LITMIR.BIZ

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he is;" said Valentine. "He'll break his neck some day. Well, what is it?"

      Jack took a flying jump from the path on to the shingle.

      "The rick!" he cried – "the one we were sitting under – it's all in a blaze!"

      The boys and girls stood staring at one another with a horrified look on their faces.

      "You must have done it with your matches, Raymond," said Helen.

      "I didn't," returned the other. "It's the sun. Come on into the boat."

      "You must have dropped your cigarette end," said Valentine. "We ought to find the owner of the hay and say who we are."

      "You fool! I tell you it wasn't me," returned the other passionately. "Ricks often catch fire of their own accord. I'm not going to be made pay for what isn't my fault."

      Valentine hesitated, and shook his head. Jack seemed ready to side with him; but Raymond jumped into the boat and seized the oars. "Look here!" he cried, "it's my boat, and I'm going. It you don't choose to come, you can stay."

      The two boys had no alternative but to obey their cousin's demand. Jack took the second oar, while Valentine steered. Raymond was ready enough now for hard work, and pulled away with all his might, evidently wishing to escape as fast as possible from the neighbourhood of the burning rick.

      "What are you pulling so fast for?" asked Jack; but "stroke" made no reply, and seemed, if anything, to increase the pace.

      "Look out!" cried Valentine, as the boat approached an awkward corner, one side of which was blocked by the branches of a big tree which had fallen into the water. "Steady on, Raymond!" "Stroke," who did not see what was coming, and thought this was only another attempt to induce him to lessen the speed at which they were going, pulled harder than ever. Valentine tugged his right-hand line crying, "Steady on, I tell you!" but it was too late. There was a tremendous lurch which nearly sent every one into the river, the water poured over the gunwale, and something went with a sounding crack. Raymond's oar had caught in a sunken branch and snapped off short. His face turned white with anger.

      "You cad!" he cried with an oath, "you made me do that on purpose."

      "I didn't!" answered Valentine hotly; "and I should think you might know better than to begin swearing before the girls."

      Helen looked frightened, but Barbara was sinking with laughter at the sight of Jack, who, on the seat behind, was silently going through the motions of punching Master Fosberton's head.

      "Well, we can't go on any further," said the latter. "We must get the boat into that backwater and tie her up. Though it'll be a beastly fag having to walk to Grenford."

      Dividing between them the things which had to be carried, the cousins made their way through a piece of waste ground studded with gorse-bushes, and gained the road, which ran close to the river. Barbara lingered behind to pick Quaker grass, but a few moments later she came racing after them and caught hold of Jack's arm.

      "Hallo!" he said, "what's up? you look scared."

      "So I am," she answered. "I saw a man's face looking at me. He was hiding behind the bushes."

      "Fiddles!" answered Jack. "It was only imagination. Come along with me. I'll carry those plates."

      Raymond Fosberton seemed bent on making himself as disagreeable as possible. He was still in a great rage about the broken oar, and lagged behind, refusing to speak to the rest of the party.

      "We ought not to let him walk by himself," said Helen, after they had gone about a mile; "it looks as if we wanted to quarrel."

      She stopped and turned round, but Raymond was nowhere in sight. They waited, but still he did not appear.

      "He can't be far behind," said Valentine. "I heard him kicking stones a moment or so ago."

      Jack walked back to the last bend in the road and shouted, but there was no reply.

      "It's a rum thing," he said, as he rejoined his companions. "I wonder what has become of the beggar. I thought just then I heard him talking."

      The boys shouted again, and Barbara drew a little closer to Jack. Whether the watching face was imagination or not, she had evidently been frightened.

      "Surly brute! he has gone home by a short cut," said Jack. "Come along! it's no use waiting."

      They had not gone very far when they heard somebody running, and turning again saw their missing cousin racing round the corner. His face was pale and agitated, and it was evident that something was the matter.

      "Hallo! where have you been?"

      "Nowhere. I only stopped to tie my shoe-lace."

      "But you must have heard us calling?"

      "I never heard a sound," answered Raymond abruptly, and so the matter ended.

      The four Fenleighs were not at all sorry to find themselves free of their cousin's society, and bowling along behind Prince in the little basket-carriage. It was still more delightful to be back once more at Brenlands, and there, round the supper-table, to give Queen Mab an account of their adventures.

      "I should like to know who that man was whom I saw hiding among the bushes," said Barbara.

      "I should like to know what Raymond was up to when we missed him coming home," said Valentine.

      "Yes," added Jack thoughtfully; "he was hiding away somewhere, for I could have sworn I heard his voice when I walked back to the corner."

      CHAPTER VI.

      A KEEPSAKE

      "He is my own child, and he is not so very ugly after all, if you look at him properly." – The Ugly Duckling.

      The holidays passed too quickly, as they always did at Brenlands. Jack was no longer the ugly duckling. Whatever misunderstanding or lack of sympathy might have existed hitherto between himself and Valentine had melted away in the sunny atmosphere of Queen Mab's court; and since the incident of the magpie's nest, the two boys had become fast friends.

      Soldiering was their great mutual hobby. They constructed miniature earthworks in the garden, mounted brass cannon thereon, fired them off with real powder, and never could discover where the shots went to. They read and re-read "A Voice from Waterloo," the only military book they could discover in their aunt's bookcase; and on wet days the bare floor of the empty room upstairs was spread with the pomp and circumstance of war. The soldiers had a wonderful way of concealing their sufferings; they never groaned or murmured, and, shot down one day, were perfectly ready to take the field again on the next, and so when the solid lead captain or die mounted officer who took on and off his horse was "put out of mess" by a well-directed pea, the knowledge that they would reappear ready to fight again another day considerably lessened one's grief at the sight of their fall. Perhaps, after all, lead is a more natural "food for powder" than flesh and blood, and so the only time tears were shed over one of these battles was one morning when Barbara surreptitiously crammed two dozen peas into her mouth, fired them with one prolonged discharge into the midst of Valentine's cavalry, and then fled the room, whereupon Jack sat down and laughed till he cried.

      It would be difficult to say what it was that made Queen Mab's nephews and nieces like to wander out into the kitchen and stand by her side when she was making pastry or shelling peas; but they seemed to find it a very pleasant occupation, and in this, after the first week of his stay, Jack was not a whit behind the others.

      He was sitting one morning on a corner of the table, watching with great interest his aunt's dexterous use of the rolling-pin.

      "Well, Jack," she said, looking up for a moment to straighten her back, "are you sorry I made you come to Brenlands?"

      "No, rather not; I never enjoyed myself so much before. I should like to stay here always."

      "What! and never go home again?"

      The moment that word was mentioned he was once more Fenleigh J. of the Upper Fourth.

      "Home!" he said; "I hate the place. I've got no friends I care for, and the guv'nor's always complaining of something, and telling me he can't afford to waste the

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