the bench did not stand
quite so steady as it should, the boy fetched a piece of wood from the
corner, and felt in his pocket for his knife, so as to cut a wedge, but
the knife was not there, and he looked about him, feeling puzzled.

"When did I have it last?" he thought. "I remember: here, the day
before the speculum was broken. I had it to cut a wedge to put under
that stool, and left it on the bench."

But there was no knife visible, and he was concluding that he must have
had it since, and left it in his other trousers' pocket, when he heard
steps, and looking out through the open door, he saw the Vicar coming up
the slope from the gate.

"Good-morning, sir," said Tom cheerily.

"Good-morning, Thomas Blount," was the reply, in very grave tones,
accompanied by a searching look. "Is your uncle here?"

"No, sir," said Tom wonderingly; "he has just gone indoors. Shall I
call him?"

"Yes--no--not yet."

The Vicar coughed to clear his throat, and looked curiously at Tom
again, with the result that the lad felt uncomfortable, and flushed a
little.

"Will you sit down, sir?" said Tom, taking a pot of rough emery off a
stool, and giving the top a rub.

"Thank you, no."

The Vicar coughed again to get rid of an unpleasant huskiness, and then,
as if with an effort--

"The fact is, Thomas Blount, I am glad he is not here, for I wish to say
a few words to you seriously. I did mean to speak to him, but this is
better. It shall be a matter of privacy between us, and I ask you, my
boy, to treat me not as your censor but as your friend--one who wishes
you well."

"Yes, sir, of course. Thank you, sir, I will," said Tom, who felt
puzzled, and grew more and more uncomfortable as he wondered what it
could all mean, and finally, as the Vicar remained silent, concluded
that it must be something to do with his behaviour in church. Then no,
it could not be that, for he could find no cause of offence.

"I know," thought Tom suddenly. "He wants me to go and read with him,
Latin and Greek, I suppose, or mathematics."

The Vicar coughed again, and looked so hard at Tom that the boy felt
still more uncomfortable, and hurriedly began to pull down his rolled-up
shirt-sleeves and to button his cuffs.

"Don't do that, Thomas Blount," said the Vicar, still more huskily;
"there is nothing to be ashamed of in honest manual labour."

"No, sir, of course not," said the lad, still more uncomfortable, for it
was very unpleas