Uncle Richard frowned and looked very serious, but he uttered a low
chuckle as he led the way into a snug little room, half-library,
half-museum. A long, heavy chest stood on one side, formed of plain,
dark-coloured wood; but upon its being opened, Tom saw that it was all
beautifully polished ornamental wood inside, and full of drawers, trays,
and fittings for bright saws, hammers, chisels, and squares.
"My old tool-chest, Tom. I used to have that at Sattegur in my
bungalow, and do most of my carpentering myself, for the natives there
are not much of hands when you want anything strong. When you want a
tool--bradawl, gimlet, pincers, anything--here they all are." He opened
and shut drawers rapidly as he spoke. "Nails, screws, tacks, you'll
know where to find them, only put things back when done with. What did
I come for? Oh, a rule. Here we are." He took a new-looking boxwood
rule from its place, closed the lid, and then led the way out into the
garden, up a flight of steps formed of rough pieces of tree, and leading
in a winding way through a shrubbery to a doorway in a wall. Passing
through this, they were in a narrow lane, and close to the yard which
enclosed the great brick tower of the mill.
"Nice and handy for conveying the flour-sacks to and fro, Tom, eh?" said
Uncle Richard, smiling. "Now then, let's have another inspection of the
new old property."
He took out a bunch of old keys, unlocked the gate, and entered; and
then they crossed the yard, which was littered with old wood, and with
here and there a worn-out millstone leaning against the walls, two extra
large ones bound with rusty iron standing up like ornaments on either
side of the mill-tower door, one above whitened with ancient flour,
having evidently been used for loading carts drawn up close beneath.
"Splendid place, eh, Tom?" said Uncle Richard, as he unlocked the door,
which uttered a low groan as its unoiled hinges were used, and a
peculiar odour of old mildewed flour came from within. "We shall have a
place now in case of invasion or civil war, ready for retreat and
defence. We can barricade the lower doors, and hurl down the upper and
nether millstones on the enemies' heads, set the mill going, and mow
them down with the sails, and melt lead ready to pour down in ladlefuls
to make them run from the scalding silver soup. A grand tower for
practising all those old barbaric delights."
"Yes, sir," said Tom uneasily, for his uncle looked at him
penetratingly, as if expecting an answer.
"Is he serious, or only joking me?" thought Tom the next moment. "He
must be a little wrong. Got windmills in his head, like Don Quixote."
"Yah! yah! Who shot the moon?" came in a coarse yell from outside the
gate.
Tom started, flushed, and turned round angrily, with his fists
involuntarily clenching.
"Yah! yah! old wind-grinders!" cried the voice again, followed by
several heavy bangs on the gate, evidently delivered with a stick.
"The impudent scoundrel!" cried Uncle Richard. "Go and tell that fellow
that--"
But he got no further, for, taking all this as an insult meant for his
uncle, Tom had darted off for the gate, which he threw open, and found
himself face to face with a big, shambling, hobbledehoy sort of fellow
of about eighteen or nineteen, who stepped back for a yard or two,
swinging a heavy stick to and fro, while a mangy-looking cur, with one
eye and a very thin tail like a greyhound's, kept close at his heels.
"What is it?" said Tom hotly. "Did you knock at the gate like that?"
"What's it got to do with you?" said the lad, insolently. "Get in, or
I'll set the dog at yer."
Tom glanced at the dog and then at its master, and felt as he often had
when his cousin Sam had been more than usually vicious.
"I'll jolly soon let yer know if yer give me any o' your mouth. Here,
Badger, smell him, boy--ciss--smell him!"
The cur showed his teeth, and uttered a low snarling growl, as its
master advanced urging him on; while Tom drew one leg a little back
ready to deliver a kick, but otherwise stood his ground, feeling the
while that everything was not going to be peaceful even in that lovely
village.
But before hostilities could begin, and just as the dog and his master
were within a yard, the gate was suddenly snatched open, and Uncle
Richard appeared, when the lout turned sharply and ran off along the
lane, followed by his dog, the fellow shouting "Yah! yah! yah!" his
companion's snapping bark sounding like an imitation.
"Come in, Tom," said Uncle Richard. "I don't want you to get into rows
with Master Pete Warboys. Insolent young rascal!"
Tom looked at his uncle inquiringly.
"That's the pest of the village, Tom. Nice young scoundrel. An idle
dog, who has had a dozen places and will not stay in them, though he has
no Cousin Sam to quarrel with."
Tom winced, for the words were a decided hit at him.
"So he has settled down into a regular nuisance, who does a bit of
poaching, steals fruit, breaks windows, and generally annoys every one
in the place. If he were not such an ugly, shambling cub some
recruiting sergeant might pick him up. As it is, we have to put up with
him and his ways."
"Yah!" came from a distance; and Tom's nerves tingled, for he did not
like to hear the insult directed at his uncle, however strange he might
be.
"There, let's go on with our inspection, my boy," and the gate was
closed again, and they walked together up the slope into the mill.
There was not much to see on the ground-floor, save the whitened brick
walls, a huge pillar or post in the middle, and a ladder-like flight of
steps on one side, up which Uncle Richard led the way; and as Tom
emerged from a trap-door, he found himself in a circular chamber, a
little less than the one below, with three windows at the sides, the
doorway he had seen from without, and three pairs of millstones placed
horizontally, and connected by shafts with the mechanism above the
cobwebby and flour-whitened ceiling. There was a flight of steps, too,
here, and Tom now noticed that there was a trap-door overhead, formed
with two flaps and a hole in the middle, while a similar one was at his
feet.
"For sending the sacks up and down," said Uncle Richard. "The floors
are thoroughly solid, and made of good stuff. Excellent," he continued.
"Let's go up to the top."
He led the way up the second flight of steps into the next chamber,
which was wonderfully like the floor below, minus the millstones; but
the roof, instead of being a flat ceiling of boards and beams, was a
complication of rafters, ties, posts, and cog-wheels, while at one side
was the large pivot passing out through well-greased and blackened
bearings, which bore the five sails of the mill, balanced to a great
extent by the projecting fan, which, acted upon by the wind, caused the
whole of the wooden cap which formed the top to revolve.
"There's the way out to repair the sails, or oil the great fan," said
Uncle Richard, pointing to a little sloping doorway in the curved cap
roof. "Think the place will do? It's a good fifteen feet from the
floor to the curve."
"Do, sir?"
"Do, _uncle_, please. Yes, do! The whole top revolves easily enough,
and will do so more easily when there are no sails or fan."
"Do you mean for defence, uncle?" stammered Tom.
"Defence?--nonsense. Attack, boy. The roof will only want modifying,
and a long narrow shutter fitting, one that we can open or close easily
from within. The place when cleaned, scraped, painted, and coloured
will be all that one could wish, and is strong enough to bear anything.
We can mount a monster here."
Tom looked more puzzled than ever. Monster?
"In the floor below make our laboratory, and keep chemicals and plates."
"Yes, uncle," said Tom; for he could understand that.
"And on the ground-floor do our grinding and fining."
"But the millstones are on the floor above," said Tom.
"Yes, I know, my boy, for the present; but I'll soon have them lowered
down. There, the place will do splendidly, and Mrs Fidler will be at
peace."
Tom did not see how Mrs Fidler could be at peace if the corn was ground
on the basement-floor of the mill, but he said nothing.
"Now we'll go down," said Uncle Richard. "I'm more than satisfied.
I'll have two or three stout fellows to lower down the stones; the rest
we will do ourselves."
He led the way down, locked up the mill again and the outer gate, and
then entered the garden and crossed it to the coach-house, where the
packages brought down were waiting.
"Go to the tool-chest and fetch an iron chisel and the biggest hammer,"
said Uncle Richard. "No, it's screwed down. Bring the two largest
screw-drivers."
Tom hurried away, and soon returned, to find that his uncle had opened
one of the packages he had brought down, and was untying some brown
paper, which proved to contain brass tubes and fittings, with slides and
rack-work.
"Know what these are?" said Uncle Richard.
"They look like part of a photographic camera," said Tom.
"A good shot, my lad, but not right. Now for the big chest. I hope
they are not broken. Try and get out some of the screws."
These were gradually drawn from the very stout chest, the lid lifted, a
quantity of thickly-packed straw removed, and a round package of brown
paper was revealed.
"Out with it, Tom," said his uncle. "No, don't trust to the string."
Tom bent down to lift out the package, but failed, and his uncle
laughed.
"Let's both try," he said, and getting their fingers down, they lifted
out something exceedingly heavy, and bore it to a stout bench. "Now for
the other," said Uncle Richard; and after removing more straw, a second
package was seen precisely like the first, which on being taken out and
opened, proved to be a great solid disc of ground-glass made fairly
smooth but quite opaque.
"Bravo! quite sound," cried Uncle Richard. "Now the other."
This proved also to have borne the journey well, and Tom looked from the
two great discs to his uncle.
"Well," said the latter; "do you see what these are for?"
"To grind flour much finer?"
"To grind grandmothers, boy! Nonsense! Not to grind, but to be ground.
Out of those Tom, you and I have to make a speculum of tremendous
power."
"A looking-glass, sir?" said Tom, feeling rather depressed at his
uncle's notion. For what could a sensible man want with looking-glasses
made round, and weighing about a hundredweight each?
"Yes, a looking-glass, boy, for the sun and moon, and Jupiter, Venus,
Mars, Saturn, and the rest to see their faces in, or for us to see them.
I can't afford to give five or six hundred pounds for a telescope, so
you and I will make a monster."
"Telescope!" cried Tom, as scales seemed to fall from before his eyes.
"Oh, I see!"
"Well, didn't you see before?"
"No, uncle, I couldn't make it out. Then that's what you want the
windmill for, to put the telescope in, with the top to turn round any
way?"
"To be sure; it will make a splendid observatory, will it not?"
"Glorious, uncle!" cried the boy, whose appearance underwent a complete
change, and instead of looking heavy and dull, his eyes sparkled with
animation as he exclaimed eagerly, "How big will the telescope be?"
"A little wider than the speculum--about eighteen inches across."
"And how long?"
"Fifteen feet, boy."
"Yes," cried Tom, excitedly. "And when are you going to begin, uncle?"
"Now, my boy. At once."