e's no knowing what may happen."

So after deciding to leave the old bureau just as it was until his uncle
had examined and seen what was missing, and noting that it had been
opened by means of some kind of chisel inserted just above the keyhole,
Tom locked up, and then held the gate open for David to carry the ladder
he had shouldered home.

"Nyste sort of a job, Master Tom," he said, "clearing up the bits arter
robbers and thieves; but there--you never knows what you may come to in
this life."

The next moment Tom had to duck his head to avoid a blow as the ladder
was swung round; and that morning Mrs Fidler, who knew nothing of what
had happened, took Tom aside directly after breakfast.

"I beg your pardon, Master Tom," she began, and the boy stared; "I
didn't notice it before we begun, but I do now, and as master's out it
makes me feel anxious. You're not well, sir."

"Oh yes, quite well," said Tom hastily.

"No, sir, you can't deceive me. But I know it's only natural for young
people to say so. Physic isn't nice, sir, but it's very necessary
sometimes, and if you would be advised by me you'd let me give you
something this morning. Better late than never, sir."

"What, me take some medicine?" cried Tom. "Nonsense! I'm quite right."

Mrs Fidler shook her head.

"Take which you like, sir; I've got them both in my store closet. A
tablespoonful of castor oil--"

"Ugh!" ejaculated Tom, with a grimace.

"--Or a cupful of prune tea."

"That sounds better," said Tom, smiling.

Mrs Fidler shook her head.

"I shouldn't like to deceive you, Master Tom," she said, "because though
prune tea sounds very nice, you don't taste the French plums I make it
of, but the salts and senna in which the prunes are stewed. But it's a
very, very valuable medicine, my dear, and if you will be prevailed
upon--Dear me! look at that now. Oh, how obstinate young folks can be!"

For at her description of the concoction of prune tea, Tom thrust his
handkerchief to his mouth, and ran out into the garden, before going
across to the workshop to continue the manufacture of a perfect plane of
glass, such as would satisfy Uncle Richard on his return.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

Uncle James Brandon sat one morning a short time before the events of
the night described in the last chapters, biting his nails, and looking
old, yellow, and careworn. He was supposed to be quite well again, and
the doctors had given up visiting him, but