Explore "The Secret in the Hill" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
But the morning, rising cold and bright, though still misty, found me on the rebound once more. The day, after all, is what we make it, and I _would_ not think evil of so smiling a one. Mr. Sant was back, even if we could not see him yet, and his mere neighbourhood was a splint to a weak-knee'd conscience.
Uncle Jenico, though still oppressed with some odd premonition, some formless concern about me, permitted himself to be reassured so far by my high spirits as to let me go presently, with nothing more than an earnest entreaty that I would take care of myself. I had told him nothing about our proposed trip to the Weary Sands. It would have served no purpose but to trouble him all day with anxiety as to our return. I was glad to think, later, that I had not done so; that I had sat content with him for an hour or two after breakfast; had kept him chatting genially, and made him laugh; had taken a genuine bright interest in the "Colossal Wrench," an invention (which he was engaged in perfecting at the time) somewhat on the principle of the Spanish garrotte, for applying tremendous haulage to an object -- the most gratifyingly practical of all his inspirations, as you shall see.