"Now to prove the success of the magical trick," said the Vicar, as they
all rose from the table, and walked across to the old mill. "Really,
Brandon, honestly I never felt so much interest in chemistry before, and
I feel quite disposed to take it up where one left off at college. But
oh, dear, how little time one has!"
"True," said Uncle Richard, "the days always seem too short to a busy
man. Now, Tom, let's look and see whether we have succeeded or failed."
"Succeeded," cried Tom excitedly, when the heavy fragment of the
speculum was lifted out of the hot sunshine perfectly dry, and laid flat
upon the bench. "Look, Mr Maxted, you can see that it is silvered all
over."
"Yes; a dull, dingy coating of silver," said the Vicar, who had put on
his glasses and was now leaning over the glass. "Wonderful indeed. And
now, I suppose, you polish this metal face, and make it like a
looking-glass?"
"Yes, with leather and rouge," said Uncle Richard, as he too put on his
glasses and examined the surface carefully. "But there is something
wrong about it."
"Wrong? Oh no, uncle; that stuff has all turned to silver plainly
enough," cried Tom.
"True, boy, but my instructions tell me that the result ought to be a
bright metallic surface of a golden rosy hue, and that a very little
polishing should make it brilliant."
"Perhaps this will be," said the Vicar, "when it is polished."
"I'm afraid not," said Uncle Richard. "There is a hitch somewhere.
Either I have made some error in the quantities of my chemicals, or I
have left the glass in the solution too long, with the result that the
silver has become coated with the dirty-looking precipitation left when
the metallic silver is thrown down. However, we are very near success,
and we'll polish and see what result we get. Now, Tom, up into the
laboratory, and bring down from the second shelf that small bottle of
rouge, the packet of cotton-wool, and the roll of fine chamois leather.
One moment--the scissors too, and the ball of twine."
Tom ran up-stairs, found the articles required, and was about to
descend, when, glancing from the window, he caught sight of Pete
Warboys, who had raised himself by getting his toes in some inequality
of the wall, and was now resting his folded arms upon the top and his
chin upon them, staring hard at the mill.
"Oh, how I should like to be behind him with a stick!" thought Tom; and
he laughed to himself as he turned away and went down, to find that his
uncle had just uncovered the great speculum they had ground and
polished, where it stood upon a stout shelf at the far side of the
workshop, and was pointing out its perfections to the Vicar.
"Yes, Brandon," said the latter, "I suppose it is very beautiful in its
shaping, but to me it is only a disc of glass. So you are going to
silver that?"
"When I am sure of what I am doing," replied Uncle Richard. "I must
experimentalise once or twice more first. Here, Tom, set those things
down and come here. I don't like this glass to lie upon the shelf.
We'll lay a board down here, and turn the speculum face downwards upon
the floor."
Tom hurried to his uncle's side, and after the board had been laid upon
the floor, and covered with a soft cloth and several sheets of paper,
the speculum was carefully lifted, turned over face downwards, covered
with another cloth, and left close to the wall.
"No fear of that falling any farther," said Uncle Richard, smiling, as
he crossed the workshop deliberately. "Now for the polishing."
He cut off a piece of the soft, delicate leather, about three inches
square, made a ball-like pad of cotton-wool, and covered it with the
leather, and then tied the ends tightly with some of the twine, making
what resembled a soft leather ball with a handle, and patted it in his
hand so as to flatten it a little.
"Now then," he said, "this is to be another magic touch. If I succeed,
you will see your faces brilliantly reflected in the glass; if I fail--"
"If you fail," said the Vicar, laughing, "I can't apply Lord Lytton's
words to you. If it were Tom, I should say, `In the bright lexicon of
youth, there is no such word as fail.'"
"Very well then, though no longer youthful, I'll take the words to
myself. Now then for the magic touch that shall change this dull opaque
silver to glistening, dazzling light."
He held the leather polisher over the glass for a few moments, and then,
as the others looked on, he let it fall smartly upon the silvered face,
covered with greyish powder, and began to rub it smartly, when--
_Crash_!
One cutting, tearing, deafening, sharp, metallic-sounding explosion,
that seemed to shake the old mill to its foundations; the windows were
blown out; bottles, vessels, and tray were shivered, and the glass flew
tinkling in all directions; and then an awful silence, succeeded by a
strange singing noise in the ears, through which, as Tom struggled
half-stunned and helpless to his feet, he could hear a loud shrieking
and yelling for help.
"What has happened? what, has happened?" he muttered, as he clapped his
hands to his ears, and tried to look about him; but his eyes had been
temporarily blinded by the brilliant flash of light which had blazed
through the workshop, and some moments elapsed before he could make out
whence came a moaning--"Oh dear me, oh dear me!"
Then he dimly saw the Vicar seated on the floor against the wall,
holding his hands to his ears, and rocking himself gently to and fro.
Hardly had Tom realised this when he caught sight of Richard Brandon
upon his side in the middle of the place, perfectly motionless; and,
with his ears singing horribly, the boy ran to his uncle's side, and
tried to raise his head.
And all the while the shrieking and cries for help came from the
outside, mingled now with the trampling of feet.
Then, sounding muffled and strange, and as if from a great distance, Tom
heard David's voice.
"What is it? where are you hurt?"
"Oh, all over," came in Pete's voice; "I was a-lookin' over the wall and
they shot me with a big gun."
"Yah!" cried David, as if still at a great distance, but his words
sounded with peculiar distinctness through the metallic ringing.
"Shootin'! It was a thunderbolt struck the mill."
"Oh, what is the matter?" came now in Mrs Fidler's voice.
"Thunderbolt, mum; I saw the flash," cried David; and as Tom still held
up his uncle's head, and knelt there confused, half-stunned and
helpless, Mrs Fidler's voice rose again.
"Quick! help them before the place falls. Master! poor master! Mr
Maxted--Master Tom!"
Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and as Tom looked up, to see the
ceiling above him come crumbling down, more questioning voices were
heard outside, and Pete's voice rose again.
"They shot me with a big gun--they shot me with a big gun."
"Master! master!" shrieked Mrs Fidler. "Oh, there you are! Oh, Master
Tom, don't say he's dead."
Tom shook his head feebly; he could not say anything. Then, as he felt
himself lifted up, he heard the Vicar say--
"Oh dear me; I don't know--I'm afraid I'm a good deal hurt."
Then quite a cloud gathered about them, and with his ears still singing,
Tom felt himself lifted out, water was sprinkled over his face, and he
began to see things more clearly; but every word spoken sounded small
and distant, while the faces of David, Mrs Fidler, and the people who
gathered about them in a scared way looked misty and strange. Then he
heard the Vicar's voice.
"Thank you--yes, thank you," he said; "I'm getting better."
"Bones broke, sir?" said David.
"No, I think not; see to poor Mr Brandon. I was thrown against the
wall, right across; I can't quite get my breath yet, and I'm as if I was
deaf. Ah, Tom, my boy, how are you?"
"I don't know, sir, I don't think I'm hurt; but ask the people not to
shout so, it goes through my head." Then, as if he had suddenly
recollected something, "Where's uncle?"
"He's coming to, my dear," said Mrs Fidler. "I think he's coming to."
And now Tom saw that they were lying on the newly-made grass-plot
outside the mill, and that his uncle was being attended by Mrs Fidler
and another woman.
He tried to get to him, but the slightest effort made his head swim, and
he was fain to lie still and listen, while David went on talking
excitedly.
"I was down the garden digging up the first crop o' taters, when I see a
flash o' lightning, and then came a clap o' thunder as sharp as the
crack of a whip. It made my ears sing. Then as I run to see, I hears
Pete Warboys yelling out--`They shot me with a big gun--they shot me
with a big gun.'"
"Hadn't some one better fetch the doctor?" said a fresh voice.
"He's gone out," cried another.
"Shot me with a big gun," yelled Pete again.
"Thank you, yes, thank you," came now in a voice which made Tom Blount's
heart leap. "I don't think I am much hurt. Where is my boy Tom?"
"I'm all right, uncle," cried the boy eagerly, though he felt very far
from being so; and he heard a few murmured words of thankfulness.
"Where is Mr Maxted?"
"I am here," said the Vicar, "not much hurt. But tell me, how are your
eyes?"
"Rather dim and misty. But what was it?" said Uncle Richard, rather
feebly; "an explosion?"
"Shot me with a big gun--shot me with a big gun."
"Will some one put a tater in that boy's ugly mouth," cried David
indignantly. "I tell yer all it was thunder and lightning. I saw one
and heard t'other, both sharp together."
"Yes, yes, yes. Didn't I always tell you so?" cried a shrill voice; and
Tom looked round, to dimly make out Mother Warboys bending over her
grandson, who was now sitting on the grass close under the wall, where
he had been placed. "I always said it. His punishment's come at last
for all his wicked tricks and evil dealings."
"And one in hers too," cried David. "A wicked old sinner! Hold your
tongue, will you!"
"Nay, nay, I'll hold no tongue," cried Mother Warboys. "He's a wicked
man-witch, and allays doing evil and making charms."
"Shot me with a big gun, granny."
"Hold thy tongue, boy. It's come to him at last--it's come to him at
last. I always telled ye that he was a bad, wicked one. Now he's
punished."
"Oh dear me! I cannot put up with this," muttered the Vicar. "David,
my good fellow, give me your hand. Thank you--that's better. I think I
can stand now. Oh, yes. That's right; but I've lost my glasses."
"Here they are, sir," said a voice, "but they're all crushed to bits."
"Then I must do without them, I suppose."
"An old wicked one, who buys up mills and starves the poor, so that he
may go on in his evil ways. I told you all so, but it's come to him at
last."
"Oh dear me!" ejaculated the Vicar. "Keep my arm, David. Here, you
sir, get up."
"Shot me with a gun--shot me with a gun," yelled Pete, who had got hold
of one form of complaint, and kept to it.
"Silence, sir! It's all nonsense; no one fired a gun."
"Yes; shot me, and knocked me off the wall."
"Is he hurt?" asked the Vicar, as Uncle Richard now sat up.
"Don't think so, sir," said one of the village people. "We can't find
nothing the matter with him."
"I told you so--I told you all so," continued Mother Warboys, waving her
stick.
"And I tell you so," cried the Vicar angrily. "Go along home, you
wicked old she Shimei. How dare you come cursing here when your poor
neighbours are in trouble!"
"I--I--I don't care--I will say it," cried Mother Warboys.
"You dare to say another word, and you shall have no dole next Sunday,"
cried the Vicar angrily.
"I--I don't care; I say it's come home to him at last. I always said it
would."
"Yes, you wicked old creature; and in spite of your vanity you are not a
prophetess. Take that old woman home," cried the Vicar fiercely; but no
one stirred.
"What, are you all afraid of her?"
"She'll get cursing and ill-wishing us if we do, sir," said one of the
men present.
"I'll take her home, sir," cried David. "Don't s'pose she'll hurt me
much if she do. Come along, old lady, and you, Pete, take hold of her
other arm."
Pete obeyed, and seemed to forget his injuries, taking Mother Warboys'
other arm, and helping her out of the yard, she saying no more, but
shaking her head, and muttering that she "always knowed how it would
be."
By this time Uncle Richard was sufficiently recovered to walk about;
and, beckoning Tom to him, he took his arm and went into the workshop,
where the silvered piece of speculum lay shattered; and in addition to
the windows being broken, the bench was split from end to end, and a
table and stools knocked over.
"Look at the speculum, Tom. Is it hurt?"
Tom's ears were still ringing as he crossed to where they had laid the
disc of glass face downwards; and on uncovering it, he found it
uninjured, and said so, making his uncle draw a deep breath as if much
relieved.
"Now lock up the place, Tom," he said, "and let's go indoors. I am too
much shaken to say much, so ask Mr Maxted to request the people to go
away now, and then you can fasten the gate."
"Think she'll tumble down, sir?" said a voice at the door; and they
turned to find David back panting and breathless. "Took her home, sir.
She kep' on chuntering all the way, but parson frightened her about the
dole, and she never said a cross word. But think the mill 'll come
down?"
"Oh no, David," said Uncle Richard quietly; "there is no fear. Is that
boy much hurt?"
"Him, sir? Tchah! There's nothing the matter with him. The shock
knocked him off the wall, and he lay howling, expecting some one to give
him a shilling to put him right. He'd forgotten all about it before he
got home, and began to quarrel with his granny."
"Help to lock up," said Uncle Richard; and, leaving Tom free to speak to
the people, and ask them to disperse, he laid his hand on David's arm.
Ten minutes later the people were all out of the yard, and hanging about
in the lane discussing the thunderbolt, as they called it, that had
fallen, some declaring that the worst always came out of a clear sky,
while others declared that they'd "never seed thunder and lightning
without clouds."
On the whole, they were rather disappointed that more mischief had not
been done. The burning of the mill, for instance, or its crumbling
down, would have made the affair more exciting, whereas there were some
broken windows to look at, and that was all.
Meanwhile the scientific people had adjourned to the cottage, where warm
water and clothes-brushes did a good deal to restore them to their
former state, while a cup of tea hurriedly prepared by Mrs Fidler did
something toward soothing their shattered nerves.
"But really, sir, I think you ought to let me send over to Buildston for
Doctor Ranson."
"Not for me, Mrs Fidler," said Uncle Richard. "I've been a good deal
shaken, and my ears are full of a sharp singing sound, but I'm rapidly
coming round. Send for him to see Mr Maxted."
"Oh dear me, no. I'm very much better," said the Vicar. "I was very
much frightened, and I have a lump on the back of my head, but that is
all. You had better send for him, I think, to see Master Tom here."
"I don't want any doctor," exclaimed Tom. "Mrs Fidler could put me
right."
"Yes, my dear," cried the housekeeper; "but you never will let me."
"Well, who's going to take prune tea or brimstone and treacle because he
has been knocked down?"
"There, Mrs Fidler, you hear," said Uncle Richard; "we have had a
narrow escape, but I don't think any of us are much the worse. We only
want rest. Take the couch, Maxted, and lie down."
"Well--er--really," said the Vicar; "if you will not think it selfish of
me, I believe it would do my head good if I lay down for an hour. I am
a good deal shaken."
Mrs Fidler sighed and left the room as the Vicar took the couch, Uncle
Richard one easy-chair, and Tom the other, to lie back and listen to the
murmur of voices out in the lane, where the village people were still
discussing the startling affair. Every now and then some excited
personage raised his voice, and a word or two floated through the window
about "lightning," and "heared it," and "mussy no one was killed."