things, keep quiet, so that his scientific investigations are not
disturbed. Why doesn't he let us go out riding, or boating on the
river, or down to the village to play baseball with the rest of
the fellows? A real live American boy can't be still the time,
and he ought to know it," and, with a decided shake of his curly
head, Tom Rover took a baseball from his pocket and began to throw
it up against the side of the farmhouse, catching it each time as
it came down.

Tom had thrown the ball up just four times when a pair of blinds
to an upper window flew open with a crash, and the head of a
stern-looking elderly gentleman appeared. The gentleman had gray
hair, very much tumbled, and wore big spectacles.

"Hi! hi! boys, what does this mean?" came in a high-pitched voice.
"What are you hammering on the house for, when I am just in the
midst of a deep problem concerning the rotation of crops on a
hillside with northern exposure?"

"Excuse me, Uncle Randolph, I didn't think to disturb you,"
answered Tom meekly. "I'll put the ball away."

"You never stop to think, Thomas. Give me that ball."

"Oh, let me keep it, Uncle Randolph! I won't throw it against the
house again, honor bright."

"You'll forget that promise in ten minutes, Thomas; I know you
well. Throw the ball up," and Mr. Randolph Rover held out hands.