But if Crawley was cool about the matter, his antagonist was very much the reverse. When his passion expended itself, he was not free from apprehension of the consequences of what he had done. Supposing he were ignominiously defeated, after having provoked the contest, what a humiliating position he would be placed in? In every way in which he had competed with Crawley he had hitherto been worsted, and he could not help fearing lest this superiority should still be maintained. However, the die was cast, he was in for it now, and must go through with it as best he could, and, after all, his recently acquired skill must stand him in good stead. Reason in this way as he might, however, he was nervous, and could not settle to anything for long. On Friday night, while Crawley was working in his room, there came a knock at the door, and when he called out, "Come in!" Tom Buller entered.

"I have got something I want to tell you, Crawley," he said. "I have just found out that Saurin has been taking lessons in boxing."

"Oh! of whom? Stubbs, Edwards, or someone equally formidable?"

"No; of Wobbler the pedestrian, who was once a pugilist, and who has been giving boxing lessons at Slam's."

"Oh! I see, that is what has screwed his courage up to the proper pitch. I understand it all now."

"Yes, but avoid wrestling with him; he is good at the cross-buttock, I hear. May I be your second?"

"Certainly you may, if you like; Robarts is the other, and thank you for wishing it, Buller."



CHAPTER SIX.

THE FIGHT.

Beyond the fields where cricket was played there was a little wood, and in this wood a circular hollow, like a pond, only there was no water in it. It was a wonderful spot for wild flowers in the spring, and that was probably the reason why some romantic person had named it The Fairies' Dell. The boys, who were not romantic, as a rule, dropped the Fairies, and called it The Dell. As has been said, this spot was chosen as the arena for the few fistic encounters which the annals of Weston could enumerate, and a better place for the purpose there could hardly be. There was plenty of room for a ring at the bottom, and the gently sloping sides would accommodate a large number of spectators, all of whom had a good sight of what was going on, while the whole party were concealed from view.

At four o'clock on the Saturday afternoon this hollow was thickly studded with Westonians, and all the best places taken. The masters usually took advantage of the half-holiday to go out somewhere for the afternoon, but still ordinary precautions to avoid observation had not been neglected. The boys did not repair to the appointed spot in large noisy bodies, but in small groups, quietly and unostentatiously. Some of them took their bats and balls out, and began playing at cricket, and then stole off to the rendezvous, which was close to them. Saurin was first on the ground; he stood under the trees at the edge of the dell with Edwards and Stubbs, who acted as his seconds, trying to laugh and chat in an unconcerned manner, but he was pale, could hardly keep himself still in one position, and frequently glanced stealthily in the direction by which the other would come. Not to blink matters between the reader and myself, he was in a funk. Not exactly a blue funk, you know, but still he did not half like it, and wished he was well out of it.

Presently there was a murmur, and a movement, and Crawley, with Robarts and Tom Buller on each side of him, and a knot of others following, appeared. Without saying a word both boys went down the sides of the dell to the circular space which had been carefully left for them at the bottom, took off their jackets, waistcoats, and braces, and gave them to their seconds, who folded them up and laid them aside, tied pocket- handkerchiefs round their waists, turned up the bottoms of their trousers, and stepped into the middle of the arena.

"Won't you offer to shake hands?" said Stubbs to Saurin. "I believe it is usual on such occasions."

"Pooh!" replied Saurin, "that is in friendly encounters, to show there is no malice. There is plenty of malice here, I can promise you." He finished rolling up his shirt sleeves to the armpits as he spoke, and walked to the middle of the ring, where Crawley confronted him. All were wrapped in breathless attention as the two put up their hands, and every note of a thrush singing in a tree hard by could be distinctly heard.

The two boys were just about the same height and age, but Crawley had a slightly longer reach in the arms, and was decidedly more "fit" and muscular. But, on the other hand, it was evident directly they put their hands up, that Saurin was the greatest adept at the business. The carriage of his head and body, and the way he worked his arm and foot together, showed this. He moved round his adversary, advancing, retiring, feinting, watching for an opening. Crawley stood firm, with his eyes fixed on those of his antagonist, merely turning sufficiently to face him. At length Saurin, judging his distance, sent out his left hand sharply, and caught Crawley on the right cheekbone. Crawley hit back in return, but beat the air; Saurin was away. Again Saurin came weaving in, and again he put a hit in without a return. The same thing happened a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then Crawley, stung by the blows, went at the other wildly, hitting right and left, but, over- reaching himself, lost his balance and rolled over. The lookers on were astonished; they had expected Saurin to be beaten from the first, and though Crawley was so popular, murmurs of applause were heard, such is the effect of success. Buller knelt on his left knee so that Crawley might sit on his right. In the same manner Saurin sat on Edwards' knee. Saurin's face had not been touched, while that of Crawley was flushed and bleeding.

"You will not be able to touch his face just yet," said Buller. "Fight at his body and try to hit him in the wind. And never mind what I said yesterday about closing with him, we must risk his cross-buttock, and your superior strength may serve you."

"Time! time!" cried the boys, and the antagonists jumped up from their seconds' knees, and met again. Saurin had lost all his nervousness now; his superiority was evident, and he felt nothing but triumph and gratified malice. He did not stop to spar now, but directly he was within reach hit out with confidence. Crawley took the blow without flinching or attempting to parry it, and sent his right fist with all his strength into Saurin's ribs, just as Buller had directed him. Saurin recovered himself, and the round went on, Crawley being further mauled about the face, neck, and head, but getting a hit in now on the other's body, now a round right-hander on his side or the small of his back. In the end they grappled, wrestled, and rolled over together, and were then helped by their seconds to their respective corners. Saurin's face was still untouched, but he puffed and panted for breath, and seemed to feel the effect of the body blows.

"That is capital," said Buller to Crawley; "stick to that for the present, he will soon begin to tire."

"Why, Buller, you seem to be quite up to this sort of thing!" said Robarts in surprise.

"My elder brother went in for the Queensbury cups, and is always talking about boxing and fighting: that's how I know," replied Buller quietly.

"And that is why you wished to be my second?" asked Crawley, who, though his face was a pitiable object, was perfectly cool and self-possessed, and not a bit blown or tired.

"Yes," replied Buller; and "Time!" was again called.

The mass of the spectators looked upon the fight as won by Saurin already, and all the cheering was for him now. This opinion was further strengthened presently, for Crawley, seeing his antagonist panting, thought that at last he might get on equal terms with him, and rushed in to fight at close quarters, but he was met by a straight blow from Saurin's left fist right between the eyes, which knocked him fairly down on the broad of his back, where he lay quite dazed for a moment, till Robarts and Buller assisted him to his corner. The cheering and the cries of "Bravo, Saurin!" "Well hit, Saurin!" were loud and long; many thought that Crawley would not come up again. But though puffed about both eyes, and with a considerably swollen nose, Crawley was soon all right again, and as lively as when he began.

"If I only could mark him!" he said to his seconds. "It is so absurd to see him with his face untouched."

"Wait a bit," replied Buller. "Keep on pegging at his body and wrestling; I'll tell you when to go for his face. He is getting weaker for all that hit last round."

This was true, for Saurin's blows, though they got home, had no longer the force they had at first. In one round, after a severe struggle, he threw Crawley heavily, but the exertion told more upon himself than upon the one thrown. And he began to flinch from the body blows, and keep his hands down. Loafing, beer-drinking, and smoking began to tell their tale, in fact, and at last Buller said, "Now you may try to give him one or two in the face."

They had been at it nearly half an hour, and Crawley, who had been taking hard exercise daily and leading a healthy temperate life, was as strong as when he first took his jacket off. He could hardly see out of his right eye, and his face and neck were so bruised and tender that every fresh blow he received gave him exquisite pain. But his wits were quite clear, he had not lost his temper, and when down, in a few minutes he was ready to stand up again. He easily warded off a nerveless blow of his antagonist, returned it with one from his left hand on the body, and then sent his right fist for the first time straight into Saurin's face. Saurin got confused and turned half round; Crawley following up his advantage, followed him up step by step round the ring, and at last fairly fought him down amidst cheers from the boys, the tide of popularity turning in his favour again.

"You have marked him now, and no mistake," said Buller to Crawley as he sat on his knee. And there could be no doubt about that. The revulsion of feeling Saurin had gone through was great. After establishing his superiority, and feeling confident of an easy victory, to find his adversary refuse so persistently to know when he was beaten! To see him come up time after time to take more hammering without flinching was like a nightmare. And he felt his own strength going from the sheer exertion of hitting; and when he knocked Crawley down he hurt his left hand, which it was painful to strike with afterwards. Again, the body blows he received and thought little of at first began to make him feel queer, and now, when the other took a decided lead, he lost his head and got wild. For he was not thoroughly "game:" he had not got that stubborn, somewhat sullen spirit of endurance which used to be so great a characteristic of the English, and we will hope is not extinct yet, for it would be sad indeed to think that it had passed away. A brilliant act of daring with plenty of spectators and high hope of success is one thing; but to stand at bay when all chance seems gone, determined to die hard and never give in, is quite another. I like to see a fellow spurting when he is distanced; catching his horse, remounting, and going in pursuit after a bad fall; going back to his books and reading harder than ever for another try directly the list has come out without his name in it—never beaten, in short, until the last remotest chance is over. That is the spirit which won at Agincourt, at Waterloo, at Meeanee, at Dubba, at Lucknow, at Rorke's Drift. It was this that Saurin was deficient in, and that would have now stood him in such stead. Edwards was not the one to infuse any of it into him, for he was as much dismayed by the effects of the last round as his friend himself. Stubbs, indeed, tried to cheer him, inciting him to pull himself together, spar for wind, and look out for a chance with his sound right hand, but he was not a youth to carry influence with him.

In the next round Crawley closed with his adversary, who, when he at last struggled loose, rolled ignominiously over on the ground, and in point of beauty there was nothing to choose now between the visages of the two combatants.

"I—I can't fight any more," said Saurin, as he was held up on Edwards' knee, to which he had been dragged with some difficulty.

"Oh! have another go at him," urged Stubbs; "he is as bad as you are, and you will be all right presently if you keep away a bit, and get down the first blow. Just get your wind, and science must tell."

"But I'm so giddy, I—I can't stand," said Saurin.

"Time!" was called, and Crawley sprang off his second's knee as strong as possible, but he stood in the middle of the ring alone.

"It's no good; he can't stand," cried Edwards. And then a tremendous cheering broke out, and everybody pressed forward to congratulate Crawley and pat him on the back. But he made his way over to Saurin, and offered to shake hands.

"It all luck," he said. "You are better at this game than I am, and you would have licked me if you had not hurt your left hand. And look here, I had no right to speak as I did. And—and if you thought I wanted to get you out of the eleven you were mistaken."

Saurin was too dazed to feel spiteful just then; he had a vague idea that Crawley wanted to shake hands, and that it would be "bad form" to hold back, so he put his right hand out and murmured something indistinctly.

"Stand back, you fellows," said Crawley, "he is fainting. Give him a chance of a breath of air."

And indeed Saurin had to be carried up out of the dell, laid on his back under the trees, and have water dashed in his face, before he could put on his jacket and waistcoat and walk back to his tutor's house. And when he arrived there he was in such pain in the side that he had to go to bed. Crawley himself was a sorry sight for a victor. But his discomforts were purely local, and he did not feel ill at all; on the contrary, he was remarkably hungry. Buller was with him when he washed and changed his shirt, for he had been applying a cold key to the back of his neck to stop the nose-bleeding, and now remained, like a conscientious second, lest it should break out again.

"I say, Buller," said Crawley suddenly, "you never go to Slam's, I hope?"

"Not I."

"Then how do you know such a lot about prize-fighting?"

"I told Robarts; my elder brother is very fond of everything connected with sparring, and has got a lot of reports of matches, and I have read all the prize-fights that ever were, I think. I used to take great interest in them, and thought I might remember something which would come in useful. There is a great sameness in these things, you know, and the principles are simple."

"I am sure I am much obliged to you for offering to be my second; I should have been licked but for you."

"I don't know that. I think you would have thought of fighting at his wind when you could not reach his face for yourself, and tired him out anyhow. But if I have been useful I am glad. You took pains to try my bowling when most fellows would have laughed at the idea; and there is the honour of the house too. What I feared was that you would not follow what I said, but persist in trying to bore in."

"Why," replied Crawley, laughing, "Saurin backed up your advice with such very forcible and painful examples of the common sense of it, that I should have been very pig-headed not to catch your meaning. But what rot it all is!" he added, looking in the glass. "A pretty figure I shall look at Scarborough, with my face all the colours of the prism, like a disreputable damaged rainbow!"

"There are three weeks yet to the holidays; you will be getting all right again by then," said Buller.

"I doubt it; it does not feel like it now, at all events," replied Crawley; and when supper-time came he was still more sceptical of a very speedy restoration to his ordinary comfortable condition. It was an absurd plight to be in; he felt very hungry, and there was the food; the difficulty was to eat it. It hurt his lips to put it in his mouth—salt was out of the question—and it hurt his jaws to masticate it, and it hurt his throat to swallow it. But he got it down somehow, and then came prayers, conducted as usual every evening by Dr Jolliffe, who, when the boys filed out afterwards, told him to remain.

"By a process of elimination I, recognising all the other boys in my house, have come to the conclusion that you are Crawley," said the doctor solemnly.

"Yes, sir," replied Crawley.

"Quantum mutatus ab illo! I should not have recognised you. Circumstantial evidence seems to establish the fact that you have engaged in a pugilistic encounter."

"Yes, sir."

"And with whom?"

"I beg your pardon, sir; I hope that you will not insist on my telling. It was my fault; we had a dispute, and I spoke very provokingly."

"Your mention of his name would not make much difference, if you were as busy with your fists as he seems to have been. But I am disappointed in you, Crawley; it vexes me that a boy of your age and standing in the school, and whose proficiency in athletic sports gives you a certain influence, should brawl and fight like this."

"It vexes me too, sir, I assure you."

"You should have thought of that before."

"So I did, sir, and also of the figure I should cut when I went home."

"Well, certainly," said the doctor, unable to help smiling, "I do not advise you to have your photograph taken just at present. But you know," he added, forcing himself to look grave again, "I cannot overlook fighting, which is a very serious offence. You must write a Greek theme of not less than two pages of foolscap, on the Blessings of Peace, and bring it me on Tuesday. And apply a piece of raw meat, which I will send up to your room, to your right eye."

Crawley ran up-stairs rejoicing, for he had got off easier than he expected, and the application of raw meat gave him great relief, so that next day the swellings had very much subsided, though his eyes were blood-shot, and his whole face discoloured. But Saurin did not come round so soon: there were symptoms of inflammation which affected his breathing, and induced his tutor, Mr Cookson, to send for the doctor, who kept his patient in bed for two days. He soon got all right again in body, but not in mind, for he felt thoroughly humiliated. This was unnecessary, for it was agreed on all sides that he had made a first- rate fight of it, and he decidedly rose in the estimation of his school- fellows. But Saurin's vanity was sensitive to a morbid degree, and he brooded over his defeat. A fight between two healthy-minded boys generally results in a close friendship, and Crawley made several overtures to his late antagonist; but as they were evidently not welcome, he soon desisted, for after all Saurin was not one of "his sort." And the term, as it is the fashion now to call a "half," came to an end, and though his wounds were healed, and his features restored to their original shape, Crawley had to go to Scarborough like one of Gibson's statues, tinted.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

TREATING OF AN AIR-GUN AND A DOOR-KEY.

Saurin met with a disappointment when he returned home. His uncle had intended to go abroad and take him with him, but this intention was frustrated by an attack of gout, which kept him to his country home, where his nephew had to spend the entire vacation, and he found it the reverse of lively. Sir Richard Saurin's house stood in the midst of a well-timbered park, and there were some spinneys belonging to the place also. At one time he had rented the shooting all round about, and preserved his own woods; but it was a hunting country, and the havoc made by foxes was found to be so great that he gave up preserving in disgust, and so, growing lazy, made that an excuse for dropping the other field shooting, which passed into different hands. So now there was no partridge-shooting, unless a stray covey chose to light in the park, and there were very few pheasants, though the rabbits were pretty numerous.

Sir Richard, being free from any paroxysm of his complaint when his nephew arrived, laughed at his black eye.

"Is that the result of your course of lessons in boxing?" he asked.

"Well, Uncle Richard, I should have come worse off if I had not had them," replied Saurin; "but one cannot fight without taking as well as giving."

"But why fight at all? That is not what you are sent to school for."

"I never did before, and it is not likely to happen again, only I was forced on this occasion to stand up for myself."

"Well, well," said Sir Richard, "I have something more serious to speak to you about."

Saurin felt his heart beat; he feared for a moment that his visits to Slam's, and the impositions he had practised, had been discovered; but this was not the case.

"It is not a very good report I have received of you this time," continued his guardian. "It seems that you have grown slack in attention to your studies, and have not made the progress which might fairly be expected from a boy of your age and abilities. Now, it is only right to warn you that the income left you by your father very little more than covers the expense of your education; and since a considerable portion of it consists of a pension, which will cease on your being twenty-one, it will not be sufficient for your support, so that you must make up your mind speedily what profession you will adopt, and must exert every effort to get into it. Our vicar here, a young man newly come, is a mathematician and a good German scholar, two subjects which gain good marks, I am told, in all these competitive examinations, and I have made arrangements for you to read with him every morning for a couple of hours."

This was not a very bright look-out for the summer holidays. "Since it was so very necessary for him to work, it was perhaps well that he should not have too much to distract him," he said sarcastically; but found some truth in the words, for he was forced into taking an interest in a German novel which the clergyman, with some tact, chose for him to translate. But the life was dull; when he sought out his former companions, the village scapegraces, he found that there had been a grand clear out of them; it was as if the parish had taken a moral purgative. Bill had enlisted; Tom, the worst of the lot, had (it was his mother who spoke) "got into bad company and gone to Lunnon;" Dick and Jim were in prison, and Harry had reformed and been taken into a gentleman's stables. Solitude!

His principal amusement was shooting rabbits. September was close at hand, and if he had sought the society of his equals, instead of making a bad name in the neighbourhood in former years, he would probably have had more than one invitation to better sport amongst the partridges; but he had such an evil reputation that the gentlemen of the county did not covet his society for their sons. Now, rabbit shooting in the winter, with dogs to hunt the bunnies through brushwood, furze, or bracken, so that snap-shots are offered as they dart across open places, is very good fun; but the only way Saurin had of getting at them at this season was by lying in wait in the evening outside the woods and shooting them when they came louping cautiously out. He found excitement in this at first, but it was impossible to miss such pot-shots for one thing, and he got very few chances for another. The report of the gun frightened them all into the wood, not to venture out again for some time, probably till it was too dark to distinguish them. The only chance was, when a rabbit had been got at one place, to go off at once to another wood at some distance and lie in ambush again there. In this way two, or at most three shots might be got in the short period of dusk. Fond as he was of carrying a gun, Saurin found this sport unsatisfactory after a week or so, though it was infinitely better than not shooting anything at all. But one day when he rode over to the county town, seven miles off, for cartridges, he saw a small air-gun of a new and improved pattern in the shop, which took his fancy very much indeed. It was beautifully finished, charged in the simplest way imaginable, and would carry either a bullet or a small charge of shot, killing easily, the man said, with the former at fifty yards, and with the latter at five-and- twenty. It would require some skill to hit a rabbit in the head with a bullet; and as there was no report to speak of, only a slight crack, killing or missing one would not scare the others. The price was not high, and as Sir Richard never objected to his having anything in reason that he wanted, and was, moreover, glad that the rabbits who committed sad havoc in the garden should be thinned down, he took it home with him and tried it that evening. Just about sunset he repaired to his favourite spot, a clump of three trees growing close together, behind which he could easily conceal himself. A wood, full of thick undergrowth, well nigh impenetrable, ran in front and made an angle to the right, so that there were two sides from which the rabbits might come out. The air was perfectly still, not a leaf was stirring, and every note of a bird that was warbling his evening song, positively the very last before shutting up for the night, fell sharp and clear upon the ear, as Saurin knelt behind the trees, gun in hand, eagerly watching. Presently he saw something brown, rather far on his left, close to the wood. It came a little further out, and the long ears could be distinguished.

Saurin was rather doubtful about the distance, but, eager to try his new weapon, he took a steady aim and pulled. No smoke, no fire, nothing but a slight smack such as a whip would make. The rabbit raised its head, listened, and hopped quietly back into the wood. A palpable miss. But there on the right was another, not thirty yards off this one. Saurin slewed round, got the sight well on its head, and pulled again. This rabbit did not go back to the wood, but turned over, struggled a little, and then lay still. Saurin did not run out to pick it up, but kept quiet, and presently another came out, to see what was the matter with its friend apparently, for it louped up to the body; and he nailed that. And he missed two and killed two more, and then the rabbit community began to suspect there was something wrong, and kept in the wood. But, returning home, he stalked and shot another in the park, making a bag of five altogether, which pleased him immensely.

Next day he tried the shot cartridges on blackbirds and sparrows in the garden, and slaughtered not a few, to the gardener's great delight. It was not only the efficiency of so toy-like a weapon which pleased Saurin; the silence and secrecy with which it dealt death had a charm for him. And so it happened that when the time came for him to return to Weston, he took the air-gun with him. It went into a very small compass, and was easily stowed in his portmanteau. He could smuggle it to Slam's and keep it there, and if he had no chance of using it, he could still show it off to Edwards and his other intimates, and also to the perhaps more appreciative eyes of Edwin Marriner and another, perhaps two other scamps of sporting tastes whom he met at Slam's on certain afternoons, when they guzzled beer, and smoked, and played sometimes at bagatelle, sometimes at cards, or tossed for coppers. And they won his money in a small way, and laughed at his jokes, and took interest in his bragging stories, and went into ecstasies over his songs, and really liked and admired him in their fashion. So the departure of Mr Wobbler did not keep him away, and he went to the yard as much as ever. If he had won the fight it would probably have made a difference, and he might have tried once more to compete for influence and popularity in the school. But now he had quite given up all ideas of that kind. He spoke to Crawley, and shook his hand with apparent cordiality when they first met after coming back, because he felt that it would be ridiculous to show a resentment which he had proved himself powerless to gratify; but he hated him worse than ever, if possible. If the breaking up of the boxing-class did not diminish Saurin's visits to Slam's, it had that effect on the other members of it. Stubbs was faithful to his dog, and Perry to his hawk, and there were other boys who had pets there, or who liked to go on a wet day to see ratting, or the drawing of the badger, an animal who lived in a tub, like Diogenes, and was tugged out of it by a dog, not without vigorous resistance, when anyone chose to pay for the spectacle; the poor badger deriving no benefit from the outlay. But such visits were fitful. Edwards, indeed, was faithful to his friend, but even Edwards did not care for Slam's any longer. He had taken a violent passion for football, and often played, leaving Saurin to go to the yard alone. On Sundays, indeed, he could not play football, but neither did he like playing cards on that day. Saurin laughed him out of his scruples, but not all at once. But Saurin did not want companionship; he preferred that of Marriner and Company.

Edwin Marriner was a young farmer in the neighbourhood of Weston College, and he farmed his own land. Certainly it was as small an estate as can well be imagined, consisting of exactly two acres, pasture, arable, cottage, and pig-stye included, but undoubted freehold, without a flaw in the title. He was just twenty-one when his father died, a year before the time we are treating of, and then Lord Woodruff's agent made him an offer for his inheritance, which he stuck to like a very Naboth.

The price named was a good and tempting one, far more indeed than the land was worth; but when the money was spent he would have nothing for it but to become a mere labourer, or else to enlist, and he did not fancy either alternative, while he could manage to live, as his father did before him, on his patch, which spade-labour made remunerative. He worked for hire in harvest-time, and that brought something; the pig- stye yielded a profit, so did a cow, and there were a few pounds reaped annually from a row of beehives, for the deceased Marriner, though not very enlightened generally, had learned, and taught his son the "depriving" system, and repudiated the idiotic old plan of stifling the stock to get the honey. All these methods of making both ends meet at the end of the year were not only innocent but praiseworthy; but the Marriners had the reputation of making less honourable profits, and that was why Lord Woodruff was so anxious to get rid of them. The two acres lying indeed in the midst of his lordship's estates, was of itself a reason why he should be inclined to give a fancy price for them; but when the proprietor was suspected of taking advantage of his situation to levy considerable toll on the game of his big neighbour, who preserved largely, he became a real and an aggravated nuisance.

Marriner, as his father had done, openly carried a gun, for which he paid his license, and it was impossible, with reason, to blame him, for the rabbits alone would have eaten up every particle of his little stock if he took no measures against them. If he shot an occasional pheasant, or his dog caught a hare, or even two, in the course of the season on his own land, why, no one could wonder. But it was not necessary to sow buckwheat in order to attract the pheasants. And he had no right whatever to set snares in Lord Woodruff's covers, which, though they could not catch him, the gamekeepers were certain he did. One thing decidedly against him in the opinion of the gentry round about, was that he frequently visited Slam's, and Slam was regarded as a receiver of stolen goods, certainly so far as game was concerned, perhaps in other matters also. Edwin Marriner was a wiry-looking little man, with red hair and whiskers, quick bright eyes, and a look of cunning about his mouth. He had two propensities which interfered with one another: he was very fond of strong drink and very fond of money. The drink was delightful, but to spend the money necessary to procure it was a fearful pang. The best way out of the dilemma was to get someone to treat him, and this he did as often as he could. He had plenty of cunning and mother wit, and was skilled in woodcraft, but he was utterly innocent of anything which could fairly be called education. He had been taught to read, but never exercised the gift; he could do an addition sum, and write, with much labour, an ill-spelled letter, and that was all. And this was the individual selected by Saurin for a companion, and, whose society he preferred to that of all his schoolfellows, Edwards not excepted. On half-holidays he would go to his little farm (which was half-an-hour's walk too far for ordinary occasions, now the days had grown short, and "All In," was directly after five-o'clock school), and talk to him while he was at work, for Marriner was industrious, though with a dishonest twist, and if he went to Slam's yard so often now it was because his gentleman friend brought some grist to his mill, besides often standing beer for him, and because he had business relations with Slam; though he liked the boy's company too, and admired his precocious preference for crooked ways, and hatred of lawful restraint. The fact was that they were drawn together by a strong propensity which was common to both, and which formed a never-failing topic of interesting conversation. This propensity was a love of sport, especially if indulged secretly, unlawfully, and at the expense of somebody else; in a word, they were arrant poachers, the man in fact, the boy at heart. Not but what Saurin had snared a hare too in his time.

For some time Marriner had been chary of confessing his depredations, for he was careful about committing himself, especially to a gentleman, who might naturally be supposed to side with the game-preservers. But when the ice was broken he talked freely enough, and from that time the intimacy commenced. Yet at times he had qualms, and feared that he had been rash to depart from his custom of close secrecy; and it often occurred to him that it would be well to draw Saurin into some act of complicity, and so seal his lips effectually and for ever. He felt and expressed great admiration for the air-gun, and suggested that they should try it some moonlight night upon the roosting pheasants. This was treated as a joke at first; a romantic idea which could not, of course, be carried into practice; but after it had been referred to, and discussed again and again, it did not look so utterly impossible. The principal difficulty was the getting out at night, but after many careful inspections of his tutor's premises Saurin saw how this might be managed. There was a small back-yard into which the boys had access at any time; this was surrounded by a high wall with a chevaux de frise at the top, which might be considered insurmountable unless one were Jack Sheppard or the Count of Monte Christo. But there was a door at the bottom, seldom used, hardly ever, indeed, except when coals came in. Outside there was a cart track, and then open field. It was the simplest thing, a mere question of obtaining a key to this door, and he could walk out whenever he liked. Yes, but how to get the key, which was taken by the servant to Mrs Cookson when not in use? To watch when coals were next brought in for an opportunity of purloining it would be worse than useless, for a new lock would be put to the door, and suspicion aroused. An idea occurred to him; he had read of impressions of keys being taken in wax, and duplicates being made from them. He asked Marriner if it were possible to get this done, and the reply was yes, that he knew a friendly blacksmith who would make a key to fit any lock, of which he had the wards in wax, for a matter of say five shillings, which was leaving a handsome margin of profit for himself, we may remark in passing. Five shillings was a lot, Saurin thought, when he was not sure that he would use the key if he had it. Marriner did not know, perhaps it could be done for three; at any rate he might as well have the wax by him in case he got a chance. Curiously enough, he thought he had some in the house, though he sold all his honey in the comb as a rule. But a hive had been deserted, and he knew he had melted the wax down, and it must be somewhere. It was, and he found it, and he got a key and showed Saurin how to take an impression of it.

"Why, you have done it before then!" said Saurin.

"P'raps," replied Marriner, with a side glance of his cunning eyes. "A poor man has to turn his hand to a bit of everything in these hard times."

It was an early winter, and the weather turned very cold, which caused a great consumption of fuel. And one morning, on coming in to his tutor's from early school, Saurin heard the small thunder of coals being poured into the cellar, and saw the yard door open, a wagon outside, and a man staggering from it under a sack. He ran up to his room, threw down his books, took the wax, and went back to the yard door, where he took a great interest in the unlading of the sacks. A fine sleet was falling, with a bitter north-east wind, to make it cut the face, so that there were none of the servants outside, and no one to see him but the two men who were busied in their work. Never was such an opportunity. He had the least possible difficulty in taking the key out of the lock, pressing it on the wax in the palm of his hand, in the way Marriner had shown him, and replacing it without attracting observation. Then he returned to his room, whistling carelessly, and putting the wax, which had the wards of the key sharply defined upon it, in a seidlitz-powder box, to prevent the impression being injured, he locked it up in his bureau and went to breakfast.

Now that this had been accomplished so favourably, it seemed a pity not to have the key made. He might probably never want to use it; but still, there was a pleasant sense of superiority in the knowledge that he was independent of the "All In," and could get out at any hour of the night that he chose. So the next time he went to Marriner's cottage he took the box containing the wax with him, and Marriner paid him the high compliment that a professional burglar could not have done the job better. A week after, he gave him the key, and one night, after everyone had gone to bed, Saurin stole down-stairs, out into the yard, and tried it. It turned in the lock easily, the door opened without noise, and he was free to go where he liked. Only there was no place so good as bed to go to, so he closed and locked the door again, and went back to his room, feeling very clever and a sort of hero. I am sure I do not know why. No one was taken into his confidence but Edwards, and he only because it was necessary to talk to somebody about his poaching schemes, and to excite wonder and admiration at his inventive skill and daring courage, and this Edwards was ready at all times to express. He was never taken to Marriner's, but he still occasionally accompanied his friend to the yard—on Sundays, usually, because of the card-playing, to which he had taken a great fancy. He still thought in his heart that it was very wrong, but Saurin laughed at such scruples as being so very childish and silly that he was thoroughly ashamed of them. Saurin, who was so clever and manly that he must know better than he did, saw no harm. Besides, he was very fond of playing at cards, and though he did not much like the very low company he met at Slam's yard now, he told himself that what was fit for Saurin was fit for him, and it was desirable, beneficial, and the correct thing to see life in all its phases. His hero's defeat by Crawley had not diminished his devotion one iota, for he attributed it entirely to Saurin having crippled his left hand when he knocked his adversary down. Even then he believed that Saurin would have won, only Crawley was in training, and the other was not. Crawley was all very well, but he lacked that bold and heroic defiance of authority which fascinated Edwards (himself the most subordinate soul by nature, by the way). The idea of Crawley's daring even to dream of going poaching, or breaking out at night, or having a false key made! No, he was a good commonplace fellow enough, but Saurin was something unusual,—which it is fervently to be hoped he was. Poor Edwards, with his weak character, which made it necessary for him to believe in someone and yield him homage; what a pity it was he had not fixed on a different sort of hero to worship!



CHAPTER EIGHT.

ANOTHER PROJECT OF EVASION.

Frost, hard, sharp, crisp, and unmistakable; do you like it? It is very unpleasant when you get up of a morning; the water is so cold. And then going to school shivering, and being put on to construe when you have the hot ache in your fingers, is trying to the patience, especially if one is inclined to self-indulgence, and is aided and abetted when at home by one's mother.

But everything has its compensations. Without work play would become a bore; if there were no hunger and thirst there would be no pleasure in eating and drinking; even illness is followed by convalescence, with story-books to read instead of lessons, and licence to lie in bed as long as you like, and so there is the delight, in very cold weather, of getting warm again; and there is also skating. Whether we like it or not we have to put up with it when it comes, and it came that year at an unusual time, before the end of November. We often indeed have just a touch at that period, three days about, and then sleet and rain; but this was a regular good one, thermometer at nineteen Fahrenheit, no wind, no snow, and the gravel-pits bearing. The gravel-pits were so called because there was no gravel there. There had been, but it was dug out, and carted away before the memory of the oldest inhabitant, and the cavities were filled with water. There were quite three acres of available surface altogether, and not farther than a mile from Weston; but "Ars longa, vita brevis est;" the art of cutting figures is long, and the period of practice short indeed. Considering the price spent on skates in England, and the few opportunities of putting them on, it seems barbarous of masters not to give whole holidays when the ice does bear. But then what would parents and guardians say? A boy cannot skate himself into the smallest public appointment, and the rule of three is of much more importance to his future prospects than the cutting of that figure. The Westonians made the most they could of their opportunity, however, and whenever they had an hour to spare the gravel-pits swarmed with them. Their natural tendency was to rapid running, racing, and hockey; but Leblanc, who was born in Canada, where his father held an appointment, and who had worn skates almost as soon as he had shoes, did such wonderful things as set a large number of them practising figure skating. Buller was bitten by the mania; he had never tried anything before but simple straightforward running on the flat of the skate with bent knees, so he had a great deal to learn; but with his usual persistency, when he once took anything in hand he did not regard the difficulties, and only dreaded lest he should not have sufficient opportunity of practising. He began, of course, by endeavouring to master the outside edge, which is the grammar of figure skating, and watched Leblanc, but could make nothing out of that, for Leblanc seemed to move by volition, as some birds appear to skim along without any motion of the wings. He could not give hints, or show how anything was done, because he could not understand where any difficulty lay. It was like simple walking to him; you get up and walk, you could not show any one exactly how to walk.

But there were two or three other fair skaters from whom more could be learned; Penryhn, for example, was a very decent performer of simple figures. He came from a northern county, where there was yearly opportunity of practice, and had been taught by his father, who was an excellent skater.

"The first great thing you must always bear in mind," said he, "is that the leg upon which you stand, while on the outside edge, must be kept straight and stiff, with the knee rigidly braced. You see some fellows there practising by crossing the legs; while they are on one leg they bring the other in front, and across it, before they put it down on the ice. This certainly forces you to get on to the outside edge, but it twists the body into a wrong position—one in which the all-important thing in skating, balance, cannot be acquired. Besides, it gets you into a way of bringing the foot off the ground to the front, whereas it ought always to be a little behind the one you are skating on, and it takes as long to get out of that habit as to learn the outside edge altogether pretty well. Why, here is Old Algebra positively with a pair of skates on!"

"Old Algebra," as a mathematical genius, whose real name was Smith, was called, skated very well too.

"Look here, Algebra," cried Penryhn, "I am trying to show Buller how to do the outside edge; can't you give him a scientific wrinkle?"

"The reason why you find an initial difficulty in the matter," said Algebra gravely, adjusting his spectacles, "is that you naturally suppose that if you bend so far out of the perpendicular, the laws of gravity must cause you to fall. But that is because you omit the centrifugal force from your consideration; remember what centrifugal force is, Buller, and it will give you confidence."

"Oh, I have confidence enough!" said Buller; "it's the power of getting on to the edge without overbalancing myself that I want, and all that rot about the laws of gravity won't help me."

"I fancied they wouldn't, but Penryhn asked for a scientific wrinkle. If you want a practical one, keep the head and body erect, never looking down at the ice; when you strike out with the right foot, look over the right shoulder; body and foot are sure to follow the eye, and clasp your hands behind you, or keep them at your sides; do anything but sway them about. That's it, you got on to the outside edge then; now boldly with the left foot, and look over the left shoulder. Never mind (Buller had come a cropper); you fell then because you did not let yourself go, but when your skate took the outside edge you tried to recover. You lacked confidence, in short, in the centrifugal force, and bothered yourself, instinctively, without knowing it, with the laws of gravity. Try again; you stick to that. Rigidity. Right foot—look over right shoulder, not too far, just a turn of the head. Left foot—look over left shoulder. There, you did not fall then. Trust to the centrifugal force, that's the thing," and he swept away with a long easy roll.

"A capital coach he would make," said Penryhn, admiringly. "He always tells you just what you want to know without bothering."

"Yes," said Buller, "I have asked him things in lessons once or twice, and he made it all as clear as possible, but I didn't know he was good for anything else. This is a grand idea for learning to skate, though; look here, this is all right, is it not?"

"Yes, you have got it now; lean outwards a little more, and don't bend forward. The weight should be on the centre of the foot."

There are few sensations more delightful than the first confident sweep on the outside edge, with the blade biting well into the clear smooth ice, and Buller felt as if he could never have enough of it, and he kept on, trying to make larger and larger segments of a circle, not heeding the falls he got for the next half-hour, when it was time to be getting back, and he had reluctantly to take his skates off, and jog home at a trot. The next chance he had he was back to the ice and at it again.

Others who had got as far as he had began practising threes, or trying to skate backwards, but not so Buller. He must have that outside edge perfectly, and make complete circles on it, without hesitation or wobbling, much less falling, before he attempted anything else. Progress did not seem slow to him, he was used to that in everything, and he was surprised at improving as quickly as he did. All he dreaded was a heavy snow-fall, or a breaking up of the frost, and either calamity was to be expected from hour to hour. Before going to bed on the night of the third day of the ice bearing, he drew the curtain and looked out of window. The moon was nearly full, there was not a breath of wind stirring to shake the hoar-frost off the trees; all was hard, and bright, and clear. How splendid the pits would be now! How glorious to have the whole sheet of ice to one's self! why, with such a chance of solitary practice he might well expect to cut an eight, for he could already complete entire circles on each foot. If it were not for the bars to his window he would certainly go. The lane below had no building to overlook it; none of the windows of that part of the house where Dr Jolliffe and his family, and the servants slept, commanded the lane. He would have no other house to pass on the way to the gravel- pits; really there would be no risk to speak of at all. The window was barely more than six feet, certainly not seven from the ground, and the brick wall old and full of inequalities where the mortar had fallen out, and the toe might rest; with a yard of rope dangling from the sill, to get in again would be the easiest thing possible. The more he thought about it the more simple the whole scheme seemed; if it were not for the bars. He examined them. The removal of one would be sufficient.

"You beast!" said Buller, seizing and shaking it. It seemed to give a little, and he shook it again: it certainly was not very tight, and he examined it further. It fitted into the woodwork of the window-frame at the top, and terminated at the bottom in a flat plate, perforated with three holes, by which it was secured by nails to the sill. Nails? no, by Jove, screws! Only the paint had filled in the little creases at the top of them, and it was simple enough to pick that off. His pocket- knife had a screw-driver at the top of it, he applied this and turned it; the screw came up like a lamb. So did the second; so did the third. The bar was free at the bottom, and when he pulled it towards him it came out in his hand! He replaced it, just to see if it would be all right. It was the simplest thing in the world, you could not tell that it had been touched. So he took it out again, laid it aside carefully, and considered.

He had no rope, but there was a leather belt, which he buckled round one of the other bars, dropping the end outside. Perhaps that would give rather a slight grip, so he also got out a woollen scarf, such as is sometimes called a "comforter," which he possessed, and fastened that to the bar also. With that there could be no difficulty in getting in again. Should he give Penryhn or any other fellow a chance of accompanying him? Well, on the whole, no. It was impossible that it should be discovered, but still, apparent impossibilities do happen sometimes. Suppose one of the masters had a fancy for a moonlight skate! He did not mind risking his own skin, when the risk was so slight, but to get another fellow into a row was an awful idea. Besides, two would make more noise getting out and in than one, and the other might laugh, or call out, or play the fool in some way or another. And as for being alone in the expedition, Buller rather liked that than otherwise. He was rather given to going his own way, and carrying out his own ideas unhampered by other people's suggestions.

So he quickly determined to keep his counsel and disturb no one. He had blown his candle out before first trying the bar, and had been working by the bright moonlight. Then he fastened his skates round his neck, so that they should neither impede his movements, nor clatter, and put one leg out of window, then the other, turned round, let himself down by the hands, and dropped into the lane. He looked up to see that the scarf was hanging all right; it was within easy reach of both hands; he gave it a pull to try it, and being satisfied, got over into the field, and started at a jog-trot for the gravel-pits. It was glorious; utter stillness—the clear sheet of ice flooded with the moonbeams, a romantic sense of solitude, and a touch of triumphant feeling in having got the best of the world, and utilising such a magnificent time, while others were wasting it in bed. He put his skates on and began. Whether the exhilaration of stealing a march upon everybody, or the impossibility of running up against anyone, or the confidence inspired by solitude, and the absolute freedom from being laughed at if he fell, were the cause, he had never gone like this before. Striking out firmly from the start, he went round the sheet of ice in splendid curves, the outside edge coming naturally to him now. A long sweep on the right foot, a long sweep on the left, round and round, with arms folded or clasped behind him. Not a trip, not a stumble, not a momentary struggle to retain the balance. It was splendid! Then at last he began with the circles which he was so anxious to perfect himself in. Round he went on his right, in smaller compass than he had ever accomplished one yet, with plenty of impetus to bring him round at the end. Then round on the left, quite easily, without an effort. Again with the right, and so on, a capital eight. It was like magic, as if he had acquired the art in an instant. Or was he in bed and dreaming that he was skating? It really seemed like it. If it were so, he did not care how long it was before he was roused. But no, he was wide awake, and the phenomenon was simply the result of confidence, following on good and persevering practice in the right direction. Breaking away from his eight, he swung round and round the pond again as fast as he could go. Then he tried a three; the first half on the outside edge, forwards was easy enough, and he found no difficulty in turning on the toe, but he could not complete the tail on the inside edge backwards without staggering and wobbling. He had a good two hours of it, and then the moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds and he prepared to go home. Skating in the dark would be poor fun, and besides it was very late, so he made for the bank, took his skates off, and jogged back.

Mr Rabbits, one of the masters, who was great at chemistry, and could tell you to a grain how much poison you swallowed in that water for which the Gradus sarcastically gives pura as a standing epithet, had been asked by the vicar of Penredding, a village five miles off, to give a lecture in his school-room to the parishioners, one of a series of simple entertainments which were got up to cheer the long evenings in the winter months. The vicar was an old college friend of Mr Rabbits, who gladly consented, and like a wise man chose the subject which he was best up in, writing a very amusing and instructive but very elementary paper on Light, with plenty of illustrations and simple experiments, which kept his audience in a state of wonder and delight the whole evening, and sent them home with plenty to think and talk about afterwards. It was necessary to have a very early and hurried dinner, the lecture beginning at seven, so Mr Rabbits went back to the vicarage after it was over, to supper, after which there was a chat about the old college boat and so forth, and it was rather late when he started for home. He had refused the offer of a conveyance, considering that the five miles walk on a bright still frosty night would be a luxury, and so he found it, though for the latter part of his journey the moon was obscured. It was not so dark, however, as to prevent his distinguishing objects, and as he passed along the lane by which he entered Weston he was sure he saw someone lurking under the wall at the back of Dr Jolliffe's house. Suspecting there was something wrong, he got into the shade under the hedge and crept noiselessly along, taking out of his pocket a piece of magnesium wire which he had made use of in his lecture, and a match-box. Presently he saw the figure raise itself from the ground towards a window, and immediately struck a match and ignited the wire, which he held over his head. The whole side of the house was at once as bright as day, and a boy was distinctly seen getting in at the window.

"Buller!" exclaimed Mr Rabbits, "what are you doing there?"

"Please, sir, I am getting in," said poor Buller.

"So I perceive," said Mr Rabbits; "but what right have you there?"

"It's my own room, please, sir."

"Well, but what right then had you out of it at this time of night?"

"None at all, sir, I am afraid."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I hoped not to be seen, sir."

"Hum! What have you been doing?"

"Skating, sir."

"I shall report you in the morning."

Poor Tom Buller! How crest-fallen he felt as he conscientiously replaced the bar, and screwed it down again. How heavy his heart was as he took his clothes off and got into bed? What a fool he had been, he thought, and yet at the same time how awfully unlucky. Wrecked at the moment of entering the port! However, it was done now, and could not be helped; he must stand the racket. He supposed he should get off with a flogging. Surely they would not expel him for such a thing as that. Of course they would make an awful row about his breaking out at night, but he had not done any harm when he was out. And the doctor was a good- natured chap, he certainly would let him off with a rowing and a flogging. He had never been flogged; did it hurt very much, he wondered? at all events it would soon be over. He had thought for a moment while skating that perhaps it was a dream; how jolly it would be if it could only prove a dream, and he could wake up in the morning and find that the whole business was fancy. What a good job that he had not told Penryhn, and got him into a row as well. What a nuisance that old Rabbits was to come by just at the wrong moment; five minutes earlier or five minutes later it would have been all right. What thing was that he lighted? What a tremendous flare it made, to be sure. Well, it was no use bothering; happen what might he had a jolly good skate, and was firm on the outside edge for ever. Now the thaw might come if it liked, and Tom, who was a bit of a philosopher, went to sleep.



CHAPTER NINE.

THE POACHERS.

Buller was not the only Weston boy who broke out unlawfully that night.

From Mr Cookson's house as from Dr Jolliffe's an adventurer stole forth. But Saurin's object was not so innocent as Buller's, neither was it so unpremeditated. For he nursed felonious designs against Lord Woodruff's pheasants, and the project had been deliberately planned, and, as we know, the key which was to open the yard door cunningly manufactured, a long time beforehand.

Edwards, as a result of talking about the expedition, and his friend's glowing anticipation of the fun of it, became quite anxious to join in. But Marriner did not think this advisable when Saurin put the matter to him. They only had one air-gun, and two were quite enough for a stealthy excursion of this kind. A third could take no part in the proceedings, and would only be an extra chance of attracting observation. As a matter of fact, Marriner would rather have been quite alone, as his custom was on these predatory occasions, and it was only his desire to make Saurin an accomplice, and so seal his mouth, which induced him to depart from his ordinary custom now. And to tell the truth, when the time actually came, and Edwards saw his friend steal along the yard, unlock and open the door at the further end, and close it behind him, he was glad in his heart that he was not going too. Not because it was wrong: he had got his ideas so twisted that he thought it an heroic piece of business altogether, and admired Saurin for his lawless daring. But he felt conscious of not being cast in the heroic mould himself, and actually shuddered at the thought of gliding about the woods at dead of night, thinking that someone was watching him behind every tree, and might spring out upon him at any moment. Especially when he curled himself up in bed, and pulled the blankets snugly round him, did he feel convinced that he was far more comfortable where he was than he would have been in Lord Woodruff's preserves.

Saurin had no compunctions of this sort; he did not flinch when the time came; on the contrary, when he found himself out in the fields he felt a keen thrill of enjoyment. There was just enough sense of danger for excitement, not enough for unpleasant nervousness. To be engaged in what was forbidden was always a source of delight to him, and here he was braving the rules of his school and breaking the laws of his country all at once: it was like champagne to him. Yet it was the very height of absurdity to risk expulsion, imprisonment, perhaps penal servitude for nothing, literally for nothing.

He had no earthly use for the game when it was stolen, Marriner would have it and sell it, but the question of Saurin's sharing in the profits had not even been mooted. To do him justice he had not thought of such a thing, the sport was all that tempted him. The field of their operations was not to be near Marriner's house, but in a part of the estates a good bit nearer Weston, and on the other side of it. Marriner had learned that there was to be a poaching expedition on a large scale that night at the other extremity of the preserves, a good three miles off. He knew the men and their method. They used ordinary guns, killed off all they could in a short time, and got away before the keepers could assemble in force, or if they were surprised they showed fight. He never joined in such bold attacks, but when he knew of them took advantage, as he proposed to do on the present occasion, of the keepers being drawn away, to do a little quiet business on his own account in another direction. The place appointed for Saurin to meet Marriner was a wood-stack reached by a path across the fields, two miles from Weston. Closing the yard door behind him, but not locking it, he started off at a sharp walk, keeping in the shade whenever he could, though all was so still and noiseless that he seemed almost to be the only being in the world, when he had once got quite out of the sight of houses. But no, a night-hawk swept by him, so close as to make him start, and a stoat met him in the middle of a trodden path across a ploughed field; showing that there were other game depredators besides himself abroad. The way seemed longer than it was in the daytime, but at last he got to the wood-stack, where he saw no one, but presently a figure stole round the corner and joined him: Marriner with the air-gun and a sack.

"It's all right," he said, "I heard the guns nigh half-an-hour ago. There's never a watcher nor keeper within more nor a couple of miles off, and we have a clear field to ourselves."

Saurin took the gun, for it was an understood thing beforehand that he was to have all the shooting, which indeed was but fair, and Marriner, carrying the sack, led the way to a coppice hard by, indeed the wood forming the stack had been cut out of it. He crept on hands and knees through the hedge and glided into the brushwood, Saurin following, for some little distance. Suddenly he stopped, laid his hand on his companion's arm, and pointed upwards. Perched on the branch of a tree, and quite clear against the moonlit sky, was a round ball.

"Pheasant?" asked Saurin.

"Yes," was the reply. "And there's another roosting there, and another yonder, and another—"

"I see them," replied Saurin in the same whispered tones. And raising his air-gun he got the roosting bird in a line with the sights, which was as easy to do pretty nearly as in broad day, and pressed the trigger. The black ball came tumbling down with a thump on the ground, and Marriner, pouncing upon it, put it in his sack. A second, a third were bagged without stirring from the spot. A few steps farther on another, who had been disturbed by the whip-cracks of the air-gun, had withdrawn his head from under his wing. But he did not take to flight at once, being comfortable where he was and the sounds not very alarming, and while he hesitated he received a violent shock in the middle of his breast, which knocked him off his perch powerless and dying. A little further on another, and then yet another were bagged: it was a well-stocked coppice, and had not been shot yet. Lord Woodruff was reserving that part for some friends who were coming at Christmas, and with the prospects of whose sport I fear that Saurin somewhat interfered that night. The sack indeed was pretty heavy by the time they had gone through the wood, and then Marriner thought that it would be more prudent to decamp, and they retraced their steps by a path which traversed the coppice. Once back at the wood-stack they were to separate, so before they left the coppice Marriner put down his now heavy sack, and Saurin handed him the air-gun, which he stowed away in his capacious pocket. Then they went on, and just as they were on the edge of the wood came suddenly upon a man.

"Hulloa! young gentleman," exclaimed he to Saurin, who was leading, "what are you up to? What has the other got in that sack?"

Marriner slipped behind the trees.

"I have got you, at any rate," said the man, seizing Saurin by the collar.

The latter would not speak lest his voice should be recognised afterwards, but he struggled all he knew. The man soon overpowered him; but Marriner came to the rescue. Throwing down the sack of pheasants, he had taken from his pocket an implement of whalebone with a heavy knob of lead at the end, and coming behind the man, both whose hands were holding on to Saurin, he struck him with it on the head as hard as he could. The keeper's grasp relaxed, he fell heavily to the ground, and Saurin was free. The man lay on his back with his head on the path, and the moonbeams fell on his face.

"Simon Bradley," muttered Marriner. "To be sure he lives this way, and was going home after the alarm on t'other side."

Saurin was seized with a violent shivering from head to foot.

"He isn't, I mean to say you have not—eh?" he said.

"Dunno, and don't much care, curse him!" replied Marriner. "It would be laid to t'other chaps if he is."

"But we ought to do something; get him some help," urged Saurin, who had not become sufficiently hardened to like such devil's work as this. "If he is living he will be frozen to death lying out such a night as this."

"Oh, he will be all right!" said Marriner. "He's only stunned a bit. He will come to in ten minutes and get up and walk home."

"But can't we leave word at his house, and then be off?"

"That would be a fool's trick, that would. Why, it would bring suspicion on us, and if he is a gone coon—it's impossible, you know, almost—but if he is, we should get scragged for it. Come, I didn't think you was so chicken-hearted, or I wouldn't have brought you out. Let's get away home at once while we can, and don't go a putting your neck in a halter for nowt."

Fear overcame compunction, and Saurin turned and fled. How he got home he did not know, but he seemed to be at the back-door of the yard immediately almost. Then he steadied himself, went in, locked the door, and stole up to his room and to bed. He did not sleep that night. The face of the gamekeeper lying there in the moonlight haunted him. He wished, like Buller, but oh, much more fervently, that the whole business might turn out to have been a nightmare. But the morning dawned cold and grey, and he got up and dressed himself and went in to school, and it was all real. He could not fix his attention; his mind would wander to that coppice. Had the gamekeeper come to, tried to struggle up, fainted, fallen back, perished for want of a little assistance? Or had he got up, not much the worse, and had he seen his face clearly, and, recognising that it was a Weston boy, would he come to the school and ask to go round and pick him out?

"Saurin!"

It was only the voice of the master calling on him to go on with the construing, but he had so entirely forgotten where he was that he started and dropped his book, which caused a titter, for Saurin was not habitually either of a meditative or a nervous turn. He felt that he really must pull himself together or he would excite suspicion.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "my hands are numb, and I dropped the book. Where's the place?" he added sotto voce to his neighbour.

"I think your attention was numb," said the master.

Saurin had the chorus in the play of Euripides, which was undergoing mutilation at his fingers' ends, so he went on translating till he heard, "That will do. Maxwell!" and then he relapsed into his private meditations. After all, he had not struck the blow, Marriner's trying to drag him into a share of the responsibility was all nonsense. They might say he ought to have given the alarm, or gone for a doctor, but nothing more. And yet he fancied he had heard somewhere that to be one of a party engaged in an unlawful act which resulted in anyone being killed was complicity or something, which included all in the crime. One thing was clear, he must keep his counsel, and not let Edwards or anyone know anything about it, because they might be questioned; and he must guard against showing that he was at all anxious. And why should he be? A man did not die for one knock on the head; he was probably all right again. And he could not have seen his face so as to recognise him; it was quite in the shade where they had been struggling. It was all nonsense his worrying himself; and yet he could not help listening, expecting a messenger to come with some alarming intelligence, he could not define what. After school Edwards came up to him and drew him aside confidentially, full of eagerness and curiosity.

"Well," he said, "was it good fun? How did it all go off?"

"It was a regular sell," replied Saurin, smothering his impatience at being questioned, and forcing himself to take the tone he was accustomed to assume towards his chum in confidential communications.

"How! did you not meet Marriner?"

"Oh, yes! I met him all right; but it was no good. There were other poachers out last night, and we heard their guns, so of course we could not attempt anything, because the gamekeepers would all have been on the look-out. You were well out of it, not coming, for it was precious cold work waiting about, and no fun after all."

"What a bore! But you will have better luck next time, perhaps."

"I hope so, if I go; but the fact is, I have lost confidence in Marriner rather. He ought to have found out that those other fellows were going out last night, don't you see? At least he always brags that he knows their movements. And it will be some time before the moon serves again; and then the Christmas holidays will be coming on; and by next term the pheasants will all have been shot off. The chance has been missed."

"Well, at all events, you have got all right and not been discovered. Do you know, when one comes to think about it, it was an awful risk," said Edwards.

"Of course it was," replied Saurin; "that made all the fun of it. Rather idiotic, though, too, since one hopes to preserve game one's self some day. It would be a better lark to go out to catch poachers than to go out poaching."

"A great deal, I should say. Not but what that is risky work too. Those fellows do not flinch from murder when they are interrupted."

"What makes you say that?" cried Saurin quickly, turning and catching him sharply by the arm.

"I don't know!" replied Edwards, astonished at the effect of his words. "I have read about fights between gamekeepers and poachers in books, and heard of them, and that; haven't you? How queer you look! Is there anything the matter?"

"Not a bit of it," said Saurin, regretting his imprudence; "only, I was frozen hanging about last night, and when I got back I could not sleep for cold feet, so I am a bit tired. And I think I have caught cold too. And you know," he added, laughing, "having enlisted in the ranks of the poachers last night, at least in intention, I feel bound to resist any attacks on their humanity.

"But, as a matter of fact, I believe that they do show fight for their spoil and their liberty when they find themselves surprised. Shots are exchanged and mischief happens sometimes. But my poor little air-gun would not be a very formidable weapon in a row, I expect. Its peppercorn bullets are good for a rabbit or pheasant, but would hardly disable a man. The gamekeeper with his double-barrel would have a good deal the best of it. But, I say, my cold has not taken away my appetite. Let us get in to breakfast, and hang poaching."



CHAPTER TEN.

THE FATES ARE DOWN UPON BULLER.

Tom Buller had finished his breakfast, and was ruefully preparing his lesson in his room, when he heard his name being called up the staircase. "Buller! I say, Buller!"

"Well, what's the row?" he asked, opening his door with a sinking heart. The voice of the caller sounded singularly harsh and discordant, he thought.

"Oh, Buller! the doctor wants to see you in his study."

"All right!" replied Buller; "I will come at once."

But though his mouth said "All right," his mind meant "All wrong." He had entertained the absurd hope, though he hardly admitted the fact to himself, that Mr Rabbits, with whom he was rather a favourite, would not report him, forgetting, or not realising, the great responsibility which Mr Rabbits would incur by failing to do so. Well, he would know the worst soon now at any rate, that was one consolation, for there is nothing so bad as suspense, as the man said who was going to be hanged.

Dr Jolliffe's study was in a retired part of the house, not often visited by the boys. Here the uproar of their voices, and their noisy tread as they rushed up and down the uncarpeted staircases, could not be heard. Here thick curtains hung before the doors, which were of some beautifully grained wood (or painted to look like it), and gilded round the panels. Thick carpets lined the passages, rich paper covered the walls; all the surroundings were in violent contrast to the outer house given up to the pupils, and gained an exaggerated appearance of luxury in consequence.

Buller, with his heart somewhere about his boots, tapped at the awful door.

"Come in!" was uttered in the dreamy tones of one whose mind was absorbed in some occupation, and who answered instinctively, without disturbance of his thoughts.

Buller entered and closed the door behind him.

The doctor, who was writing, and referring every now and then to certain long slips of printed paper which were lying on the table at his side, did not speak or look up, but merely raised his hand to intimate that he must not be disturbed for a moment. So Buller looked round the room; and noted things as one does so vividly whenever one is in a funk in a strange place; in a dentist's waiting-room, say. The apartment was wonderfully comfortable. The book-cases which surrounded it were handsome, solid, with nice little fringes of stamped leather to every shelf. The books were neatly arranged, and splendidly bound, many of them in Russia leather, as the odour of the room testified. Between the book-cases, the wall-paper was dark crimson, and there were a few really good oil-paintings. The fireplace was of white marble, handsomely carved, with Bacchantes, and Silenus on his donkey—not very appropriate guardians of a sea-coal fire. On the mantel-piece was a massive bronze clock, with a figure of Prometheus chained to a rock on the top, and the vulture digging into his ribs. And Buller, as he noticed this, remembered, with the clearness afforded by funk spoken of above, that an uncle of his, who was an ardent homeopathist, had an explanation of his own of the old Promethean myth. He maintained that Prometheus typified the universal allopathic patient, and that the vulture for ever gnawing his liver was Calomel. The clock was flanked on each side by a grotesque figure, also in bronze. Two medieval bullies had drawn their swords, and were preparing for a duel, which it was apparent that neither half liked. A very beautiful marble group, half life-size, stood in one corner, and gave an air of brightness to the whole room. And on a bracket, under a glass case, there was a common pewter quart pot, which the doctor would not have exchanged for a vase of gold. For it was a trophy of his prowess on the river in old college days, and bore the names of good friends, now dead, side by side with his own. The table at which the doctor sat was large, with drawers on each side for papers, and a space in the middle for his legs, and was covered with documents collected under paper-weights. It took Tom Buller just two minutes to note all these objects, and then the doctor looked up with an expression of vacancy which vanished when he saw who stood before him. He tossed his quill-pen down, took off his spectacles, and said:

"Well, Buller, what have you got to say for yourself?"

Tom hung his head, fiddled with a button of his jacket, and murmured something to the effect that he did not know.

"It is a very serious offence of yours that has been reported to me, nothing less than breaking out of the house, out of my house, in the dead of night. A most enormous and unparalleled proceeding. Why, in the whole course of my experience I never knew of a boy having the audacity—at least it is extremely rare," said the doctor, somewhat abruptly breaking the thread of his sentence. For he suddenly remembered, conscientious man, that when an Eton boy himself he had committed a similar offence for the purpose of visiting the Windsor theatre. "Suppose that in consequence of your example the custom spread, and the boys of Weston took to escaping from their rooms at night and careering about the country like—" He was going to say like rabbits, but the name of the master who had detected the offender occurred to him, and dreading the suspicion of making a joke he changed it to—"jackals, howling jackals." "Have you been in the habit of these evasions?"

"Oh, no, sir!" cried Tom, encouraged by something in the doctor's tones to speak out. "I never thought of such a thing till last night, just as I was going to bed. But the moon was so bright, and the bar was so loose, and the ice bears such a short time, and I take so much longer than others to learn anything, and I was so anxious to get perfect on the outside edge, that I gave way to the temptation. It was very wrong, and I am very sorry, and will take care nothing of the sort ever happens again."

"So will I," said the doctor drily. "These bars shall be looked to. And who went with you?"

"No one, sir, no one else knew of it. I just took my skates and went. I did not see how wrong it was, sir, then, as I do now. I am slow, sir, and can only think of one thing at a time."

"And the outside edge engrossed all your faculties, I suppose."

"Yes, sir."

Dr Jolliffe would have given something to let him off, but felt that he could not; to do so would be such a severe blow to discipline. So he set his features into the sternest expression he could assume, and said, "Come into my class-room after eleven-o'clock school."

"Yes, sir," replied Buller, retiring with a feeling of relief; he was to get off with a flogging after all, and he did not imagine that castigation at the hands of the doctor would be particularly severe. For the head-master's class-room contained a cupboard, rarely opened, and in that cupboard there were rods, never used at Weston for educational purposes. For if a boy did not prepare his lessons properly it was assumed that they were too difficult for him, and he was sent down into a lower form. If he still failed to meet the school requirements, his parents were requested to remove him, and he left, without a stain on his character, as the magistrates say, but he was written down an ass. Such a termination to the Weston career was dreaded infinitely more than any amount of corporal punishment or impositions, and the prospect of being degraded from his class caused the idlest boy to set to work, so that such disgraces were not common. The birch, then, was had recourse to simply for the maintenance of discipline, all forms of imprisonment being considered injurious to the health. And an invitation to the doctor's class-room after school meant a short period, quite long enough, however, of acute physical sensation, which was not of a pleasurable character.

But everything is comparative in this world, and Tom Buller, who had feared that expulsion might be the penalty exacted for his offence, or at any rate that his friends at home would be written to, and a great fuss made, was quite in high spirits at the thought of getting the business over so quickly and easily. He found a group of friends waiting for him to come out of the doctor's study, curious to know what he had been wanted for, Tom not being the sort of fellow, they thought, to get into a serious scrape; and when he told them that he had got out of his window the night before to go skating, that Mr Rabbits had caught him as he was getting in again by lighting up some chemical dodge which illuminated the whole place, and that he was to be flogged after eleven-o'clock school, they were filled with admiration and astonishment. What a brilliant idea! What courage and coolness in the execution! What awfully bad luck that old Rabbits had come by just at the wrong moment! They took his impending punishment even more cheerfully than he did himself, as our friends generally do, and promised to go in a body and see the operation. One, indeed, Simmonds, lamented over his sad fate, and sang by way of a dirge—

"'Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew,'"

in a fine tenor voice for which he was celebrated. And this being taken as an allusion to the branch of cricket, in which Buller had learned to become a proficient, was considered a joke, and from that time forth the object of it was known as Tom Bowling.

Eleven o'clock came, and they all went into school, and Buller did his best, to fix his attention on what he was about, instead of thinking of what was coming afterwards. Dr Jolliffe's class was select, consisting of a dozen of the most proficient scholars, Crawley and Smith being the only two of those mentioned in this story who belonged to it. He had hardly taken his chair ten minutes before a servant came in with a card and a note, stating that a gentleman was waiting outside, and that his business was very pressing. The doctor glanced at the card, which was Lord Woodruff's, and then tore open the note, which ran thus:

"Dear Dr Jolliffe, can I speak to you a moment. I would not, you may be sure, disturb you during school hours if there were not urgent reason for the interruption."

"Where is Lord Woodruff?" he asked, rising from his seat.

"Waiting in the cloister at the foot of the stair, sir."

And there indeed he found him, an excitable little man, walking up and down in a fume.

"Dr Jolliffe," he cried, directly he saw him, "were any of your boys out last night? Tut, tut, how should you know! Look here. There were poachers in my woods last night, and the keepers, hearing the firing, of course went to stop, and if possible arrest them. The rascals decamped, however, before they could reach the place, and the keepers dispersed to go to their several homes. One of them, Simon Bradley, had some distance to walk, his cottage being two miles and more from the place. As he passed through a coppice on his way he came upon a boy and a figure following with a sack, whether man or boy he could not say, as it was in deep shadow. He collared the boy, who was big and strong, and while he was struggling with him he was struck from behind with a life- preserver or some such instrument, which felled him to the ground, bleeding and senseless. After some time he came to, and managed to crawl home, and his wife sent off to tell me, and I despatched a man on horseback to fetch a surgeon. And Bradley is doing pretty well; there is no immediate fear for his life. Of course he has recovered his wits, or I could not give you these details, and he is certain that the fellow he was struggling with was a Weston boy."

"Well, you see, Lord Woodruff," said the doctor, "unless the poor fellow knew the boy, he could hardly be sure upon that point, could he?"

"Pretty nearly, I think, Dr Jolliffe. Your boys wear a distinctive cap of dark flannel?"

"Yes; but when they get shabby they are thrown aside, and many of the village youths round about get hold of them and wear them."

"Aye," said Lord Woodruff, "but Bradley is confident that this was a young gentleman; he wore a round jacket, with a white collar, and stiff white cuffs with studs in them, for he felt them when he tried to grasp his wrists. No young rustic would be dressed in that fashion, and, taken together with the cap, I fear that it must have been one of your boys."

"It looks suspicious, certainly," said the doctor, somewhat perplexed.

"I am very sorry indeed to give you trouble, and to risk bringing any discredit on the school," said Lord Woodruff. "But you see one of my men has been seriously injured, and that in my service, and if we could find this boy, his evidence would enable us to trace the cowardly ruffian who struck the blow."

"Then you would want to—to prosecute him, in short."

"In confidence, doctor, I should be glad not to do so if I could help it, and if he would give his evidence freely it might be avoided. But it may be necessary to frighten him, if we can find him, that is. And, doctor, allow me to say that if this were merely a boyish escapade, a raid upon my pheasants, I should be content to leave the matter in your hands, considering that a sound flogging would meet the case. But my man being dangerously hurt alters the whole business. I owe it to him, and to all others in my employ, not to leave a stone unturned to discover the perpetrator of the outrage, and I call upon you, Dr Jolliffe, to assist me."

The doctor bowed. "Can your lordship suggest anything you would like done towards the elucidation of this mystery?" he said. "In spite of the jacket and cuffs, I find it difficult to suppose that any Weston boy is in league with poachers. But you may rely on my doing all in my power to aid you in any investigation you may think desirable."

"I expected as much, and thank you," replied Lord Woodruff. "It occurred to me, then, that it might be well, as a preliminary measure, to collect the boys together in one room and lay the case before them, promising impunity to the offender, if present, on condition of his turning queen's evidence."