“And you did not know anything about it, Pete?” said Tom one day, as he sat beside the lad in Mother Warboys’ cottage, while the old woman kept on going in and out, muttering to herself, and watching them uneasily.

Pete looked very thin and hollow-cheeked, but for the first time perhaps for many years his face was perfectly clean, and his hair had been clipped off very short; while now, after passing through a phase of illness which had very nearly had a fatal result, he was slowly gaining strength.

The dog, which had been lying half asleep beside his master, suddenly jumped up, to lay its long, thin nose on Tom’s knee, and stood watching him, perfectly happy upon feeling a hand placed for treating as a sheath into which he could plunge the said nose.

“You give him too much to eat,” said Pete. Then suddenly, “No, I can’t recklect. It was blowin’ when I got in to go and sleep, ’cause she was allus grumblin’, and then somethin’ ketched me, and my arm went crack, and it got very hot, and I went to sleep. I don’t ’member no more. I say.”

“Yes.”

“I shan’t take no more doctor’s stuff, shall I?”

But he did – a great deal; and in addition soups and jellies, and sundry other preparations of Mrs Fidler’s, till he was able to go about very slowly with his arm in a sling, to where he could seat himself in some sandy hollow, to bask in the sun along with his dog.

“But it’s bringing up all the good in his nature, Tom,” said the Vicar, rubbing his hands, “and we shall make a decent man of him yet.”

“Humph! doubtful!” said Uncle Richard.

“You go and look for comets and satellites,” cried the Vicar good-humouredly. “Tom’s on my side, and we’ll astonish you yet. Wait a bit.”

Uncle Richard smiled, and David, when Pete formed the subject of conversation, used to chuckle.

“Not you, Master Tom,” he said; “you’ll never make anything of him, but go on and try if you like. I believe a deal more in the dog. He arn’t such a bad one. But Pete – look here, sir. If you could cut him right down the thick part below his knees, which you couldn’t do, ’cause he arn’t got no thick part, for them shambling legs of his are like pipe-shanks – ”

“What are you talking about, David?” said Tom merrily.

“Pete Warboys, Master Tom. I say, if you could cut him down like that, and then graft in a couple o’ scions took of a young gent as I knows – never you mind who – bind ’em up neatly, clay ’em up, or do the same thing somewheres about his middle, you might grow a noo boy, as’d bear decent sort o’ fruit. But you can’t do that; and Pete Warboys ’ll be Pete Warboys as long as he lives.”

The old gardener had some ground for his bad opinion, for as the time rolled on, Pete grew strong and well, and then rapidly began to grow into a sturdy, strongly-built fellow, who always had a grin and a nod for Tom when they met; but it was not often, for he avoided every one, becoming principally a night bird, and only showed his gratitude to those who had nursed him through his dangerous illness, after saving his life, by religiously abstaining from making depredations upon their gardens.

“Which is something,” David said with a chuckle. “But I allus told you so, Master Tom; I allus told you.”

Tom, too, proved that the country air and his life with his uncle agreed with him, for he grew wonderfully.

“But you do sit up too much o’ nights, Master Tom,” said Mrs Fidler plaintively. “I wouldn’t care if you’d invent a slope up in the top of the mill; but you won’t.”

“I often get a nap on the couch down below,” said Tom, laughing. “Look here, Mrs Fidler, come up again some evening, and you shall see how grand it all is.”

“No, my dear, no,” said the housekeeper, shaking her head. “I don’t understand it all. It scares me when you show me the moon galloping away through the skies, and the stars all spinning round in that dizzy way. It makes me giddy too; and last time I couldn’t sleep for thinking about the world going at a thousand miles an hour, for it can’t be safe. Then, too, I’m sure I should catch a cold in my head with that great shutter open. I was never meant for a star-gazer. Let me be as I am.”

And time went on, with Tom plunging more and more deeply into the grand science, and rapidly becoming his uncle’s right-hand man, helping him with the papers he sent up to the learned societies, till in the course of a couple of years people began to talk of the discoveries made with the big telescope at Heatherleigh.

Then came a morning about two years and a half after the terrible storm. Tom, who had not retired till three o’clock, for it had been a gloriously clear night, and he and his uncle had been busy for many hours over Saturn’s satellites, which had been observed with unusual clearness, was sleeping soundly, when he was awakened by the sharp rattling of tiny pebbles against his window.

“Hulloo! what is it, David?” he cried, as he threw open his window.

“I told you so, sir; I told you so,” cried the gardener. “I allus said how it would be.”

“Some one been after the apples again?”

“Apples! no, sir; ten times worse than that. Pete’s took.”

“What?”

“Just heard it from our policeman, sir, who has been out all night. Pete Warboys has been for long enough mixed up with the Sanding gang, and was out with them last night over at Brackenbury Park, when the keepers come upon them, and there was a fight. One of the keepers was shot in the legs, and two of the poachers was a good deal knocked about. They were mastered, and four of ’em are in the lock-up.”

“But you said Pete was taken.”

“Yes, sir, he’s one of ’em; and that arn’t the worst of it.”

“Then what is?”

“His dog flew at one of the keepers when they were holding Pete Warboys, and the man shot him dead.”

“Poor wretch!” said Tom.

“Ay, I’m real sorry about that dog, sir. He was a hugly one surelie, but just think what a dog he’d ha’ been if he’d been properly brought up.”

The news was true enough; and fresh tidings came the very next day to Heatherleigh, Uncle Richard hearing that his brother had disposed of his practice, and gone to live down at Sandgate for his health.

Then, as the days glided by, the report came of examinations before the magistrates, which the Vicar attended.

“I went, Tom,” he said, “because I was grieved about the young man, for I tried again and again to wean him from his life; but nothing could be done – everything was too black against him. He and the others have been committed for trial, and Pete is sure to be severely punished.”

“Perhaps it will be for the best, Mr Maxted,” said Tom. “It will be a very sharp lesson, and he may make a decent man after all.”

“Nil desperandum,” said the Vicar; “but I am afraid.”

The trial came on, and Tom felt tempted to be present. It was not for the sake of seeing his old enemy in the dock, but out of interest in his fate, which on account of his youth resulted in the mildest sentence given to a prisoner that day; and as soon as he heard it pronounced by the judge, Pete rather startled the court by shouting loudly to Tom, whom he had sat and watched all through —

“Good-bye, Master Tom; God bless yer!”

The next minute he was gone, and somehow the young astronomer went away back home feeling rather sad, though he could not have explained why.

It was about a month later that a legal-looking letter arrived, directed to him, beautifully written in the roundest and crabbiest of engrossing hands.

It was from Pringle, telling how, thanks to Uncle Richard’s letter of recommendation, he was never so happy in his life, for he was in the best of offices, and had the best of masters, who was a real gentleman, with a wonderful knowledge of the law.

“You’d have taken to it, Mr Thomas, I’m sure, if you’d been under him; but one never knows, and it wasn’t to tell you this that I’ve taken the liberty of writing to you. I suppose you know that your uncle sold his practice, but perhaps you don’t know why. I heard all about it from the new man they had. I met him over a case my gov’nor was conducting. It was all along of Mr Samuel, who used to go on awfully. He got at last into a lot of trouble and went off. You’ll never believe it; but it’s a fact. He’s ’listed in the Royal Artillery.”

“And the best place for him,” said Uncle Richard, frowning, when he read the letter in turn; “they will bring him to his senses. By the way, Tom, Professor Denniston is coming down to see our glass; he wants to make one himself double the size, and says he would like our advice.”

“Our advice, uncle?” said Tom, laughing.

“Yes,” said Uncle Richard seriously; “your advice, gained by long experience, will be as valuable as mine.”

One more reminiscence of Tom Blount’s country life, and we will leave him to his star-gazing, well on the high-road to making himself one of those quiet, retiring, scientific men of whom our country has such good cause to be proud.

Heatherleigh and its neighbourhood had been very peaceful for four years, and the word poacher had hardly been heard, when one day, as Tom was in the laboratory, he heard a sharp tapping being given at the yard gate with a stick, and going to the window he started, for there was a tall, dark, smart-looking artillery sergeant, standing looking up, ready to salute him as his face appeared.

“Cousin Sam!” mentally exclaimed Tom, and his face flushed.

“Beg pardon, sir; can I have a word with you?” came in a loud, decisive, military way.

“Why, it’s Pete Warboys!” cried Tom. “Yes, all right; I’ll come down,” and he went below to where the sergeant stood, drawn up stiff, well set-up, and good-looking, waiting for the summons to enter.

“Yes, sir, it’s me,” said the stranger, smiling frankly.

“I shouldn’t have known you, Pete.”

“S’pose not, sir. They rubbed me down, and set me up, and the clothes make such a difference. Besides, it’s over four years since you saw me.”

“Yes – how time goes; but I did not know you had enlisted.”

“No, sir; I never said anything. You see, I came out of prison, and I didn’t want to come back here, for if I had, I couldn’t ha’ kept away from the rabbits and birds, and I should have been in trouble again. You made me want to do better, sir, but I never seemed as if I could; and just then up comes a recruiting sergeant, just as I was hesitating, and I looked at him, and heard what he had to say, how the service would make a man of me.”

“And you took the shilling, Pete?”

“Yes, sir; and the best day’s work I ever did,” said Pete, speaking sharply, decisively, and with a manly carriage about him that made Tom stare. “I was was bombardier in two years, and a month ago I got my sergeant’s stripes.”

He gave a proud glance at the chevrons on his arm as he spoke.

“I’m very glad, Pete.”

“Thankye, sir. I knew you would be. You did it, sir.”

“I?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Maxted used to talk to me, but it was seeing what you were set me thinking so much; but there was no way, and I got into trouble. I’m off to Malta, sir, in a month. On furlough now, and down here to see the old woman.”

“Ah! She’s very feeble now, Pete.”

“Very, sir. She’s awfully old; but she knew me directly, and began to blow me up.”

“What for?”

“Throwing myself away, sir,” cried Pete, with a merry laugh. “Poor old soul, though, she knows no better. Good-bye, sir. I shall see you again. I read your name in the paper the other day about finding a comet, and it made me laugh to think of the old days. Good-day, sir. I’m going to see Mr Maxted. I find he has been very good to the poor old granny since I’ve been away.”

“And some people say that the army’s a bad school,” said Mr Maxted that night at dinner, when Uncle Richard and Tom were spending the evening at the Vicarage. “If they would only do for all rough young men what they have done for Pete Warboys, it would be a grand thing. But I always did have hopes of him, eh, Tom?”

“Ah,” said Uncle Richard, “it’s a long lane that has no turning.”

“I say, Master Tom,” cried David, who never could see that his young master had grown a man, “did you see Pete Warboys? There: if anybody had took a hoath and swore it, I wouldn’t ha’ believed there could ha’ been such a change. Here, look at him. Six foot high, and as straight as a harrer. ’Member giving him the stick over the wall?”

“Ah, Mr David!” cried Pete, marching up. “How are the apples? – Beg pardon, Mr Blount, I forgot to say something to you last night.”

“Yes; what is it?” said Tom, walking aside with the sergeant.

“There’s curious things happen sometimes, sir; more curious than people think for.”

“Yes, often in science, Pete,” said Tom.

“Dessay, sir; but I mean in every-day life. Your cousin, sir.”

“Yes. What about him?” cried Tom eagerly.

“Him that was down here, sir, and I fetched the ladder for to get in yonder.”

“Then it was you, Pete?”

“Oh yes, sir; I helped him. I was a nice boy then. You’ll hardly believe it, but he’s in my company – a soldier. Private R.A.”

“My cousin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And is he getting on well?” said Tom.

“Hum! ha!” said the sergeant stiffly. “He gets into trouble too often. I don’t think he’ll earn his stripes just yet. Good-morning, sir, and good-bye. But – ”

“Yes, Pete.”

“Would you mind shaking hands, sir – once?” Tom’s hand darted out.

The next minute Pete was swinging along at the steady, firm rate of the British soldier on the march, and Tom Blount went back into the mill, to continue a calculation connected with the stars.