"Why it would be miles round to get home this way," thought Tom.

"Perhaps he was thirsty, and asked some one to take him down to the river, and is waiting."

It was not a good solution of the problem, and he was not satisfied, for there was no sign of the chair near the ford. But there were traces again in the sand which had been washed to the side, and here the chair had made a curve and run close to the bank for a few yards; then out into the hard road, and he saw no more for a couple of hundred yards, and then they were on the left-hand side, and Tom's blood began to turn cold, as they say, for the tracks bore off to the side road leading down into the sand-pit.

"Why the chair ran away with him, and perhaps he's killed."

At this thought Tom's legs ran away with him down into the thick sandy road, where the wheel-marks were deeply imprinted, showing that the chair had been that way.

Now he had never been down into the pit, and only once as far as the edge, into which he had peered from the road above, whence he had looked down upon a colony of martins darting in and out of their holes in the sand-cliff. He had determined to examine the place, but that morning he was compelled to hurry back to breakfast. Now he had to explore the depths of the pit in a very different mood; and he was not half-way down the slope when he found that the wheels had suddenly curved off, and then, from the marks on the smooth sand, it had evidently turned over.

And there, sixty or seventy yards away, and fully a hundred feet below him, it lay bottom upwards, while away to its right sat its late occupant, making signs with his stick.

Tom did not attempt to go on down the roadway, which meant quite a journey, but began to descend at once, slipping, scrambling, falling and rolling over in the loose sand, which gave way at every step, and took him with it, till at last, hot and breathless, he reached the invalid's side.

"Hurt, uncle?" he panted.

"Hurt, sir?" cried Uncle James angrily. "I'm nearly killed. I don't think I've a whole bone left in my body. You dog! You scoundrel! You did it on purpose. You knew it was not safe to leave that miserable, wretched wreck of a thing. It was all out of revenge, and you wanted to kill me."

"Oh no, uncle," cried Tom, staring in astonishment at the vigour his uncle had displayed. For there was no moaning, no holding the hand to the breast, and complaining of shortness of breath, but an undue display of excitement and anger, which had made cheeks burn and eyes glisten.

"I'm very sorry, uncle; it was that young scoundrel's fault."

"I don't believe it, sir. It was a trick. Disgraceful!"

"Wait a minute, uncle, and I'll fetch the chair. I'll get it here, and then help you up to the top before I take it up."

"Fetch the chair!" stormed James Brandon. "It's a wreck, sir; one wheel's off, and the front one's all bent sidewise. Here, give me your hand."

He caught hold of the extended wrist, and with that and the stick, toiled up the steep slope, to the boy's astonishment; and when they had reached the road, jerked the wrist from him, and walked on without a word till they came in sight of the house, when Tom plucked up the courage to speak.

"Really, uncle, I did not think of anything but running after that lad."

"I want no excuses, sir," cried Uncle James fiercely. "I know what it means. You are too idle--you are sick of wheeling the chair. It was all a planned thing. But mind, I shall take a note of it, and you will find out that you've made the great mistake of your life. Here, you sir!"

This was to David, who was in the garden; and he hurried up.

"Go and order me a fly to come here directly."

"From the station, sir? It's over there all day now."

"From anywhere, only make haste."

"Yes, sir," said David; and he gave Tom a sharp look as much as to say, "Rather too much of a good thing to go over there twice." Then he fetched his coat and went off.

"Hallo! Walking?" cried Uncle Richard, coming out of the observatory.

"Where's the chair?"

"Broken, smashed, thanks to this young scoundrel; and it's a mercy I'm alive. But I'll have no more of this."

Uncle James strode into the house, and his brother turned to Tom for an explanation, and had it.

"But he did not walk back all the way?"

"Every step, uncle, and didn't seem to mind it."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Uncle Richard, frowning, as he locked up the yard gate and followed his brother into the house.

Half-an-hour later Mrs Fidler announced dinner, when Uncle James came down looking black as thunder, and answered his brother in monosyllables, refusing to speak once to Tom, at whom he scowled heavily.

"I'm sorry you had such an upset, James," said Uncle Richard at last.

"Thank you," was the cold reply.

"But I don't think you are any the worse for it."

"Thank you!" said Uncle James again, but more shortly.

"Tom, my lad, tell David as soon as dinner is over to borrow the Vicar's cart, and go to the sand-pit and fetch the broken chair."

"David has gone to the station, uncle," said Tom.

"Station? What for?"

"Uncle sent him for the fly."

"Fly?"

"Yes, sir," said Uncle James. "I sent your gardener for the fly, and if there's any charge for his services I will pay him. I see I have outstayed my welcome, and the sooner I am off the better."

"My dear James, don't be absurd," said Uncle Richard. "What you say is childish."

"Of course, sir; sick and helpless men are always childish."

"There, don't take it like that. Tom a.s.sures me it was an accident. If you are upset by it, let me send for the doctor to see you."

"Thank you; I'll send for my own doctor as soon as I get back to town."

"You're not going back to town to-day," said Uncle Richard, smiling.

"We shall see about that," said Uncle James, rising from his place, for the dinner was at an end, and walking firmly enough out of the room.

Uncle Richard frowned and looked troubled. Mrs Fidler looked at Tom, and as soon as they were alone she began to question him, and heard all.

"Well," she said, "I'm not going to make any remarks, my dear, it isn't my duty; but I will say this, I don't like to see your dear uncle imposed upon even by his brother, and I hope to goodness Mr James will keep his word, for I don't believe you upset him on purpose."

Uncle James did keep his word, for an hour later he was in the fly with his portmanteau on his way to the station.

"And never give me so much as a shilling, Master Tom, and me been twice to fetch that fly. If he wasn't your uncle, sir, I'd call him mean.

But what did you say? I'm to fetch the chair, as is lying broken at the big sand-pit?"