"I say, daddy, you must drop that microscope, and put on your shade.
You are ruining those dear old eyes of yours again, in spite of what
Alexander told you."

The Doctor took up the green shade which lay beside him, and replaced
it with a sigh and a smile.

"I must use the old things now and then, till you can take my place
at the microscope, Tom; or till we have, as we ought to have, a
first-rate analytical chemist settled in every county-town, and paid,
in part at least, out of the county rates."

The "Tom" who had spoken was one of two youths of eighteen, who stood
in opposite corners of the bay-window, gazing out upon the landscape,
but evidently with thoughts as different as were their complexions.

Tom was of that bull-terrier type so common in England; sturdy, and
yet not coarse; middle-sized, deep-chested, broad-shouldered; with
small, well-knit hands and feet, large jaw, bright grey eyes, crisp
brown hair, a heavy projecting brow; his face full of shrewdness and
good-nature, and of humour withal, which might be at whiles a little
saucy and sarcastic, to judge from the glances which he sent forth
from the corners of his wicked eyes at his companion on the other side
of the window. He was evidently prepared for a day's shooting, in
velveteen jacket and leather gaiters, and stood feeling about in
his pockets to see whether he had forgotten any of his tackle, and
muttering to himself amid his whistling,--"Capital day. How the birds
will lie. Where on earth is old Mark? Why must he wait to smoke his
cigar after breakfast? Couldn't he have had it in the trap, the
blessed old chimney that he is?"