In the Track of the Troops | Page 5

me much pain beyond the day of their occurrence. The poisoning of the cat, to be sure, was sad, though unavoidable, and so was the destruction by fire of the cook's hair; but the flooding of the house, after the repairs you executed on the great cistern, and the blowing out of the laundry window at the time the clothes-boiler was cracked, with other trifles of that sort, were--"
The remainder of my mother's speech was cut short by a clattering of hoofs.
Next moment my sister Bella came round the corner of the house at full gallop, her fresh face beaming with the exercise, and her golden hair streaming in the breeze.
She pulled up, leaped off her pony, and ran into the room. As she did so, I observed a tall, soldierly man appear in the avenue, advancing with rapid strides. Well did I know his grave, handsome face.
"Here comes Nicholas!" said I, turning round; but Bella had fled.
I observed that my friend, instead of coming straight to the room from the window of which my mother and I had saluted him, turned sharp off to the library.
I was running to the door to welcome him, when my mother called me back. I turned and looked at her. She smiled. So did I. Without uttering a word we both sat down to finish our breakfast.
"Ah! Jeff," said my mother, with a little sigh, "how I wish you would fall in love with some one!"
"Fall in love, mother! What nonsense! How could I? No doubt there are plenty loveable girls, and there is one charming little--well, no matter--"
At that moment Nicholas entered the room, heartily saluted my mother, and cut short our conversation.
CHAPTER TWO.
IS STILL MORE EXPLOSIVE THAN THE FIRST.
Much to my surprise, I found that neither Nicholas Naranovitsch nor Bella nor my mother would consent to witness my experiments with dynamite that day.
As my old chum approached to greet me on the lawn before breakfast the day following, I could not help admiring his fine, tall, athletic figure. I don't know how it is, but I have always felt, somehow, as if I looked up at him, although we were both exactly the same height--six feet one without our boots. I suppose it must have been owing to his standing so erect, while I slouched a little. Perhaps my looking up to him mentally had something to do with it.
"You'll come to-day, won't you?" I said, referring to the experiments.
"Of course I will, old boy; but," he added, with a smile, "only on one condition."
"What may that be?"
"That you don't bother Bella with minute details."
Of course I promised not to say a word unless asked for explanations, and after breakfast we all went to a part of the grounds which I wished to bring under cultivation. It was at that time encumbered with several large trees, old roots, and a number of boulders.
"Come along with us, Lancey," I said to the groom, who was also my laboratory assistant, and whom I met in the stable-yard, the scene of his memorable blowing-up. "I am about to try the effect of an explosive, and wish you to understand the details."
"Yes, sir," replied Lancey, with a respectful touch of his cap; "I must say, sir, if you'll allow me, I never knowed any one like you, sir, for goin' into details except one, and that one--"
"Ah, yes, I know, that was your friend the Scotch boy," said I, interrupting; but Lancey was a privileged servant, and would not be interrupted.
"Yes, sir," he resumed, "the Scotch boy Sandy. We was at school together in Edinburgh, where I got the most o' my edication, and I never did see such a boy, sir, for goin' into--"
"Yes, yes, Lancey, I know; but I haven't time to talk about him just now. We are going to the bit of waste ground in the hollow; follow us there."
I was obliged to cut him short, because this Scotch hero of his was a subject on which he could not resist dilating on the slightest encouragement.
Arrived at the waste ground, we met the manager of a neighbouring mine, who was deeply learned in everything connected with blasting.
"I have brought my mother and sister, you see, Mr Jones," said I, as we approached. "They don't quite believe in the giant-power which is under your control; they seem to think that it is only a little stronger than gunpowder."
"We can soon change their views on that point," said the manager, with a slight bow to the ladies, while I introduced Nicholas as an officer of the Russian army.
"This is one of the stones you wish to blast, is it not?" said Mr Jones, laying his hand on an enormous boulder that weighed probably several tons.
"It is," I answered.
The manager was a man of