The Lost Middy | Page 2

arched back, and bottle-brush tail, it stood staring at the disturber of its rest.
"Well, I am a pretty fool," muttered Aleck, starting out of his chair and listening for a few moments before stealing across the room to open the door cautiously and thrust out his head.
There was no sound to be heard, and the boy re-closed the door and went back to the hearth.
"I wonder uncle didn't hear," he muttered, stooping down. "I've done it now, and no mistake."
As he spoke he picked the remains of the broken box from inside the fender.
"Smashed!" he continued. "Good job too. Shan't have any more of that bother. How much is there? Let's see!"
There was a small fire burning in the old-fashioned grate, and with a grim look the boy finished the destruction of the money-box by tearing it apart at the dovetailings and placing the pieces on the fire, where they caught at once, blazing up, while the lad hunted out and picked up the coins which lay scattered here and there.
"Three--four--five--and sixpence," muttered the boy. "I thought there was more than that. Hullo! Where's that thin old half-crown? Haven't thrown it on the fire, have I? Oh, there you are!" he cried, ferreting it out of the fleeces of the thick dark-dyed sheepskin hearth-rug at his feet. "Eight shillings," he continued, transferring his store to his pocket. "Well, I'm not obliged to spend it all. Money-box! Bother! I'm not a child now. Just as if I couldn't take care of my money in my pocket."
He gave the place a slap, turned to the window, looked out at the soft fleecy clouds gliding overhead, and once more made for the door, crossed the little hall paved with large black slates, and then bounded up the oak stairs two at a time, to pause on the landing and give a sharp knuckle rap on the door before him; then, without waiting for a "Come in," he entered, to stand, door in hand, gazing at the top of a big shaggy grey head, whose owner held it close to the sheets of foolscap paper which he was covering with writing in a bold, clear hand.
"Want me, uncle?"
The head was raised, and a pair of fierce-looking eyes glared at the interrupter of the studies from beneath enormously-produced, thick, white eyebrows, and through a great pair of round tortoise-shell spectacles.
"Want you, boy?" was the reply, as the speaker held up a large white swan-quill pen on a level with his sun-browned and reddened nose. "No, Lick. Be off!"
"I'm going to run over to Rockabie, uncle. Back to dinner. Want anything brought back?"
"No, boy; I've plenty of ink. No.--Yes. Bring me some more of this paper."
The voice sounded very gruff and ill-humoured, and the speaker glared angrily, more than looked, at the boy.
"Here," he continued, "don't drown yourself."
"Oh, no, uncle," said the boy, confidently, "I'll take care of that."
"By running into the first danger you come across."
"Nonsense, uncle. I can sail about now as well as any of the fisher lads."
"Fisher? Bah!" growled the old man, fiercely. "Scoundrels--rascals, who wear a fisher's frock to hide the fact that they are smugglers--were wreckers. Nice sink of iniquity this. Look here, Lick. Take care and don't play that idler's trick of making fast the sheet."
"I'll take care, uncle."
"How's the wind, boy?"
"Just a nice soft breeze, uncle. I can run round the point in about an hour--wind right abaft."
"And dead ahead coming back, eh?"
"Yes; but I can tack, uncle--make good long reaches."
"To take you out into the race and among the skerries. Do you think I want to have you carried out to sea and brought back days hence to be buried, sir?"
"Of course you don't, uncle; but I shan't hurt. Old Dumpus says I can manage a boat as well as he can."
"He's a wooden-legged, wooden-headed old fool for saying so. Look here, Aleck; you'd better stop at home to-day."
"Uncle!" cried the boy, in a voice full of protest.
"The weather's going to change. I can feel it in my old wound; and it will not be safe for a boy like you alone to try and run that boat home round the point."
"Oh, uncle, you treat me as if I were a little boy!"
"So you are; and too light-headed."
"It's such a beautiful morning for a sail, uncle."
"Do just as well to watch the sea from the cliffs, and the carrier can bring what you want from Rockabie next time he goes."
"Uncle! I shall be so disappointed," pleaded the boy.
"Well! What of that? Do you good, boy. Life's all disappointments. Prepare you for what you'll have to endure in the future."
"Very well, uncle, I won't go if you don't wish it."
"Of course you won't, sir. There, run round and get one of the Eilygugg lads to help you with