was full.

"What's that for?" said Uncle Richard, in response to an inquiry from
his nephew. "That, Tom, is for a work-bench, meant to be so solid that
it will not move. Try if you can stir it."

Tom gave it a thrust, and shook his head.

"I don't think three men could push it over, uncle," he said.

"Two couldn't, Tom. There, that will do. We mustn't have any accident
with our speculum. Now then, to begin. Ready? Tuck up your sleeves."

Tom obeyed, and helped his uncle to lift one of the glass discs on to
the top of the cask, where it was easily fixed by screwing three little
brick-shaped pieces of wood on to the head close against the sides of
the glass.

Uncle Richard paused after tightening the last screw, and stood looking
at his nephew.

"What a queer boy you are, Tom," he said.

"Am I, uncle?" said the lad, colouring.

"To be sure you are. Most boys would be full of questions, and ask why
that's done."

"Oh," cried Tom, who smiled as he felt relieved, "I'm just the same,
uncle--as full of questions as any boy."

"But you don't speak."

"No, uncle; it's because I don't want you to think I'm a trouble, but I
do want