"Till you can see your way?" said Singh, frowning. "What does he mean by that?"

"Oh, I'll soon tell you, sir. Money enough to make a fair start. There's plenty of hard work to do here with the Doctor and such a large family of you young gentlemen as he's got; but he's a very good master, kind-hearted and just, and if any of us is unwell there's everything he could want, and plenty of rest. And one don't like to give up a comfortable home and start one that's worse. It's money that's in the way, sir. We have both been saving ever since we were engaged; but it takes a long time to make your saving much when you can only put away a few pounds apiece every year."

"Oh, well, look here," cried Glyn; "if you'll promise not to get married while we are here at the school, I'll give you—let's see, what shall I say?—five pounds. I dare say father will give it to me.—Now, Singh, what will you do?"

"Just the same," replied Singh.

"Thank you, gentlemen," cried Wrench. "Come, I call that handsome; but you know," he added laughingly, "I shouldn't like to make any promises, for I don't know what a certain lady would say. Thank you all the same, both of you. You've both been very pleasant gentlemen and very nice ever since you have been here. You neither of you ever called me a lazy beast and shied your boots at me because they wasn't black enough, or called me a fool for not making your water hotter so as you could shave."

"Why, who did then?" cried Glyn.

"Oh, I am not going to tell tales, gentlemen. Some young gents are born with tempers and some ain't, while there are some again that come here as nice and amiable as can be, after a year or two get old and sour and ready to quarrel with everything. I don't know; but I think sometimes it's them Greek classics, as they call them. You see, it's such unchristian-like looking stuff. I have looked at them sometimes in the Doctor's study. Such heathen-looking letters; not a bit like a decent alphabet. But there, I must be off, gentlemen. I have all my work waiting, and I am going away—only think of it!—ten pounds richer than when I first began to turn that there handle this morning, if—if I stop here—I mean, if we stop here till you young gents have done schooling."

Wrench finished filling his cans of water and stooped to pick them up, but set them down again, to look at them both thoughtfully.

"My word, gentlemen, you would both begin to wonder at the times and times I have laid awake of a night trying to hit a bright—I mean, think of some idea by which I could make a lot of money all at once: find some buried in a garden, or bring up a bag of gold in the bottom of one of those two water-buckets, or have somebody leave me a lot, or pick it up in the street and find afterwards it belonged to nobody. I wouldn't care how I got it."

"So long as it was honest, Wrenchy?" said Glyn, laughing.

"Oh, of course, sir—of course. You see, a man's got a character to lose, and when a man loses his character I suppose it's very hard to find it again; so I have been told. But I never lost mine. But I do want to get hold of a nice handy lump of money somehow, and when I do, and if I do—"

"Well, what would you do then?" cried Singh.

"Well, sir, I shouldn't stop here till you two gents had done schooling."

Then, picking up his two water-cans once more, the Doctor's footman trudged off towards the house.

"That must have been old Slegge who threw his boots at him," said Singh thoughtfully. "What a disagreeable fellow he is!"

"Yes," said Glyn. "I wish I had been there to stop it. He's been knocking some of the little fellows about shamefully because he says that they have hidden his bat."

"You wish you had been there?" said Singh. "Why, I thought you said that you wouldn't fight any more."

"To be sure; so I did. Well, then, I don't wish I had been there. But I say," continued Glyn, laughing merrily, "what a lot of Greek he must know!"

"But he doesn't," cried Singh. "He doesn't know much more than I do, for he came to me to help him with something the other day."

"Well, then, as Wrenchy says, how what he does know must have disagreed with him!"

"Yes," said Singh thoughtfully, as he laid his hand on his companion's shoulder and they strolled down the garden together, waiting for the breakfast-bell to ring. "Poor old fellow! Poor old fellow! Poor old fellow!"

"Well, you are a queer chap, Singh! You say you want to be thoroughly English, and you talk like that."

"Well, I do want to be English," cried Singh, "and I try very hard to do as you do, because I know what guardian says is right."

"Well, you never heard me pity Slegge and call him poor old fellow."

"I didn't. I meant poor Wrenchy, who wants money so badly. It must be very queer to want money very badly and not be able to get it."

"I suppose so," replied Glyn. "I seem to have always had enough, while as for you, you're as rich as rich; quite a king you'll be some day, with servants and a little army, and everything you want. I say, what do you mean to do with all your money?"

"I don't know," said Singh, laughing, and then knitting his brows, "but I should like to give Wrench some. He's such a good, hard-working fellow, and always does everything you tell him with such a pleasant smile. I wonder how he will get all he wants. Do you think he will find it some day in a garden or in the street?"

"Or have a big lump of it tumble out of the moon, or find that it's been raining gold all over the Doctor's lawn some morning when he gets up? No, I don't—not a bit; and there goes the breakfast-bell, so come along."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A SQUABBLE.

"Anybody seen anything of Singh?" cried Glyn one day as he went out into the cricket-field, where Slegge was batting to the bowling of some of his little slaves and several of the older boys were looking on.

"Baa! Baa! Baa!" cried Slegge, imitating a sheep, and stopping to rest upon his bat. "Hark at the great lamb calling after its black shepherd! Go on, some of you, and help me," and in answer to his appeal a chorus of bleating arose, in which, in obedience to a gesture made with the bat, the little bowlers and fielders were forced to join.

"Well, if I were a quarrelsome chap," said Glyn to himself, "I should just go up to Master Slegge and put my fist up against his nose. Great, stupid, malicious hobbledehoy! But it's very plain Singhy hasn't been here. Now, where can he be? Gone down the town perhaps to buy something—cakes or fruit I suppose. How fond he is of something nice to eat? But there, he always gives a lot away to the little fellows. Well, so do I, if you come to that; but I don't think it's because I give them buns and suckers that they all like me as they do. Well, I suppose that's where Singh's gone; but he might have told me and asked me to go with him."

The boy strolled back with the intention of going into the class-room, now empty, to sit down and have a good long read; but as he drew near the house he came upon the page, who, wonderful to relate, displayed a face without a vestige of blacking.

"Hi, Sam!" cried Glyn. "Seen anything of Mr Singh?"

"Yes, sir; I see him down the town—saw him down the town, sir, I mean," said the boy hastily, recalling the fact that he had been corrected several times about his use of the verb "To see."

"Saw him down the town," he muttered to himself. "See, saw; see, saw. Wish I could recollect all that."

"Which way was he going?" said Glyn.

"Straight down, sir, towards the church, along of Mr Morris, sir."

"Humph! Gone for a walk, I suppose," said Glyn thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir, they were walking, sir. Shall I tell him you want him, sir, when he comes back?"

"Oh no, I don't think you need. I dare say he'll come to me," replied Glyn, and he strolled into the big class-room, unlocked his desk, got out a book of travels, opened it at one particular spot which he had reached a day or two before, and then began to read, growing so interested that a couple of hours glided away like half of one.

Then, closing the book with a sigh, as the dial on the wall insisted upon the fact that time was passing, he replaced the work and went up to his room to prepare for the evening meal.

"What a pity it is," he said, "that half-holidays will go so quickly. Classic afternoons always seem three times as long, and so do Mr Morris's lessons. I wish I were not so stupid over mathematics."

On reaching the door of his room he thrust it open quietly, and found Singh kneeling down before his Indian bullock-trunk, lifting out some of its contents ready to make place for something else.

"Why, hallo! There you are, then!" Singh started as sharply as if he had received a slap on the shoulder, scrambled up something long tied up in brown paper that lay by his side, thrust it into the trunk, and began to cover it quickly with some of the articles that had been taken out.

"Ha, ha! Caught you!" cried Glyn. "What have you got there? Cakes or a box of sweets?"

"Neither," said Singh rather slowly.

"Oh, all right, I don't want to know," cried Glyn good-humouredly. "But I know: you mean a surprise—a tuck-out to-night when we come to bed. Who are you going to ask?"

"No one," said Singh shortly.

"Oh, I would. Ask Burney and Miller. They're good chaps, only Slegge keeps them under his thumb so. They'd give anything to break away, I know."

Singh was silent.

"Here, I say," cried Glyn, "I tell you what would be a rare good bit of fun, and if the Doctor knew he wouldn't notice it. Let's get about a dozen of the little chaps some night, Burton and Robson, the small juniors, and give them a regular good feed quite late. They would enjoy it. What do you say?"

"Yes," said Singh; "to be sure we will."

"I say," said Glyn, "I'd have come with you if you had asked me this afternoon. What a close old chap you are! Where have you been? Here, I'm going to see what you have got there."

"No, no!" cried Singh excitedly, as Glyn stepped forward, only meaning it as a feint; and the boy threw himself across the open box, to begin scrambling the dislodged things over the something that was loosely covered with brown paper, and in his hurry and excitement, instead of hiding it thoroughly, exposing one small corner. But it was quite big enough to let Glyn see what it was; and, laughing aloud, he cried:

"Why, what a coward you are! I was only pretending."

Singh hurriedly closed the lid of the trunk.

"Where have you been?"

Singh was silent for a moment, for a struggle was going on in his mind.

"I have been out for a walk with Mr Morris," he said.

"Well, there's no harm in that," said Glyn. "Where did you go? Across the park, or down by the river?"

Singh was silent for a moment or two once more, and then in a hurried way he seemed to master his reserve, and said:

"We didn't go regularly for a walk. We went to see Professor Barclay."

"Mr Morris took you to see Professor Barclay?" said Glyn.

"Yes, yes; but I wish you wouldn't keep on questioning me so."

"Well, I want to know," said Glyn quietly. "You don't speak out and tell me, so I am obliged to ask."

"Well," said Singh gloomily, "I want to be open and tell you; but you are such a queer fellow."

"Yes, I am," said Glyn, looking hard at his companion.

"Well, so you are," said Singh half-angrily; "and you are so fond of finding fault with me and not liking what I do."

"I don't know that I should have minded your going to see Professor Barclay," said Glyn slowly, "especially if you went with Mr Morris."

"No, you oughtn't to," cried Singh hastily. "Mr Morris said that it would be a kindness to go and see the poor gentleman, for he is a gentleman and a great scholar."

"So I suppose," said Glyn, "in Sanskrit."

"Yes; and he's very poor, and can't get an engagement, clever as he is; and it seems very shocking for a gentleman to be so poor that he can't pay his way, and we are so rich."

"Oh, I'm not," said Glyn, laughing.

"Yes, you are, while that poor fellow can hardly pay the rent of his room, and he confessed to me—I didn't ask him—but he was so anxious to tell me why he had not paid me that money back that—"

"Why, you haven't been lending him money, have you?" cried Glyn.

"Well—yes, a trifle. He called it lending; but when I heard from Mr Morris how badly the poor fellow was off, of course I meant it as a gift; but I couldn't tell a gentleman that it was to be so."

"Then you have been there before?"

"Yes, two or three times. Mr Morris said that it would be a kindness, for the Professor sent me messages, begging me to go and see him, as he has led such a lonely life among strangers, and he wanted to communicate to me some very interesting discoveries he had made in the Hindustani language."

"Oh," said Glyn slowly; "and did he ask you to lend him money each time you went?"

"Well, not quite. He somehow let it out how poor he was, and I felt quite hot and red to think of him being in such a condition; and Mr Morris, too, gave me a sort of hint that a trifle would be acceptable to him. And there, that's all. Why do you want to keep on bothering about it?"

"Mr Morris took you there, and talked to you like that?"

"Yes, yes, yes," cried Singh petulantly. "I told you so."

"And did he say something to you about Hindustani and Sanskrit?"

"Yes. But there, let's talk about something else."

"Directly," said Glyn. "And did he read the letters on the emeralds?"

Singh looked up at him sharply. "What made you ask that?" he said.

"I asked you," said Glyn, "because I see you took the belt with you this afternoon."

"How did you know that?" snapped out the boy.

"Why, a baby would have known it. It was plain enough when you were in such a hurry to scramble it out of sight, and were so clumsy that you showed me what it was."

"Oh!" ejaculated the boy sharply; and he stood biting his lip. "I—I—"

"There, don't stammer about it," said Glyn.

"But I felt that you would find fault with me and object."

"That's quite right," said Glyn, frowning. "I should have done so, for you promised me not to begin showing that thing about to anybody. Why will you be so weak and proud of what, after all, is only a toy?"

"It isn't a toy," cried the boy indignantly. "It is something very great and noble to possess such a—such a—"

"Showy thing," said Glyn grimly.

"You can't see it correctly," said Singh; "and I only took it that Mr Barclay, who is a great student, might read—decipher, he called it—the words engraved on the stones; and he was very grateful because I let him read them, and thanked me very much."

"But you might have remembered what I said to you about it."

"I did remember, Glynny," cried the boy warmly. "I thought of you all the time, and I even offended him at last by not doing what he wished."

"What did he wish? To get you to lend him more money?"

"No," cried Singh. "He wanted me to leave the belt with him, so that he might sit up all night and copy the inscription."

"He did?"

"Yes; and I wouldn't, because I thought you wouldn't like it, and that it wouldn't be right. But you don't know how hard it was to do. Mr Morris said, though, that I was quite right, and he told me so twice after we came away."

"But why was it hard?" asked Glyn.

"Because Mr Barclay said it would be nothing to me, and it meant so much to him. But it worried me very much, because it seemed as if I, who am so rich, would not help one who was so poor."

"I don't care," cried Glyn angrily. "You did quite right, and this Mr Barclay can't be a gentleman. If he were, he would not have pressed you so hard. It isn't as if it were a book. If that were lost, you could buy another one."

"But he said that he'd take the greatest care of it, and never let it go out of his hands till he had brought it back and delivered it to me."

"I don't care," cried Glyn. "He oughtn't to have asked you, for that belt belonged to your father, and now it belongs to you, and some day it will have to go to your successors."

"Then you think I have done quite right, Glynny?"

"Well, not quite; if you had you would have told me that you were going to take it there for the Professor to see."

"Oh, don't begin again about that," replied Singh piteously. "I told you I didn't mention it because I thought you would find fault."

"Yes, you did," said Glyn rather importantly, "and that shows that you felt you were not doing right. There, I am not going to say any more about it. I am only your companion. It isn't as if I were your guardian and had authority over you; but I am very glad that Mr Morris thought you did quite right in not leaving the belt. I wish you hadn't got it, and the old thing was safe back with all the rest of your treasures. You'd no business to want to bring it. A schoolboy doesn't want such things as that."

"Don't say any more about it, please," cried Singh piteously.

"Lock it up then, quite at the bottom of your box, and never do such a thing again. It would serve you jolly well right if you lost it."

"Oh, I say!" cried Singh.

"And promise me that if that man asks you to let him have it again you will come and tell me and go with me to the Doctor. I am sure he wouldn't like this gentleman—I suppose he is a gentleman—"

"Oh yes," said Singh thoughtfully; "he's a professional gentleman."

"Well, whatever he is," said Glyn, "I am sure the Doctor wouldn't like it."

"Look here," cried Singh eagerly, "I'll promise you, if you like, for I am getting to hate the old thing. I am tired of it, and I shall be ashamed to wear it now after all you have said, and feel as if I were dressed up for a show. You take it now, and lock it up in your drawers. You'd take more care of it than I could; add then you wouldn't bully me any more."

The boy made for his bullock-trunk; but Glyn caught him by the arm and stopped him.

"That'll do," he said.

"What do you mean?" cried Singh. "You will take care of it for me?"

"That I won't," cried Glyn, "and you ought to be ashamed to ask me to."

"Ashamed?" cried Singh, flushing. "Ashamed to put full trust in you?"

"No; but you ought to be ashamed not to be able to trust yourself. It's like saying to me, 'I am such a weak-minded noodle that I've no confidence in myself.'"

"Oh," cried Singh passionately, "there never was such a disagreeable fellow as you are. You are always bullying me about something, and you make me feel sometimes as if I quite hate you."

"Don't believe you," said Glyn, with a half-laugh.

"Well, you may then, for it's true." Then, changing his tone and drawing himself up, Singh continued, "Why, it's like telling me that I am a liar. How dare you, sir! Please have the goodness to remember who I am!"

"Don't want any remembrance for that," said Glyn coolly. "Why, who are you? My schoolfellow in the same class."

"I am the Maharajah of Dour, sir," said the boy haughtily.

"Not while you are here. You're only a schoolboy like myself, learning to be an English gentleman."

"Do you want me to strike you?" cried Singh fiercely.

"No," said Glyn coolly. "I shouldn't like you to do that."

"Then, you do remember who I am," cried Singh, swelling up metaphorically and beginning to pace the room.

"I shouldn't remember it a bit," said Glyn coolly. "But I should punch your head the same as I should any other fellow's—the same as I often have before."

"Yes, in a most cowardly way, because you were stronger and had learned more how to use those nasty old boxing-gloves, you coward!"

"Ah, well, I can't help that, you know," said Glyn coolly. "I have always felt squirmy when I have had to fight some chap for bullying you. I felt so shrinky when I had that set-to with old Slegge, till he hurt me, and then I forgot all about it. Yes, I suppose I am a bit of a coward."

Singh walked up and down the chamber with his eyes flashing and his lips twitching every now and then, while his hands opened and shut.

"Yes," he cried passionately, "you forget yourself, and you are taking advantage of me now I am over here in this nasty cold country, where it's nearly always raining, and right away from my own people, instead of being the friend that my guardian wished. But there's going to be an end of it, for I shall ask the Doctor to let me have a room to myself, and I'll go my way and you may go yours. Yes, and if it were not degrading myself I should strike you the same as I did that great bully Slegge."

"Well, do if you like. I won't go crying to the Doctor and saying, 'Please, sir, Singh hit me.'"

"It would be lowering myself, or else I would. I, as a prince, can't stoop to fight with one of my own servants."

"Well, look here," cried Glyn, "I don't want you to fight. Come on now and punch my head. I promise you that I won't hit back."

Singh advanced to him immediately with doubled fists, and Glyn stood up laughing in his face and put his hands behind him.

"No," cried Singh. "Come down the cricket-field behind the trees, and we will take two of the fellows with us and have it out, for I am sick of it, and I'll put up with no more."

"All right," said Glyn coolly. "But lock that belt up first at the bottom of your box or where it's safest."

"Not I," cried Singh loftily. "I can't stop to think of a few rubbishing gems when my honour's at stake like this."

"Well," said Glyn, "if you won't, I must;" and, crossing to the trunk, he opened it, saw that the belt-case was right down in one corner below some clothes, banged down the lid, locked it up, and offered Singh the keys.

"Bah!" ejaculated the boy, and he turned away.

"Let's see," said Glyn, in the most imperturbable, good-humoured way; "we'll have Burney and one of the other big chaps. I'll have Burney. What do you say to Slegge?"

Singh made no reply, but stood scowling out of the window.

"But I say, the first thing will be that they will ask what the row's about. What were we quarrelling for, Singhy?"

There was no reply.

"Oh, I remember," continued Glyn. "Because I bullied you about showing off with that belt. Well, we can't say anything about that. What shall we say? Look here, how would it be to go down the field together and fall out all at once, and you hit me, and I'll hit you back, and then we will rush at one another, calling names, and the fellows will come up to see what's the matter, and then we will fight."

"Ur-r-r-r-r-ur!" growled Singh, rushing at him with clenched fists; but as he saw the good-humoured twinkle in his companion's eyes, the boy stopped short, and his clenched fists dropped to his sides. "You are laughing at me," he said; "laughing in your nasty, cold-blooded English way."

"Well, isn't it enough to make a fellow laugh? Here are you trying to get up a quarrel about nothing, and threatening to break with me, when you know you don't mean it all the time."

"I do mean it!" raged out the boy. "For you have insulted me cruelly."

"Ah, that's what you say now, Singhy; but before you go to bed to-night you will be as vexed with yourself as can be, and wish you had not said what you have. You will feel then that I have only spoken to you just as the dad would if he had been here. And then what would you have done? Looked at him for a minute like a tiger with its claws all spread out, and the next minute you would have done what you always did do."

"What was that?" cried the boy fiercely.

"Held out your hand and said, 'I am sorry. I was wrong.'"

Singh turned away and walked to the window, to stand looking out for a few minutes before turning back; and then he walked up to Glyn and said: "Come down into the cricket-field."

"To have it out?" said Glyn quietly.

"Oh, Glynny!" cried the boy, and he held out his hand.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

SINGH FINDS FLANNEL TOO HOT, AND—

There was a game going on in the cricket-field, a sort of French and English affair, which necessitated a good deal of running, and proved to be very hot work; and in an interval of rest, when the boys were gathered together under the elms, Singh threw himself down, panting and half-exhausted, crying: "Oh, I wish to goodness I had something else on but this hot flannel! Here, I know. I'll go and change it for my silk."

He left the group of companions, walked slowly along under the row of elms, and came suddenly upon Glyn, who was playing on the opposing side.

"Hallo!" cried the latter anxiously. "What a face! Aren't you well?"

"Oh yes, quite; only what you call pumped out."

"What, are you going in?"

"Yes; I shall be all right directly. I had no business to play in this hot jacket. I am only going in to change it."

"You're sure you are not done up?" said Glyn anxiously.

"Done up? Nonsense! I only want a bit of rest, and then I shall get back to my side and we can beat you."

"Jacket?" said Glyn, still looking at him in doubt. "Here, let me fetch it for you. I haven't had so much running."

"Do! There's a good chap," cried Singh eagerly, and thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought out his keys.

"In the bottom drawer, isn't it?" said Glyn.

"Yes, I think so. If it isn't, it's in the bullock-trunk."

"All right," cried Glyn, catching the keys that were pitched to him; and he trotted off, while Singh picked out a shady spot and threw himself upon the turf.

Just about the same time, book in hand, Morris, apparently deep in study, after walking all round the field, came up to the group that Singh had just left, and closed his book, retaining the place with his thumb. He glanced round amongst the resting little party.

"Why, where is Singh?" he said quietly, addressing Burton. "I thought he was playing on your side."

"Yes, sir; he is, sir," cried the little fellow eagerly. "He's just gone up to his dormitory, sir, to get his thin cricketing-jacket."

"Oh," said the master softly. "Nice day for your sports, boys. Don't let the other side win."

"No, sir!"

"No sir!" came in chorus. "We won't."

But the book of Morris was open once more, and he seemed to be poring over a mathematical problem as he walked slowly away.

Meanwhile Glyn had reached the door of the lecture-room, hurried in, mounted the stairs, entered the room he shared with Singh, and selecting the key of the drawers, opened the one at the bottom, to find flannel trousers, Eton suit, and a carelessly folded overcoat.

"It is not here," he said. "What an untidy chap he is with his togs, and how he gets them mixed! Don't want to brag; but I believe I could get anything out of my drawers with my eyes shut. Well, I suppose it was because of dad. He always used to say that a soldier's traps should be neatly packed together in the smallest space. Perhaps it's in the next drawer," he continued, as he thrust in and locked the one at the bottom. "No; he said it would be in the trunk," and changing the key, he went to the corner of the little room, knelt down, thrust the key into the lock, and threw open the lid.

"Why, it isn't here at the top," he said to himself. "Oh, I am not going to turn over all his things."

An ejaculation behind him made him spring to his feet, to find himself face to face with Morris, book in hand, the pair sharing the astonishment due to the sudden encounter.

"You here, Severn!" cried Morris, flushing up with anger, Glyn felt, for it was out of hours for being in the dormitory.

"Yes, sir. I was getting something from his box for Singh."

"Oh," said Morris, recovering himself. "Young Burton told me he was here in his room."

"He was coming, sir; but I came for him," cried Glyn, into whose brain now flashed a memory of a late conversation and dispute with his companion.

"I suppose you know," said Morris coldly, "that one of the Doctor's rules is that the pupils should only retire to their dormitories at certain times."

"Yes, sir, but—"

"That will do," said Morris, turning to go; and his cold, stern manner stung the boy, whose mind was now flooded with the recollection of all that Singh had told him, and a feeling of resentment sprang up within his breast.

"I shouldn't have come, sir, if Singh had not asked me."

"That will do, sir," said Morris, affecting the Doctor's sternest manner. "You know you have no business to be here, and I shall feel it my duty to report the matter to the Principal."

Glyn was silent for a few moments, and then he started, for he saw that Morris was evidently waiting for him to leave the room; so, going down on one knee quickly, he locked up the trunk, with a feeling of resentment growing stronger within him, and as he rose and faced the master again his mind was made up. His father had told him more than once that he looked to him to use his common-sense and do the best he could in any emergency on behalf of Singh, and for the moment, as he stood facing Morris, he asked himself whether he ought not to write to his father. The next moment he was speaking. "I beg your pardon, sir."

"That will do, Mr Severn," said Morris coldly. "I am not in the humour to hear any excuses."

"I was not going to make excuses, sir," said the lad, "but to say a word or two about Singh, who is to me as a brother."

"What do you mean, sir?" said Morris sternly. "I mean, sir, that knowing how good and generous he is, and ready to do anything charitable, still I do not think that he ought to be imposed upon and induced again and again to lend money to a stranger."

Morris stared at him wildly.

"And above all, sir, there is that belt of his, which it has always been understood between us should be kept perfectly private on account of its value. It ought not to have been taken to Professor Barclay's lodgings."

"Mr Severn—" began Morris, and then he stopped, unable for a few moments to utter a word. Then, in quite an agitated tone, he exclaimed: "Singh has told you of all this?"

"Of course, sir. We never keep anything from each other, though I didn't know he was going to take it till afterwards; and I feel quite sure that the Doctor will be very angry when he knows."

"When he knows!" cried Morris. "Mr Severn, you are never going to tell him this?"

"What do you think, sir? Singh is in my charge—by my father's orders."

"But, Mr Severn," cried Morris, "I—I am very sorry that I had occasion to speak so angrily to you; but I—I felt it my duty, and—yes, under the circumstances, I must confess that it was a mistake on my part to take your schoolfellow there. And those emerald clasps—yes, I see perfectly clearly now that it ought not to have been done. I should never have dreamt of such a thing had not the Professor, who has been a most unfortunate man, felt so deeply interested in the inscription."

"Yes, sir; I know all about that," said Glyn coldly; "and Singh told me that this Professor Barclay wanted the belt left with him."

"Yes," cried Morris; "but it was not done, and I strongly commended Singh for his firmness in refusing."

"Yes, sir, I know that too," said Glyn; "and Singh must not go to this man's apartments again."

"My dear young friend," cried Morris, whose brow was damp with perspiration, "I quite agree with you there. It was rather thoughtless on my part—a slip such as we are all liable to make. I was led away by the literary part of the question, and I somehow thought that it would be to the advantage of our young fellow—student if he learned from a good authority a little more about the inscription upon those stones."

"Yes, sir; there was no harm in that," said Glyn quietly.

"No, Severn, not the slightest, and as soon as I found the Professor making such a request—one that he certainly ought not to have made—I repented very bitterly of that which I felt to be a gross error on my part. There," he continued, with a half-laugh, "you see I can speak frankly when I have made a mistake. I hope you will always do the same. But, of course, you do not think it in the slightest degree necessary that you should make any report about this to the Doctor?"

"What do you think, sir?" said Glyn coldly.

Morris uttered a gasp, and, looking wildly in the young speaker's eyes, he felt behind him till one hand touched a chair-back, and then he sank down speechless, to seek for his pocket-handkerchief and wipe his wet brow.

"What do I think?" he said, at last, with a groan. "I think it means ruin for me. Mr Severn, I have apologised for speaking so sharply to you, and now I must humble myself to you. If you report this to the Doctor only one thing can follow. I shall have lost his confidence for ever, and he will tell me at once to send in my resignation. Mr Severn, you and your young companion don't know what it is to be poor. The loss of my post here under such circumstances, due to a weak desire to help a fellow-master in distress, would be quite sufficient to injure me dreadfully. If I have sinned I am bitterly punished for what I have done. This is a humiliation, a cruel humiliation, such as you can hardly realise."

"Please don't say any more, sir," said Glyn quickly. "This hurts me almost as much as it does you. What I have said was on behalf of Singh, and I shall certainly not say a word to the Doctor, for I know that now you will help me in watching over my father's ward."

"Mr Severn," began Morris, "I—I—Oh, I cannot speak. Try and realise what I feel. But tell me once more, so that I may go away at rest: this is to be a private matter between us two?"

"Yes, sir, of course," cried Glyn earnestly, and they separated.

"Well, where is it?" said Singh, a few minutes later.

"I couldn't find it," was Glyn's reply. "Here you had better take your keys."



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE PROFESSOR'S GRATITUDE.

There was a great talk at the Doctor's establishment about the event of the season, an event that filled the boys' brains, seniors and juniors, for weeks before it took place, and brought forth a rebuke from the Doctor one morning at breakfast, for the masters were reporting that the papers sent in by the boys were very much wanting in merit. There was a report, too, going about that Monsieur Brohanne had been seen walking up and down the class-room tearing his hair—a most serious matter in his case, for it was exceedingly short.

Matters had come to such a pitch that the Doctor sternly gave quite a little lecture upon the duty of every pupil to do his very best, whether at work or play, saying that a boy who could not give his mind to working could not devote it to playing well. And if in future, he said, his pupils did not work hard, he should be obliged to make them suffer the contumely of sending in word that they would not be able to meet Strongley School in the annual cricket-match.

"I regret it very much, young gentlemen," said the Doctor; "but if you will disgrace your alma mater by idleness, I have no other alternative. Duty and pleasure must go hand in hand."

The boys groaned that morning, and broke up into little knots after breakfast to discuss the matter. Little jealousies were forgotten, and Slegge declared it was too bad of the Doctor, who seemed to be blaming them, the seniors, for the failings of those lazy little beggars the juniors, just when their picked eleven had arrived at such perfection, through his batting, Glyn's bowling, and the Nigger's wicket-keeping, that success was certain.

There was gloom in every face save one, and that appertained to Morris, who watched his opportunity, button-holed Glyn and Singh, and led them off into the solitude of the lecture-hall.

"Good news!" he said. "Splendid news! Gentlemen, this is entirely a private matter between us three, and I know you will be ready to rejoice."

"What, have you got some fine appointment, Mr Morris?" cried Glyn, who had grown to be on quite friendly terms with the master in a very short time of late, Morris making a point of treating him always with genuine respect, and aiding him in every way possible—coaching him, in fact, with his mathematics, in which, truth to tell, Glyn did not shine.

"No," cried Morris, in answer to the lad's question; "it is better than that. Somebody else has."

"You mean Professor Barclay?" said Singh.

"Yes, sir; I mean Professor Barclay. I have had a letter from him this morning telling me of his success, and that he leaves for India directly, to take up some post in connection with the Sanskrit college."

"I am very glad," said Singh, "for he must have been dreadfully poor."

"Sadly so," said Morris.

"I am glad too," said Glyn; "very."

"You don't know what a relief it is to me," continued Morris confidentially.

"Is he coming down to see you before he goes?" said Glyn.

"Oh no. He writes word that he is staying at apartments in London in the neighbourhood of the East India Docks until the great Indiaman sails, and desires his most respectful compliments to you both, and above all he begs me to tell you, Mr Singh, that the feelings of gratitude within his breast will never expire. While, as now he is entering upon a career of prosperity, many weeks will not elapse before he sends something, upon receipt of which he hopes you will return to him certain little memoranda that you hold, signed by his name."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Singh, "he'll wait a long time. Why, I burned them all directly after he gave them to me. Are you going to write to him, Mr Morris?"

"Yes; I must reply to his letter."

"Then, please tell him from me that I wish him all success in my beautiful country, and that he is never to trouble himself any more about the memoranda."

"For you have burned them?" said Morris.

"Yes, of course."



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

SOMEBODY IS UNTRUSTWORTHY.

The boys did their best to worthily earn their cricket-match, and it came off some weeks after in due time.

The morning broke gloriously; four wagonettes came round to the door after a very early breakfast, and the masters followed in an open carriage with the Doctor, Wrench closing the door of each vehicle, and confiding to each party as it started that he wished it had been his luck to go as well; but he was going to enjoy himself that day by having a regular good polish at the Doctor's plate.

Strongley was reached in good time, the wickets were pitched, and the enemy, as the boys called them, made such a poor score in their innings that they had to follow on to another failure, the result being that the Doctor's pupils beat them in one innings, and drove back to Plymborough cheering madly.

As it happened, during the return, Glyn and Singh were separated; Glyn being in the first wagonette and reaching Plymborough a good half-hour before the last one, in which Singh rode.

Hurrying up to his room for a good wash and change, to get it over before Singh returned, the first thing that caught the boy's eyes was Singh's little bunch of keys hanging from the lock of the bullock-trunk in the corner.

Glyn was in such high spirits that the sight of the bunch set him laughing.

"Well, of all the untrustworthy fellows I ever knew," he said, "poor old Singh's about the worst."

Crossing to the trunk, he raised the lid, which yielded easily to his hand, banged it down again, turned the key, and put the bunch in the pocket of his flannel trousers ready to transfer to his ordinary garments when he dressed.

He had just finished when a burst of cheering and the rattle of wheels announced the coming of the last wagonette; and soon after, tired and hungry, Singh came up, to help fill the corridor with a chorus of chattering, and then hurriedly went on for his change of dress.

Then followed the supper the Doctor gave them, and, later on, the bell for prayers and rest.

"Hope you haven't lost your keys," said Glyn, as they began to undress, utterly wearied out.

"Lost my keys! Why should I lose my keys?" said Singh with a yawn. "Here they are! No, they are not! I left them in my flannels."

"Nice fellow you are to take care of your things!" said Glyn, as his companion limped across the room to where he had thrown his dusty and green-marked cricketing suit—anyhow—upon a chair.

"Oh, murder!" he said. "I am so stiff. I can hardly move, and my right hand feels all bruised and strained; but I say, Glynny, I hardly missed a ball; and didn't I play old gooseberry with some of their stumps?"

"Yes, we must have rather astonished them," cried Glyn. "They haven't had such a licking as that for a long time."

"Here, I say," cried Singh, "you have been up to some games," and he fumbled in vain in his flannels-pockets. "I say, you shouldn't do this, Glynny. The key of my India trunk is one of the bunch, and you know I don't like any games played with that."

"I haven't played any games," said Glyn quietly.

"Now, no nonsense," cried Singh pettishly. "You have got my keys."

"Oh yes, I have got them," cried Glyn. "Here they are. Catch!"

The bunch went flying through the air, and with one quick snap of the hand Singh caught them and laid them down sharply on the dressing-table with a bang.

"I don't like it," he said angrily, for he was very tired. "You shouldn't take my keys."

"Yes, I should," said Glyn quietly.

"I tell you you shouldn't."

"Then you oughtn't to leave them stuck in your box, as if to invite all the servants to come and have a rummage, when you go out to a cricket-match."

"I say, I didn't do that, did I? I had them in my pocket just before I started."

"If you did, how could I have them in mine when you came back?"

"Why, I—I am certain—" began Singh; and then, "Oh!"

"'Oh,' indeed!" cried Glyn. "But how did it happen?"

"I was just getting in the wagonette, when I thought it would be good fun to have one of those red Indian silk handkerchiefs to tie to a stump and use as a flag."

"Yes; as you did."

"Well, there were six of them in my big box, and I ran up to get one."

"And then left the keys in the box?"

"Well, I suppose I did, in the hurry and confusion. Oh, Glynny, what a beast I am! I wish I hadn't such a brute of a temper. It makes me flare up all at once and say such nasty things; and you are always as cool as a gourd, and get the best of me."

"Well, you should be more careful," said Glyn. "I wish, too, that you hadn't such a temper. You ought to master it."

"I can't," said the lad sadly. "It always masters me. It's through being born in such a hot climate, I suppose. Oh, I do hate to have to be always begging your pardon."

"Then I suppose that's why you don't do it now?"

"Oh, you know, old chap! I do beg it heartily. You don't want me to go down on my knees like a coolie?"

"Not I; only, somehow or other, I seem to be always ruffling up your coat about something."

"Well, go on; I do deserve it," cried Singh. "I shall be such a good boy some day, thanks to Professor Severn. No, no; don't lecture me any more."

"Not going to, only to say one word or two that the dad used to say to me when I had been flying out with some of the servants over yonder."

"Let's have it then, and done with it," said Singh with a sigh.

"'A man who cannot govern himself,'" said Glyn slowly, "'is not fit to govern other people.'"

"Oh, but I shall be a splendid governor by the time you have finished me off; and you will always be there to put me straight when I am going crooked; and I say, don't go and spoil a jolly day by a fuss over such a little matter as a bunch of keys."

"No, I won't," said Glyn. "But, you know, somebody might—"

"Bother somebody! And if he, she, or it had, I should have said that it was all your fault."

"My fault? Why?"

"Because you wouldn't take charge of you know what."



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE DOCTOR'S OPINIONS ON THE BELT.

Time glided on, with the friendly feeling between Morris and the boys increasing, for the mathematical master, with all his weakness and vanity, felt at heart somewhat touched by the respect and deference paid to him by Glyn.

"A thorough gentleman at heart," he said to himself. "Why, some boys would have gloried in the feeling that they had got me under their thumbs. And that Singh—what a splendid man he'll make!"

He was one of the first to display his genuine delight when the Strongley School lads came over to play a return match at Plymborough to avenge the beating, coming strengthened in their eleven by four old pupils of their school, two of them almost men.

But it was in vain, for Glyn's bowling played havoc with their wickets, and Singh stumped out all four of them in their two innings, three in the first and one in the second; while, when the Plymborough lads went to the wickets, Slegge playing his slogging game as soon as he got well in, and then after Burney had had a very fair innings, Slegge was joined by Glyn, and these two, amidst burst after burst of cheers, kept piling up the score till, with one unlucky cut, Slegge sent the ball up like a rocket, to travel far away, and then be cleverly caught out by long-field-off.

After that the game went on, with Glyn seeming to do what he liked with the enemy's bowling, all the rest of his eleven playing a good steady game, Singh getting the most modest score; for, much as he shone as a wicket-keeper, he was not specially handy with his bat. Still, he added his modicum, till all had fallen. And Singh, who was standing with Morris, enthusiastically joined the master in the applause and cheers that welcomed Glyn as he carried out his bat.

"Splendid!" cried Morris. "Grand! The finest bit of batting I have seen in schoolboy life. I am proud of you, my lad. Oh, if you would only shine like this over your algebra!"

It was all genuine.

So the result was that the Strongley boys went back after a second bad beating, in spite of the four old members of their eleven, one of whom had actually begun to shave.

And then the school-life went on, with its ups and downs, pleasures and pains, as school-life will, till one morning—the morning following a pillow-chat in bed between the two boys who play the principal parts in this story, when their discourse had been about the length of time that had elapsed since the Colonel had visited Plymborough—Wrench came to the class-room to announce that the Doctor desired the presence of Mr Severn and Mr Singh.

There was a whispered word or two as the pair rose from their seats wondering what it meant, and there were plenty of malicious grins, Slegge's containing the most venom, as he whispered to Burney loud enough for Singh to hear, "Cane!" while Burney's merry little face grew distorted as he caught Glyn's glance, and then began to rub his knuckles in his eyes, as if suggesting what his big friend would be doing when he came back from seeing the Doctor.

"I say, is anything the matter?" said Singh nervously.

"No. Nonsense!" replied Glyn. "I am sure we have both been doing our best."

This was as they got outside the class-room and were following Wrench into the hall.

"Hurrah! I know!" whispered Glyn. "I believe it's the dad come down at last."

"Oh!" cried Singh joyously. "Then he'll want us to come and dine with him. How jolly!"

For it was long indeed since the Colonel had been down; and though he wrote pretty regularly, first to one and then to the other, excusing himself on the ground that he had been very busy of late over Indian business connected with the late Maharajah's affairs, letters did not mean a day's holiday ending with a pleasant dinner and a long talk about old days in Dour.

So the boys fully expected to find the fierce-looking old Colonel chatting with the Doctor and waiting to greet them in his hearty manner. But they were disappointed, for as they entered the study the Doctor laid down his pen, nodded gravely to both, and picked up a letter.

"I have just heard from Colonel Severn inquiring after your welfare, though he says that one of you proves to be a very fair correspondent."

The Doctor turned over the letter and read a scrap here and there, almost muttering, as if to himself, and then aloud:

"Ah, here it is," he said: "I hope Singh is taking care of his belt, and that he is not foolish enough to wear it at any time."

The Doctor looked up from one to the other.

"I must confess to feeling a little puzzled here," he continued. "'Foolish enough to wear it at any time.' Now, as a boy, I have a very vivid recollection of regularly wearing a belt, especially when cricketing or running. We had a tradition amongst us that a belt was a very valuable support; and then we have antiquity on our side, the cestus, for instance, and allusions in the old writers regarding the gladiatorial sports, and the use of the belt by strong men. Does the Colonel mean the reverse of what he says, and is this a hint that I should give you a word of warning, Mr Singh, not to neglect its use?"

The Doctor directed a glance at Glyn, and then said sternly: "Have I said anything, Mr Severn, to excite your risible muscles?" For he had detected the exchange of a glance between the boys and a faint smile upon Glyn's lips.

"No, sir. I beg your pardon, sir. It is only the remark about the belt."

"Well, sir, I was not aware that in my remark about the belt I had said anything facetious. Perhaps, Mr Singh, you can explain Colonel Severn's allusion without turning my words into a subject for buffoonery."

Singh looked questioningly at Glyn.

"I am speaking to you, Mr Singh," continued the Doctor angrily. "Have the goodness to reply yourself. You can do so without Mr Severn's aid."

"Yes, sir," said Singh hastily; "but Glyn Severn gave me strict orders not to speak about the belt to anybody."

"Dear me!" said the Doctor, looking from one to the other. "And by what authority?"

"My guardian's, I suppose, sir."

"Dear me!" said the Doctor again. "The Colonel says he hopes that you are not so foolish as to wear the belt at any time. Your schoolfellow forbids you to speak about it to any one. Well, there, I do not wish to ask impertinent questions. That will do, gentlemen. I merely sent to you for enlightenment. You need say no more."

"I beg your pardon, sir; I think I ought to," said Glyn. "I did tell Singh not to talk about it, and to keep it safely locked up in his box, for it is very valuable, and I believe it is the one that his father the Maharajah used to wear."

"Oh," said the Doctor, "now I begin to understand. But a belt, you say?"

"Yes, sir," said Glyn, "an ornamental belt with a large clasp formed of three emeralds engraved with words in Sanskrit."

"Then it is quite an article of ornamentation?" said the Doctor.

"Yes, sir."

"And valuable, I suppose?"

"I suppose so, sir, very valuable, besides being a family relic that has been worn by the different chiefs for many years past."

"A family heirloom, then," said the Doctor in a tone which showed his interest. "Now I understand," and he smiled pleasantly. "I hope that 'he is not foolish enough to wear it at any time.'—Of course; hardly an article of ornament for a young scholar to wear, Mr Singh."

"No, sir," replied the boy. "That's what Glyn said."

"And very properly," continued the Doctor, giving the lad in question a friendly nod.

"And that I was not to show it to anybody, sir."

"Quite right, Mr Singh, and I am very glad to hear that your schoolfellow displays a wisdom beyond his years. You see, the world is far from perfection; and weak, wicked, foolish people might have their cupidity excited by the sight of such an object, with results that would be extremely painful to every one here. May I ask, then—by the way—is this belt attractive-looking?"

"Yes, sir, very handsome," said Glyn. "It is meant to bear a jewelled sword."

"Dear me!" cried the Doctor. "I hope that Mr Singh has no lethal weapon of that kind in his room."

"Oh no, sir," said Singh hastily.

"I am glad to hear it," said the Doctor, smiling; and he took up and raised his quill-pen, giving it a gentle nourish in the air. "Remember, my dear boy, what one of our writers has said: that the pen is mightier than the sword. And where may this handsome belt be?"

"Locked up in the bottom of my trunk that I brought from India, sir."

"In your room, then?" said the Doctor.

"Yes, sir."

"But securely locked up, you say?"

"Yes, sir," replied Singh, colouring a little, as he directed a sharp glance at Glyn, who added to his confusion by making a grimace.

"Ah," said the Doctor thoughtfully, "that is quite right. Emeralds," he continued thoughtfully, "engraved with Sanskrit letters. An ancient Indian relic, of course. And very curious, no doubt. It is quite an old custom that of engraving gems, Mr Severn. The Greeks and Romans really excelled in the extremely difficult art, and I have seen in museums very beautifully engraved heads of Grecian monarchs and Roman emperors and empresses, and also signet-rings and other ornaments. Dear me," he continued, with a smile from one to the other, "I am much surprised to find that such a specimen of the engraver's work has been lying here in my establishment, and my curiosity is greatly excited. But really, from what you say, such a thing as this ought not to be kept in a schoolboy's box, but in an iron safe along with plate, or lying at a banker's. Mr Singh, really I should like to see this—er—article of—er—er—this ornamental belt. Will you show it to me?"

"I can't, sir," said the boy half-spitefully, and he flashed a look at Glyn. "Severn said, sir, that I was not to talk about it or show it to anybody."

"As I have before said," continued the Doctor, "I quite approve of your friend's anxiety respecting your position. It was very wise, and I will not press to see it, feeling as I do that no parade should be made of such an object as this. Why, every pupil in the establishment would be wanting to see it, and—There, it is much better not."

"But I didn't mean, sir," said Glyn, "that Singh should refuse to show it to you. It was only to guard against such a thing as you have suggested.—Go and fetch it, Singh, at once."

Singh hurried eagerly out of the room; and as soon as he was gone Glyn said, "Singh is getting more and more English, sir, every day; but he used to be very fond of talking about being an Indian prince, and was weak enough to be proud of that belt and ready to show it to any one who asked."

"Not to his fellow-pupils, I hope?" said the Doctor.

"No, sir," replied Glyn, who began to feel that he was treading upon dangerous ground, and he hastened to add, "that's why I gave him such strict orders, sir."

"Quite right, Mr Severn; quite right," said the Doctor. "I highly approve of what you have done. But between ourselves—I say it because you are a very sensible lad, and I trust that you will see that it is something not to be repeated, for I speak with the best intentions—I am a little surprised that your father the Colonel, Mr Singh's guardian, should have placed at a mere boy's disposal what I presume to be a very valuable and unique portion of an Indian regalia."

"Well, sir, it was like this," said Glyn, flushing and speaking hastily. "Like a child who, longing for a toy, Singh was always bothering my father to let him have it to wear. You see, sir, Indian princes dress up so very much, to look big before their people, and they have such numbers of jewels and ornaments that one more or less does not seem of much consequence. Singh has got hundreds of things belonging to him that he will have some day to do what he pleases with, and my father, I suppose, thought that it didn't much matter about letting him have one."

"No doubt, Mr Severn, the Colonel had perfectly correct views upon the subject, living as he has done nearly all his life at an Indian court, and I am only looking at the matter with the eyes of an ordinary Englishman who never wears so much as a ring. Oh, here he comes. Let me see. I have a large magnifying-glass here in my table-drawer that may be useful to help to decipher the intaglio writing. Ah, we ought to have had here that poor friend of Mr Morris's who applied to me for an engagement; but I hear that he has left the town."

The Doctor was searching in his drawer so that he did not see the change in Glyn's countenance; and as he looked up it was not at his pupil, but at the door, which was suddenly thrown open, and Singh rushed in, looking wild and staring, as he literally shouted: "It's gone! It's gone!"



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

SINGH'S ANNOUNCEMENT.

"Gone!" said the Doctor, letting the reading-glass fall upon his blotting-pad. "What has gone?"

"My father's belt!" cried the boy passionately. "It has been stolen. It is not in the box."

"Stop, stop, stop!" said the Doctor firmly. "You are speaking excitedly. My dear boy, be calm."

"But it's gone, sir!" cried Singh, with his eyes flashing now, as he looked from one to the other. "I tell you it's been stolen.—Oh, Glyn, what will your father say? What shall I do?"

"Be calm," repeated the Doctor slowly. "My dear boy, recollect that I stand to you, as we say in Latin, in loco parentis; and in the place of your guardian I must tell you that in your excitement you are making a very rash and cruel charge."

"But, sir—" began Singh, with an imperious stamp of the foot.

"Stop!" cried the Doctor. "At my time of life I have learned a good deal of the weakness of human nature, and how prone we are to judge wrongfully, especially in a case like this. On several occasions I have known people to be suspected and charged with theft through the weakness of the accuser. Nothing is easier or more common than for money or a missing jewel or a book to be hastily looked upon as stolen when the one has been spent and forgotten, the others in the same way been placed elsewhere for security."

"Yes, sir," cried Glyn excitedly, "and I don't want to go against Singh here; but I have known him do stupid things like that.—Look here, Singhy," he continued hotly, "did you properly search the box?"

"Yes," cried Singh. "When I found the case wasn't there where I put it, I turned it upside down, and the contents are lying all over the floor."

"And what about your drawers? Did you look in them?"

"You know I never kept it in my drawers," cried Singh.

"Yes, but you might have put it in one of them."

"Shouldn't I have remembered that I did?" snapped out the boy.

"You might," replied Glyn quietly; "but I have put away things sometimes and forgotten where, and when I found them afterwards I have wondered how they got there."

"Ex—actly, Mr Severn," said the Doctor; "and so have I, especially in the case of books."

"I am sure it's been stolen," cried Singh passionately.

"Well, I am sure you're wrong," said Glyn, "for there's nobody here who could do such a thing, though you always were very stupid about your keys."

"What's that?" said the Doctor sharply.

"Oh, I have found his keys left in his box or drawers, sir, more than once."

"Well," cried Singh, in the same excited tone, and he literally glared at his companion, "suppose, when I was busy, sir, or in a hurry, I did leave them in the lock! Was I to think that some thief was waiting to go in and take that case away? Why, when my father was alive, if one of his people had done such a thing as steal anything he would have been given over to the guards, killed at once, and his body thrown into the river."

"Ah, yes," said the Doctor quietly. "But that was in India, my young friend, and matters are different here. Now, if you please," he went on gravely, as he replaced the reading-glass in the drawer, "you will be good enough to smooth your countenance and hold your tongue. Have you told any one else of this?"

"No, sir," cried the boy. "I ran down directly to come and tell you."

"Here! What are you going to do?" said the Doctor, as Singh moved quickly towards the fireplace.

"Ring for the police to be fetched," cried Singh.

"Stop!" said the Doctor sternly. "And please recollect that I am master here."

"But—"

"Silence, sir! Now come with me and Mr Severn up into your dormitory; and, until I give you leave, neither you nor Mr Severn will say a word to a soul."

"But—"

"Did you hear me tell you, sir, to be silent?" cried the Doctor, in his deepest and most commanding tones. "If there has been a theft committed, which I greatly doubt, this jewel or jewels must be recovered. Such an ornament, if taken by a thief, could not easily be disposed of, and we must first have a calm and quiet investigation of what will in all probability prove to be a mistake.—What do you think, Mr Severn?"

"I think it is a mistake, sir."

"Then come with me up into your room, and I desire that you both treat the matter in a calm and thoughtful way. I cannot have a matter of this kind made into a piece of gossiping scandal.—Mr Severn, will you be kind enough to open the door?"

Glyn sprang to the handle, and the Doctor walked slowly out, followed by the boys, while Glyn gripped his companion by the wrist and said hastily. "Come quietly, and if we meet anybody don't make them see that something is wrong by wearing a face like that."

Singh looked at him fiercely, and then followed in silence, passing nobody, as they made for the corridor and entered the door of their dormitory, which Singh in his haste had left open.

The Doctor stepped in and made way for the two boys to pass, himself closing the door after them, and then turning, raising his eyebrows a little as he saw the state of the floor, where the carpet was scattered with different garments and odds and ends, while the bullock-trunk lay upside down.

The Doctor glanced at Glyn, who read his wish in his eyes.

"Where are your keys, Singh?" he cried.

"I don't know. What do you want with them?"

"Why, to search your drawers, of course."

"I can do that myself," said the boy haughtily.

"I know that; but I am going to do it," said Glyn firmly. And brushing by his companion, he went to the overturned trunk, turned it back into position, and drew the keys from the lock.

Singh made no attempt to check him, but drew himself up and stood with folded arms, scowling angrily as Glyn unlocked and carefully emptied drawer after drawer in turn, replacing the contents as he went on.

"Was the belt or girdle lying loose, Mr Singh?" said the Doctor calmly, as the search went on.

"No, sir," and the boy, more himself now, described the colour and shape of the missing case.

Then there was silence, which was only broken by the rustling noise that Glyn was making as he went on with the search till he had finished, closed the last drawer, locked it, and taken out the key. Then, with sinking heart, he said quietly, "I am afraid he's right, sir. It's gone."

"Is there any other receptacle," said the Doctor, "in which it could have been placed?"

"No, sir," said Singh bitterly; "there is nowhere else."

"I am thinking," said the Doctor, "that it has not been stolen. If it had been, the person who took it would have been content with rolling up the girdle, as you say it was of soft leather, placing it in his pocket, reclosing the case, and leaving it behind—for two reasons: one, that it would be noticeable if carried about; another, that it might lie shut up in your box for any length of time, with the change that had taken place unsuspected. For, going to your box again and again and seeing the case there, the chances are that you would not have opened it to note that the contents were safe."

The Doctor was silent for a minute or two. Then—"So there is no other receptacle in the room where the belt could have been placed?"

"No, sir," said Singh, with a scarcely perceptible sneer in his tones. "There is nowhere else, sir, unless Glyn has put it away in his own drawers so as to keep it safe."

"Oh!" cried Glyn, starting round angrily.

"Be silent, my boy," said the Doctor, laying his white hand upon the boy's shoulder. "Such a thing is quite possible, as I have previously explained. I was about to ask you to open the drawers yonder."

"But, oh, sir," cried Glyn, "you don't think—"

"My dear boy, no," replied the Doctor, with a look which made Glyn eagerly take out his keys, rapidly unlock every drawer, and then turn to Singh with a keen, angry look upon his countenance, which was now growing hard; and as he pointed towards the drawers he uttered hoarsely the one word, "Look."

"No," said the Doctor gravely. "Examine the drawers yourself, Severn. You feel now that it is impossible that you can have done this thing. Possibly, perhaps, after coming into the room alone and finding that your companion had left his own keys in his box—"

"I did find them like that, sir, twice."

"Ah," said the Doctor, "and changed the locale of the missing belt."

"No, sir," said Glyn. "I only took the keys out after seeing that the trunk was locked, and gave them to Singh."

"Each time?" said the Doctor. "Tax your memory. Are you sure of that?"

"Quite, sir. Certain. I wouldn't have taken the thing out. I hated his having it here."

"But tell me this," said the Doctor; "the last time you found the keys hanging in the lock, did you look in to see if the case was there?"

Glyn shook his head.

"Ah," said the Doctor, and he stood looking on while Glyn deftly emptied and restored each drawer in turn, the task being facilitated by the orderly state of the contents.

"Nothing," said the Doctor, as that task was ended. "Now, Mr Singh, it will be as well to replace those scattered objects of attire in your box."

"Oh," cried Singh angrily, "I can't think now of such trifles as those."

"Replace them in the box," said the Doctor sternly.—"Mr Severn, have the goodness to help your friend."

As the Doctor spoke he gravely sank into one of the little bedroom chairs, and sat thinking with wrinkled brow, and watching the proceedings of the two boys till they had ended.

"Now," he said, "can you think out any clue to help us to find the missing case?"

"No, sir," came almost simultaneously from the boys' lips.

"No," said the Doctor. "The mystery, for so I must call it, is at present dark and impenetrable. I am not going to send for the police to make a clumsy and painful investigation at once, because I still cling to the belief that something will occur to you two boys that will help us to pierce what now looks very black and impenetrable. You will kindly do as I tell you: go on with your daily avocations as if nothing had happened, and leave any expose of what may or may not be a painful matter to come gradually and from me."

Both boys responded by a sharp nod of the head.

"If you have not thought about the matter," continued the Doctor, "let me tell you this—though you, Severn, must have felt it only a short time back. Every person who is questioned or examined about this missing belt is bound to feel a pang of indignation at what he looks upon as being treated as a thief. We are approaching to fourscore personages in this establishment; and if the belt has been stolen, the probability is that seventy-nine are innocent and only one guilty. Now, you see, to find the one guilty we must spare the seventy-nine innocent. Do you apprehend my meaning?"

"Yes, sir, of course," cried Glyn, while Singh was silent.

"Then I shall proceed as I think best; but I tell you this: I shall be perfectly firm and just, and shall leave no stone unturned to find out the author of this scandal."

The Doctor turned and left the room, leaving the two boys alone.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

DOWN THE SCHOOL GROUNDS.

Later on in life, when Dr Bewley's pupils had grown up to manhood, they used to think that in spite of school-troubles and a great deal of hard work, with the natural accompaniments of temporary fits of ill-health (which matured reason taught them had generally been due to some bit of boyish folly not unconnected with pocket-money, extra home-tips, and visits to the highly popular tuck-shop), the sun had always seemed to shine brightly at Dr Bewley's establishment.

There was only one boy there who wore spectacles, not because he had bad eyes, for they were very bright and good, but because nature had formed the lenses of a more than usually rounded shape, with the consequence that their owner was short-sighted and needed a pair of concave glasses to deal with the rays of light and lengthen the focus of the natural lenses. But, metaphorically and poetically, as somebody once wrote, every boy wore glasses of the couleur-de-rose type—those which make everything that is happily beautiful seem ten times more so, and in later days have made many a man say to himself, "Oh, if I could see life now as I saw it then!"

There were cloudy and rainy days, of course, at Plymborough; and when the former were recalled it was generally in connection with the loss of Singh's belt.

It was on one of these cloudy days, when paradoxically the sun was shining brilliantly in the pure blue south-western sky, that Glyn and Singh were strolling down the grounds together, looking straight before them, with the full intention of driving the school-troubles out of their minds for the time being.

"What's the good of worrying about it, Singhy?" Glyn had said. "I know it's a horrible nuisance, with the suspicion and unpleasantry, and it was a very beautiful thing, which I am very, very sorry has been lost; but let's try and forget it."

"Oh, who can forget it?" cried Singh impatiently.

"Well, I know it's hard work, and it all seems like a nasty little bit of grit in the school machine. I can't get on with a single lesson without your wretched belt getting into it."

"My wretched belt!" cried Singh hotly.

"Now, don't get into a passion, old chap. That isn't being English. You must learn not to put so much pepper in one's daily curry."

"Oh, I am not cold-blooded like you. You English are so horribly tame."

"Oh no, we are not," said Glyn. "We have got plenty of pepper in us when we want it; but that's where education comes in. I don't mean Dr Bewley's stuff and all we learn of the masters; but, as my dad says, the cultivation that makes a fellow an English gentleman. And do you know what that means?"

"Oh, bother! No."

"Then I'll tell you, Singhy. It's learning to be able to keep the stopper in the cruet till it's really wanted. Do you understand?"

"No; and I wish you'd talk in plain English and say what you mean, and not build up a rigmarole all round it. Our people at home never do so."

"Oh, come, I like that!" cried Glyn, laughing. "Why, people out in the East are always, when they want to teach anything, turning it into a fable."

"Bother fables! Bother the belt! It's made the whole place seem miserable."

"Then don't think about it any more."

"I can't help it, I tell you. Why, you owned just now that you were as bad."

"Not so bad as you are, Singhy. I do try to throw it all aside. You don't."

"Ah, it's very well for you to talk. You haven't lost something that's worth nobody knows how much."

"Well, but never mind; you can afford it. See what a jolly old Croesus you are going to be when you grow up!"

"Bah! How do I know that I am going to be rich?"

"Don't be a humbug. Why, father has been looking after your revenues for years, and I heard him say once that money was accumulating tremendously during your minority. After all, what's a belt with some bright stones in it? You could have a dozen more made if you wanted them. But you don't! Who wants to look pretty like some great girl? The greatest thing in life is to be a man. Father says so, and you know he's always right."

"Yes," said Singh thoughtfully; "he's always right; but did he say that?"

"Well, not quite," said Glyn, laughing; and Singh looked at him suspiciously. "What he said was that the grandest thing in life was to be a boy."

"Ah," cried Singh argumentatively, "but that is very different. A man can do what he likes, but a boy can't."

"Oh, but a boy's a young man, or is going to be. I mean to be always glad that I am a boy, for father says that when I grow up to be a man I shall be often wishing that I was young again. Now, don't let's go on worrying about this and the old belt. You never wore it, and if it hadn't been lost I don't believe you ever would have used it. You see, after living in England you'll have learned that great English people never dress up except on some grand day when Parliament's going to be opened or somebody's going to be crowned; and then noblemen, I suppose, put on robes and wear their coronets. You'd never have wanted the belt."

"Well, I don't know about that," said Singh. "Of course I shall always dress like an Englishman; but I suppose sometimes, by-and-by, I shall have to dress up to show myself to my people."

"Oh yes, just once in a way, and when you are going to meet the other chiefs; but I'll bet sixpence you will soon be glad enough to take the things off again."

"But I say," cried Singh, "look here. What about soldiers and officers? They dress up pretty grandly."

"Well, yes," said Glyn laughingly; "we are obliged to make them look nice, or they wouldn't care about going shooting people and cutting off heads. Now, promise me you won't worry any more about the belt."

"Well, I will try," cried Singh, "and I shouldn't have bothered about it so much now, only every fellow in the school looks at me as if he were thinking about it all the time."

"Don't believe it," said Glyn. "You fancy he does. There now, let it go. Here, come and have a turn at something."

"What?"

"I don't know. Let's go across the field there and get under the elms. There are a whole lot of the fellows there. They have got some game on. There's Slegge yonder."

"Oh, I don't want to go where Slegge is."

"But you should want to go where Slegge is. I know he's a nasty, disagreeable fellow; but you needn't notice that. If he's civil—well, that will be right enough. If he isn't, treat him with good-humoured contempt. You aren't afraid of him, are you?"

"I! Afraid of him!" cried Singh indignantly, and he emitted quite a puff of angry breath.—"What did you do that for?" he continued angrily, for, as if by accident, Glyn, with a quick gesture, had knocked off his cap, and then stooping quickly snatched it from off the grass and put it carefully on again. "You did that on purpose," cried Singh angrily.

"Oh, it's all right. It was the stopper came off, and I put it on again."

"Bah!" cried Singh with a snort; but he walked quietly on, gradually calming down as his companion half-guided him towards the group of boys who were idling about under the elm-trees, pretty close to where the new piece of fence marked the place where the elephant went through.

Yielding to Glyn, Singh would have walked quietly up with him and been ready enough under his friend's guidance to embark on any sport or game that was going on; but as Glyn afterwards said when he was laughing it over, "old Slegge" made the pepper-stopper shoot out at once, for, after evidently seeing who were approaching, he slowly edged himself round till his back was to the companions, and began talking aloud, measuring the time by means of his ears till he came to the conclusion that Singh was near enough to catch everything he said, and even Glyn winced as he heard the lad say:

"Oh, by the way, you fellows, I suppose you have done it for a lark, and you mean to put it back in my box; but I have missed my turban, the one with the big pearl in it that fastens the plume of feathers."

The boys were silent, staring at the speaker, for they did not catch the point of the remark; and Slegge continued:

"You see, I set great store by that turban. It was an old one of my father's, and of course it was very valuable. You see, in Bungly Horror a turban like that—some fellows call them puggamarees, but that's only because they are ignorant beggars—but as I was saying, turbans like that come down from father to son. I don't know how old this one was, and nobody notices that they are old, because they always go so regularly to the wash; and you know the more muslin's washed the whiter it gets, while as for the holes, of course, they are the beauty of it, because it gets to look more and more like splendid old lace."

Slegge's remarks remained problematical for a few moments, and then the meaning came with a flash to Burton, who had suddenly caught sight of Singh and Glyn.

He burst into a merry guffaw at once, and thus set off the rest, while Slegge waited till they had done before going on with the by no means poor imitation of Singh's manner of speaking and a rather peculiar utterance of the consonant r.

"I don't know what you fellows are laughing at," he said, with a look of supreme innocency; "but I suppose you don't know any better. It's your ignorance of the value of family relics like that; and because you never see me bouncing about the schoolyard with my turban on, you think I haven't got one in my box—I mean, had one; so now no more nonsense. Whoever took it for a lark had better put it back before I get my monkey up—Indian monkey, I mean—for if I do there's going to be head-punching, and no mistake."

"Come on, Singh," said Glyn quietly, as he slipped his arm through his companion's and tried to lead him away. "Don't take any notice of the malicious brute."

But Singh's feet seemed to be shod with something magnetic which made them cling to the ground, and he stood fast.

"Come on, I say," cried Glyn. "No nonsense! Do you hear?"

Singh turned upon him quickly with an angry flash in his eyes, and he was about to burst out with some fierce retort; but in those brief moments it seemed to him that it was not Glyn's but the Colonel's masterful eyes that were gazing down into his, as, truth to tell, they had more than once looked down upon his father in some special crisis when in the cause of right the brave English officer had with a few words mastered the untutored Indian chief, and maintained his position as adviser as well as friend.

The next minute Singh was walking quietly away by his companion's side; but his arm kept giving a sharp jerk as Slegge went on speaking more and more loudly, uttering words so that the friends might hear.

"I don't care," said Slegge; "you fellows can do what you like, but I am not going to believe it. It's all a got-up thing. I don't believe there ever was any precious belt, or, if there was, it was only a green glass sham. Emeralds set in gold, indeed! Whoever heard of a fellow coming to school with a thing like that in his box? Bah! Yah! It isn't likely that even a nigger would do it." And as the companions passed out of earshot, Slegge continued, "It doesn't matter to me; my time's nearly up at school, thank goodness! and I shall finish with the next half. But I do pity you poor beggars who have got to stay. I don't know what the place is coming to. It seems to me that old Bewley's head's getting soft, unless he's getting so hard-up that he's glad to take anybody's money to keep the old mathematical musical-box going, or else he wouldn't have taken a nigger to be put in the same rank with English gentlemen."

"Here, you had better mind," said Burney.

"Why?" snapped out Slegge.

"Because you will have old Glyn hear you."

"Pooh! What do I care for Glyn?"

"Ever so much," said Burney. "I don't suppose you want another licking."

"Look here, Burney, none of your cheek, please, or else somebody else will get a licking. None of that. You were always a sneak, and trying to curry favour with the Indian nigger."

"Curry, eh?" said Burney with a half-laugh. "Well, suppose I did. I like Indian curry."

"Do you. But you won't like my curry," snorted out Slegge, "for I'll give you such a curry-combing down as will make you sore for a week, my fine fellow.—Look here, boys, all of you; I am not ashamed to own I was licked that day, for I was weak and ill, and in one of the first rounds I nearly put my elbow out of joint. Something was put out of joint, but it snapped back."

"He means his nose," whispered little Burton. "It has been ever since Severn came. I never heard it snap back; did you?"

"I saw him blow it several times," said the companion to whom he spoke, "and I saw his pocket-hanky after, and, oh my!"

"What are you two boys plotting there?" snarled Slegge. "My ears are sharper than you think, and if you don't want yours pulled you had better drop it."

Little Burton dropped upon his knees, crouching down all of a heap and seeming to subside into the worn brown earth as he laid his forehead upon the ground, while Slegge seized the opportunity and rushed at him as if he were a football, delivering a heavy kick that sent the poor little fellow over.

"Serve you right!" cried Slegge, as the boy uttered a sharp cry of pain. "Now, go and yelp somewhere else. Let's have none of your howlings here."

But only a faint sob followed, while the little fellow rose with his teeth closely set and lips compressed, as he tried to stifle the cries that were struggling to escape, and then stood leaning against his nearest companion without uttering a sound.

"Look here, Burton," sneered Slegge, "go and tell Severn, and ask him to come and lick me again. I am ready, and I'll let him see.—Yes, you may look, Mr Burney, Esquire. I saw that letter yesterday you had from home. Esquire indeed! It's sickening!—I am ready to have it out with him whenever he likes, and take the nigger after him when he's had his gruel. Go and tell him if you like. It's been dull enough in the place ever since that miserable imposture about the lost belt. You want something to rouse you up, and I'll give it you if you can bring those two fellows up to the scratch; but that you can't do. Look at them sneaking off like a street cur and an Indian jackal. Contemptible beasts! I only wish they would come back. I feel just in the humour now to give them what for. Yah!—Well, any of you going to fetch them back?"

"I'm not," said Burney, shrugging his shoulders. And he turned half-away as if to go and lean against the fence, but really to hide his face as he muttered to himself, "Oh, shouldn't I like to see you licked again!"

"Well, who's going?" cried Slegge haughtily.—"No one?—Here, you, you snivelling little wretch," he continued, turning to little Burton, "go, and tell that big bully Severn that I am waiting here to give him his dose, and that he's to bring the nigger with him to have his lot when I have done with number one.—Yes, boys, I feel just in the humour for it, and I am going to cut both their combs.—Do you hear, Burton?"

The little fellow drew a long, deep breath, but he did not move.

"Do you hear what I say?" roared Slegge.

"Yes," said the little fellow sturdily.

"Well, be off, then, at once, before you get another kick."

"Shan't!" cried the little fellow, through his set teeth; and a sharp jerk seemed to run through his body as he clenched his fists.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" cried Slegge, making a stride towards him.

"Run, Burton, run!" cried two or three voices.

"Shan't!" came again.

"No," cried Slegge. "He'd better! I'd run him! Here, I don't want to hurt you, young un. You go and tell them both what I say."

"Shan't!" cried the little fellow fiercely, and he looked his persecutor full in the face.

"Hark at him! Hark at the little bantam!" cried Slegge, with a forced laugh. "And look at them, boys. Look at the two slinking off like the curs they are, with their tails between their legs. There, you will be disappointed; there's no fight in them."

The big school-hero was quite right certainly as far as one of the pair was concerned, for just then Singh was saying, "Oh, it's cowardly of you. I can't bear it. I will go back and have a go at him myself."

"No, you won't," said Glyn sturdily, and he locked Singh's arm well within his own.

"How dare he insult me like that! I don't care if he half-kills me; but I won't bear it."

"Yes, you will," said Glyn, "like a man."

"Like a coward, you mean."

"No, I don't. I am not going to have you knocked about just because a low bully abuses you."

"Well, will you go and thrash him yourself?"

"No. I have whipped the cur once, and I am not going to lower myself by fighting again because in his spite he turned and barked at us. I could do it again, and I feel just in the humour; but what does it mean? Black eyes and bruises, and the skin off one's knuckles, and a nasty feeling that one has degraded one's self into fighting a blackguard, for that's what he is, or he wouldn't have insulted you as he did just now.—Come away."

"Oh, I didn't think you were such a coward, Glyn."

"And you don't think so now," replied Glyn coolly. "You are in a regular rage, and that's just the difference between you Indian fellows and an Englishman. You begin going off like a firework."

"Yes, and you go off as if you had had cold water poured on you."

"Very likely," replied Glyn. "There, we are both hot now. Let's try and cool down. I don't care whether it seems cowardly or whether it doesn't; but I am not going to get up a fight and make an exhibition of myself for the other fellows to see. Once was quite enough; and perhaps after all it's harder work to bear a thing like this than to go over yonder and punch old Slegge's head and have it out."

"I don't care whether it is or not," said Singh fiercely. "Let's go, and if you won't fight, I will."

"Look here, Singhy; you and I have had lots of wrestles, haven't we?"

"Yes; but what's that got to do with it?"

"Why, this. I am not bragging; but I have more muscle in my arms than you have, and if I like I can put you on your back at any time."

"Ur-r-r-r-r-ur!" growled Singh.

"That means you own it. Well now, look here; if you try to get away from me I'll put you down on your back and sit upon you till you grow cool."

"Do if you dare!" cried Singh.

Glyn closed with him on the instant. There was a short struggle. The young Indian prince was laid neatly upon his back almost without an effort on the part of Glyn, who the next moment was seated calmly astride his companion's chest, fortunately well out of sight of the group beneath the elms. Then for a few minutes Singh heaved and struggled, glaring the while into his companion's eyes, until, as if he had caught the contagion of the good-humoured smile in Glyn's frank young face, a change came over Singh's, and the fierce heaving gave way to a movement that was certainly the beginning of a laugh, followed by a good-humoured appeal.

"Let me get up, Glyn. I am quite quiet now," said the boy.

"No games?"

"No; honour bright. It's all over now, and I don't want to fight."

The next minute the two lads were walking away as if nothing had happened.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A LITTLE VICTIM.

That same evening Singh went down the town to relieve his feelings and the heaviness of one of his pockets, for the day before both he and Glyn had received letters from the Colonel with their monthly allowance. Glyn had refused to join his companion, to Singh's great annoyance, for the occurrences of the day had left him touchy and ready to take offence at anything.

"I wouldn't have refused to go with you," he said. "It's precious disagreeable, and you might come."

"Can't," said Glyn firmly. "I can't come, and you know why."

"Oh yes, I know why; all out of disagreeableness. You haven't got any other reason."

"Yes, I have. You haven't written to father, have you, to thank him for what you got?"

"No; I am going to write to-morrow."

"And then when to-morrow comes you'll say the same, and the same next day. There never was such a fellow for putting off things."

"Well, you needn't talk," cried Singh. "You haven't written to the Colonel to say you have got yours."

"No," said Glyn firmly; "but I am going to write this evening."

"No, you are not. Come on down town with me. I want to go to the old shop. Do come, there's a good chap! I hate going alone."

"Why?"

"Because if I go alone I always see so many things I want to buy, and then I go on buying, and my allowance doesn't last out till next time."

"Nonsense! What difference would it make if I came with you? You'd be just as bad," cried Glyn.

"Oh no, I shouldn't. When you are with me you always keep on interfering and stopping me; and then the money lasts out twice as well."

"Well, look here," said Glyn; "wait till I have written my letter, and I will make it a short one this time, and go with you afterwards."

"Oh, you are a disagreeable one! There won't be time then, and it will be too late for going out. There, you see if I ask you to go again."

Uttering these words in his snappiest way, Singh whisked himself round and stalked off.

"Can't help it," said Glyn to himself. "I will get it done, and then go and meet him. He'll soon cool down, and there will be time enough to go to the shop and get back before supper."

But, all the same, Glyn uttered a low sigh as he thrust his hands into his pockets, to jingle in one the four keys that made his bunch, and in the other several coins which formed the half of the Colonel's previous day's cheque.

The keys felt light in his right hand and the coins very heavy, and there was a something about him that seemed to suggest that they ought to be spent; but the boy turned his face rigorously towards the door of the theatre, when his attention was taken by Wrench's tom-cat. He was crouching upon the sill of one of the lower windows, which was raised a little way, and evidently intently watching something within.

"What's he after?" said Glyn to himself. "Some bird got inside, I suppose, and flying about among the rafters."

Walking quietly up to see if his surmise were true, the cat did not hear him till he was quite close, when it bounded off the sill and made for the Doctor's garden, to disappear among the shrubs.

"I thought he was after no good," said Glyn to himself; and, before making for the door, he peered in at the window in expectation of seeing a robin flitting about—a favourite habit these birds had of frequenting the long room and flying from beam to beam.

But there was no bird, Glyn seeing instead the back of little Burton, seated at his desk with the flap open resting against his head, as he seemed to be peering in; and just then the little fellow uttered a low sob.

"Poor little chap!" thought Glyn. "Why, that brute of a cat must have had one of his white mice, and he's crying about it."

Glyn went in at once and crept on tip-toe in the direction of his own desk, where he was about to write his letter; but he contrived to pass behind Burton unheard, and stopped short, to find that he was right, for the little fellow was bending low into his desk crying silently, save when a faint sob escaped him, while his outstretched hands were playing with three white mice. The door of their little cage was wide open, and they kept going in and out, to run fearlessly about their master's fingers, the cuffs of his jacket forming splendid hiding-places into which they darted from time to time, to disappear before coming out again to nestle in the boy's hands.

Glyn watched him for a few minutes, amused and pleased by the little scene and the affection that seemed to exist between the owner and the tame pets he kept within his desk.

"Why, the cat hasn't got one," he said; "he's only got three, and they are all there."

Just then there was a heavier sob than usual, and Glyn sympathetically laid his hand upon Burton's shoulder.

The little fellow gave a violent start, and the mice darted into their cage, as their owner turned guiltily round to gaze with wet and swollen eyes in his interrupter's face.

"Why, what's the matter, youngster?" said Glyn, bestriding the form and sitting down by Burton to take his hand.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Burton hurriedly, trying to withdraw his hand; but it was held too tightly, and he had to use the other to drag out his handkerchief from his jacket-pocket and wipe his eyes.

"You don't cry at nothing," said Glyn gently. "You are too plucky a little chap. I saw Wrench's cat watching you, and I was afraid he had got one of your mice."

"No, no; the poor little things are all right. But you oughtn't to have watched me, Severn."

"I didn't. I was coming to my desk to write a letter to my father, only I heard you sob."

"Oh!" ejaculated the boy.

"Come: out with it. You know you can trust me."

"Oh yes," said the little fellow earnestly. "I know that, Severn. You always are such a good chap."

"Well then, why don't you tell me what's the matter?"

"Because I was ashamed," said the other, nearly in a whisper.

"Ashamed! You! What of?"

"Because it hurts so, and I couldn't help crying," faltered the boy; "and I came in here so as no one should see me. Don't laugh at me, please!"

"Laugh at you because you are in trouble and something hurts you! You don't think I should be such a brute?"

"Oh, I didn't mean that, Severn," cried the boy earnestly, as he now clung to his sympathiser's hand. "I was afraid that you would laugh at me for being such a girl as to cry."

"But tell me," said Glyn.

"And I came in here to play with my mice, and it didn't seem to hurt me so much then, because it kept me from thinking."

"Come, what was it?" said Glyn. "You are keeping something back."

The little fellow tried to speak, but it was some minutes before he could command his voice. Then out came the story of the brutal kick he had received, and of how hard he had struggled to conceal the pain.

"A beast!" exclaimed Glyn. And then half-unconsciously, as if to himself, "I shall be obliged to give him another licking after all."

"Oh, do, please, Severn!" cried the little fellow joyously. "I'd give anything to be as big and strong as you, and able to stick up for myself; for, you see, I am such a little one."

"Oh, you will get big and strong some day," said Glyn. "Only wait."

"Yes, I'll wait," said the boy; "but it will be a long time first, and old Slegge is going away at the end of this half, so that I can't fight him myself. But I say, you will give him another licking, please?"

"Well, we'll see," said Glyn. "I dare say he'll make me before I have done."

"That's right," cried little Burton joyously; and he began to busy himself in putting his mice together, as he called it, and hooking the wire fastening before shutting up and closing the lid of his desk, while it was quite a different face that looked up into Glyn's, as the boy cried: "There, it doesn't hurt half as much now."

"If I were you I'd go and wash my face," said Glyn.

"What; is it dirty?"

"Oh, it's all knuckled and rubbed. You must have been crying ever so long; your eyes are quite swelled. There, be off. I want to write my letter."

While Glyn had been earnestly engaged comforting Burton and before he started his letter, he had not observed the return of Singh with his pockets looking bulgy and his face wearing a good-tempered smile.

"Done?" he said, as Burton took his departure.

"What, you back again?" cried Glyn. "I thought I should have been in time enough to come and meet you. If you had been another quarter of an hour I should."

"What; did you mean to come?" cried Singh joyously.

"Of course."

"Oh, you are a good chap! Here, come on up to our room. Look here."

He slapped his pockets as he spoke, and half-held open that of his jacket, the thought of the succulent treasures contained therein having completely swept away all his past ill-humour.

"Oh, I don't know that I want anything to-night," said Glyn.—"Yes, I do. I want to find little Burton. After we had gone away to-day Slegge kicked him brutally."

"What for?" cried Singh indignantly.

"Because he wouldn't bring an insulting message to fetch us back."

"Oh!" cried Singh. "And you wouldn't stop and lick him! He'll get worse and worse. Poor little chap! I like Burton."

"So do I," said Glyn rather coldly.

"What makes you speak like that?" asked Singh.

"I was thinking about what I ought to do."

"To do? What do you mean?"

"About giving him such a hiding as he deserves—that is, if I can."

"Oh, you can," cried Singh joyously; "and you will now, won't you?"

"Well, I wasn't going to because he was insolent to me; but now he's been such a brute to that poor little chap I feel as if I ought to—and I will."

But somehow that encounter did not come off, and possibly the recollection of the active little white quadrupeds that were closely caged-up in the desk may have suggested the idea enunciated by the Scotch poet who said:

The best-laid schemes of mice and men Gang aft a-gley.

So do those of boys; for something happened ere many weeks had elapsed, and before Glyn Severn had found a suitable opportunity for administering the punishment that he thought it was his bounden duty to inflict.

In fact, the thoughts of Dr Bewley's pupils were greatly exercised about the trouble that hung like a cloud over the school; and in its dissipation Glyn Severn and Singh had a good deal to do, while, oddly enough, Wrench's cat played his part.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

MR. MORRIS PREPARES.

Examination-Day was rather a frequent periodical affair at Dr Bewley's. One month Monsieur Brohanne would have all the fun, as Glyn called it, an afternoon being devoted by the boys to the answering of questions, set by the French master, neatly printed upon a sheet of foolscap paper at the local printing-office, and carefully arranged upon a rough pad consisting of so many sheets of perfectly new blotting-paper upon each pupil's desk.

At another time it would be the Doctor's day, and his examination-papers would be distributed. By the same rule, in due time in the periodicity, Mr Rampson would revel in Latin puzzles; and Mr Morris would request the young gentlemen to build up curious constructions with perpendiculars, "slanting-diculars," and other varieties of the diagonal, in company with polygons and other forms of bodies with their many angles and curves, as set forth originally by a certain antique brain-puzzler of the name of Euclid, for the first part of the examination, the second portion consisting of that peculiar form of sport in which, instead of ordinary figures, the various letters of the alphabet were shuffled up and used for calculations, plused, minused, squared, and cubed up to any number of degrees, under the name of equations.

It was one afternoon prior to Morris's day, which was to begin at ten o'clock the next morning, and when the young gentlemen were all out in the play-field fallowing their brains for the next day's work, so that they might begin rested and refreshed, this being the Doctor's invariable plan, that Mr Morris was the only person in the establishment who was busy. He had received the foolscap sheets from the printer, carried them to his desk, upon which lay quite a pile of new thick white blotting-paper, and taking his seat, sat quite alone, chuckling with delight as he skimmed over his series of mathematical questions, one and all extracted from those which had been used at Cambridge.