THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP

THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP

A SCHOOL STORY

BY

HERBERT HAYENS

Author of "At the Point of the Sword," "An Emperor's Doom," "Clevely Sahib," "Under the Lone Star," &c. &c.

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS London, Edinburgh, and New York 1904

CONTENTS.

THE DEANERY CANDIDATES

THE CHALLENGE SHIELD

A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH

FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR"

JIM STARTS WORK

THE EXAMINATION

"IT'S ALL MY FAULT"

"DID I SAVE HIM?"

THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION

GOING DOWN HILL

IS JIM A THIEF?

WHERE IS THE MISSING MONEY?

AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE

CURLY AND COMPANY

"WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT"

A FRESH START

A STARTLING SURPRISE

THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.

CHAPTER I.

THE DEANERY CANDIDATES.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Hartland. Isn't Jim ready? All right; I'll wait for him. Do you think Susie would care for these wild flowers and grasses? I picked them this morning. Rover and I have been for a splendid run over the common, nearly as far as the forest."

"Thanks, Dick," said Mrs. Hartland, with a pleased smile; "Susie will be delighted with them. Poor girl! it's little chance she has to see them growing herself. What a pretty white dog-rose!"

"Isn't it a beauty? I thought Susie would like that.—Hullo, Jim!" as his chum appeared from an inner room; "come on, old lazy-bones. I expected to find you in a tremendous hurry this morning.—Good-bye, Mrs. Hartland; I hope Susie will be pleased with the flowers."

Most people liked Dick Boden. He was a comical youngster, fond of all kinds of fun and frolic, and always keeping an eye on the bright side of things. In school he was a regular pickle, and yet his teachers spoke well of him, for there was nothing mean about Dick, and he was as honest as the day.

"Full of animal spirits and a trifle impetuous, but a good little chap at bottom," said Mr. Holmore, the head-master of the Deanery School.

He was a round-faced, curly-haired fellow, with laughing blue eyes, a most engaging smile, and such an innocent expression that a lady artist once painted his portrait as a study of an angel. This greatly amused the Deaneryites, who promptly dubbed him the Angel.

Of course he was very popular with his school-fellows, but his one particular chum was Jim Hartland, a sailor's son, and one of the head boys in the school.

"Grinding for the exam.?" he asked, as they waved a last adieu to Mrs. Hartland, who stood on the doorstep watching them as they went down the street.

"Hardly," said Jim, "until we know who are to be the candidates."

"Oh, you'll be one for certain, and Perce Braithwaite another."

"And you."

"If Holmore gives me the chance, I'll work like a nigger for the honour of the school. The scholarship wouldn't be any good to me though; it only pays for the fees and books, and you have to stay till you are sixteen. Mother couldn't afford to keep me at school as long as that."

There was at this time great excitement among the boys of the elementary schools in the seaport town of Beauleigh. The governors of Gayton Public School had offered a scholarship, to be competed for by three selected candidates from every school in the town, and the offer had produced a feeling of intense rivalry.

The names of the chosen boys from the Deanery were to be made known that morning, and every one was on the tiptoe of expectation.

"We're late," said Dick, as the two boys turned into the long, straight road leading to the school, "most of the fellows are in the playground. I'll race you to the gate. Ready? One, two, three—off!" and away they sped for a good two hundred yards' run.

Jim was the taller and stronger, but Dick was very nimble, and having got the lead, he kept it. On they went, flushed, panting, and straining every nerve, while a group of boys coming from the opposite direction encouraged them with loud cries.

"Keep it up, Angel!"

"Another spurt, Jim; he's nearly done!"

Dick's legs were getting tottery, and Jim was close on his shoulder, but the open gate was only ten yards off, and the plucky youngster pulled himself together for a last effort.

"Jim's got him!" "No, no; the Angel wins! the Angel wins!"

A yard from the gate they were neck and neck; but then, using up all his remaining strength, Dick flung himself forward—the winner by scarcely half a foot.

Unlucky Dick! In the excitement of the last half-second he had gone like stone from catapult straight against the vest pocket of a portly gentleman who was strolling leisurely across the playground to the gate. Jim's onset completed the mischief, and the three rolled together on the ground.

The boys in the road, unable to see the catastrophe, ran up with a brisk "hurrah." But suddenly every tongue was still.

If you have ever felt the shock of an earthquake, or been shipwrecked, or in a railway collision, you will have some faint idea of the fright which held the handful of Deanery boys spellbound.

"The inspector!" whispered Tompkins in a tone of awe, and a shiver ran through the little crowd.

Then, as the gentleman and boys rose to their feet, Tompkins, with an imbecile kind of smile, said, "Please, sir, it's only the Angel!"

Only the Angel! Had His Majesty's Inspector been a Deanery boy he would not have required any further information. As it was, the look of surprise in his face deepened.

Now Dick, with all his faults, was a little gentleman. His face was white and his voice husky, but, standing cap in hand, he said bravely, "I am very sorry, sir. We were racing, and Jim Hartland had almost caught me, so I put on a last sprint, and—"

"And won?"

"Yes, sir," answered Dick modestly; "but Jim was close behind."

"Yes," observed the gentleman with a grim smile, "I am painfully aware of the fact. However, there is not much harm done. Ask your master to lend me a brush."

"Isn't he a brick?" said one of the boys as they ran to their places. "He didn't even look angry. Have you hurt your leg, Jim?"

"It's a bit painful—that's all."

"I hope it will be right for the match to-morrow." And then, at sound of the bell, all talking stopped, and the boys marched into the assembly hall.

After prayers, the inspector, looking none the worse for his mishap, came into the room and talked with Mr. Holmore, who then proceeded to make a little speech concerning the Gayton Scholarship.

"You know," he said, "that only one boy can win it, and there will be candidates from nearly every school in the town. We have three good champions, and whether they obtain the great honour for the Deanery or not, I am sure they will do their best. Come to the desk as I call your names. Richard Boden."

There was a hum of pleasure as Dick went up, flushed with joy, yet feeling rather uncomfortable at having to face the inspector a second time that morning.

"Percy Braithwaite."

A well-dressed, spruce-looking boy, known as Dandy Braithwaite, came forward with alacrity and, to the delight of the school, was followed by James Hartland.

"Now, boys," said their master, "I hope your work will show we have made a wise selection. Remember, once your names are given in, we cannot make any alteration." Then turning to the inspector, he added, "These are our candidates, sir."

"Ah," exclaimed that gentleman genially, "I have made the acquaintance of two of them, Mr. Holmore, and I can assure you they are tremendous fellows—at a sprint.—Well, my lads, one thing is certain: this scholarship won't be gained without plenty of hard work. The chosen knights are buckling on their armour in every quarter of the town, and the tournament will be a keen one."

Fortunately, school closed at noon for the day, as the boys were too excited to pay much attention to lessons. They were well satisfied with their master's selection, and many of them at once put down the scholarship as a "good thing" for Jim Hartland.

Some thought Braithwaite might get it, others pinned their faith to Dick Boden, "if the little beggar would work;" and when one wretched urchin hinted that the St. Paul's boys had won a lot of prizes lately, he was promptly "sat on."

"It's bound to come to the Deanery," declared Tompkins, who was himself still struggling with the mysteries of long division. "The only question is, Who's to get it?"

Then the talk turned to the great cricket match fixed for the next day, which was to decide the possession of the challenge shield for the following year. St. Paul's held it, but the Deanery intended having a good try to wrest it from their near and dear rivals.

"Hartland's in fine form," said one. "You should have seen him hit at practice yesterday. If he comes off we ought to stand a chance."

"And the Angel's bowling a treat! I don't think the 'Magpies'" (as the St. Paul's boys were called) "will do much with his curly ones."

"He bowled the inspector out before school, didn't he?"

They were still laughing at the recollection of Dick's mishap when Simpson, the reserve man of the team, came up, trying, but with poor success, to look sorry.

"Heard the news, you fellows?" he asked. "Hartland's cricked his leg and won't be able to play."

The boys gazed at one another blankly, hoping against hope that the news was not true.

"There he is," cried one suddenly; and sure enough there he was, leaning on his chum's arm, and hobbling slowly across the playground.

They crowded around him eagerly, asking more questions than could be answered in a week.

"What's the matter, Jim?"

"Can't you play?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Hurt!" cried Dick scornfully. "Of course not! He is doing this just for fun, you silly duffers."

"It isn't much," exclaimed Jim, "and I'll play to-morrow if I can stand. We'll have that shield yet."

"Anyhow," said Dick, with a laugh, "if Jim can't turn out, we have Simpson to fall back on," at which the Deanery boys shook their heads doubtfully. They had no very high opinion of Simpson's powers.

"I'm awfully sorry," said Dick ruefully, as the two chums went up the road. "There'll be no practice for you this afternoon, at all events."

"No," agreed Jim. "I'd better lie by till the morning. Never mind, old chap; it wasn't your fault; and besides, I shall be all right. Mother will see to that, I'm glad the match is to-morrow. We'll have a good try for the shield, and then peg away for the scholarship."

"Won't the Magpies get their monkey up if we pull off both? What a beastly nuisance! There's Temple coming!"

Temple was the captain of the St. Paul's team—a tall, nice-looking lad, immensely proud of his school, and noted for playing the game like a true sportsman.

"Hullo, Hartland!" he cried; "crippled? I say, that's hard lines on the Deanery. I wonder if the committee would put the game off for a week?"

"No, no," said Jim; "it isn't much. I shall turn up in the morning."

"You're a brick, Temple," exclaimed Dick, "and a jolly good sort, though you are a Magpie. 'Pon my word, I'm half sorry we're going to take that shield from you."

"And you're a little humbug," laughed Temple, giving him a playful dig in the ribs.—"Take care of yourself, Jim. I wouldn't give a toss to beat the Deanery if you're out of the team."

"Proper sort of chap, ain't he?" said Dick, when the Magpie passed on. "Just fancy his proposing that the match should be put off! My stars, there aren't many captains who would do that. How's the leg now?"

"Painful rather, but 'twill be better when I lie down."

Dick helped his chum home; and while Mrs. Hartland doctored the bruised limb, he chatted gaily with Susie, telling her all about the match and the scholarship, and making merry jokes for her to laugh at.

Owing to a weak spine, Susie spent most of her time lying on the sofa; but she was a bright, intelligent girl, very fond of mischievous Dick, and immensely proud of her brother.

She was very glad when her mother said Jim's leg would soon be well, for this cricket match was to be a great event in her life—a gleam of gold in a gray sky.

Mrs. Hartland had hired an invalid chair, and the two boys had promised to take her to the county ground, where the game was to be played.

"I do hope it will be fine," she exclaimed rather wistfully, for there were few pleasures in her life.

"It's bound to be," cried Dick, with a merry laugh. "The sun will come out on purpose to see you. Now I must be off for the practice. Give Jim plenty of goose-grease, Mrs. Hartland, and make him stay in bed till the last minute.—I'll be round in good time in the morning, Susie.—Ta, ta, Jimmy. This will teach you not to go about knocking inspectors over in the future."

"I like that," said Jim. "Why, you little fraud—"

But Dick had picked up his hat, and was outside the door before he could finish.

CHAPTER II.

THE CHALLENGE SHIELD.

Susie's eyes sparkled and her face beamed with pleasure as she lay in the invalid-chair, with her head propped up by soft, cozy pillows. The boys had found a splendid spot for the carriage, while her mother and Mrs. Boden sat beside her. And to make her happiness complete, Jim had declared that his leg was not in the least bit painful.

"Isn't it prime?" said Dick, who had come over for a last word. "You'd never have guessed we could be such awful swells. There's the mayor in the pavilion, and no end of big-wigs with him."

"Where's Jim?"

"Oh, he's tossing with Temple, and he's lost too; our fellows are coming out to field."

It was an ideal day for cricket. The sun shone brightly, but a cool breeze tempered its heat, making it pleasant for players and spectators alike. The ground was packed with people, who cheered heartily as Jim led his team into the field.

Hundreds of boys were there, some sporting the Magpie colours, others the blue and white favours of the Deanery, while many of the principal men in the town had come with their wives and children to watch the final struggle for the challenge shield.

Only one innings was to be played by each side, and Dick started the bowling. The opening was sensational: his first ball scattered the batsman's stumps, and in the same over another man was caught and bowled.

Two wickets down and not a run scored! The Deanery boys were wild with delight. They flung their caps in the air, and began debating where it would be best to hang the shield.

Their joy did not last long, however. Temple had gone in, and he was hitting the ball to all parts of the field without giving a chance. In vain Jim changed his bowlers and rearranged his field. Until he had made 69, the doughty batsman defied every attempt to dislodge him. Then, getting hold of a curly one from Dick, he sent it spinning high and hard to the boundary.

The Magpies cheered and clapped their hands; but, as Dick afterwards remarked, they were "a little too previous." Jim was fielding "in the country," and he did not often miss a catch. He had hard work this time though; but he just managed it, and a welcome roar burst from the Deanery boys as he threw the ball into the air.

"Well caught! well caught, Hartland!" they cried, for Temple was their most dangerous opponent, and now that he was gone they felt on better terms with themselves.

Still the score gradually crept up, till, by the time the last man was out, the board showed the respectable total of 157.

Susie had very hazy notions of cricket, and when Dick came over she wanted to know if the Deanery had won the shield.

"Won!" echoed Dick, opening his eyes wide. "Why, the match isn't over. We have to go in yet. There's Jim just walking to the wicket. Did you see that lovely catch he made? Mr. Barrow, a regular cricketing swell—plays for the county, you know—said it was as neat a bit of work as he'd seen on the ground."

Susie still felt very hazy about it, but she understood Jim had done something clever, and that was enough to make her happy.

Meanwhile the excitement over the match grew very keen. The Deanery innings opened well, fifty runs being scored for the loss of two wickets; but after that matters went badly.

One after the other, the batsmen were caught or bowled; and it seemed as if the captain could not get any one to stay with him for long.

When the seventh wicket fell for exactly a hundred, Dick began to whistle comically.

"There's only Archer to depend on now," said he, "and it isn't often he makes more than a dozen."

"Why don't you go in?" asked Susie.

"Oh, I'm last man. I'm no good with the bat. They only play me for bowling. Oh, well done, Archer! That was a pretty cut for two. I hope he'll get set."

"So do I," said the girl, though rather wondering what to 'get set' meant; and then Dick mystified her more than ever by remarking that if Archer got his eye in he might be good for a score.

"It makes all the difference if a fellow has his eye in, you know," he said; and as this appeared reasonable, Susie agreed.

How the Deanery boys shouted when the board showed 120! And what a roar went up from the Magpies as, without another run added, Archer's bails went tumbling to the ground!

"A beastly yorker!" exclaimed Dick in a tone of deep disgust. "Well, I must be off. That's Crag going to the wicket now. He'd make a lot of runs, only he's so jolly nervous."

"The poor boy looks very pale," said Mrs. Hartland.

"O my aunt!" shouted Dick in an ecstasy of delight, "he's got a two off his first ball. Well done, Crag!"

The strain was intense now. The spectators watched every ball, and there were loud cries of "Play up, Deanery!" as the score kept creeping up.

Mr. Holmore felt as much excited as any of his boys, and he clapped his hands when 130 appeared on the board.

"Only twenty-eight to win," he said; "but I'm afraid the odds are too great."

"Hartland's good for these," said Mr. Laythorne Jim's class-master; "he is playing magnificently."

"Yes, whether we win or lose, it's a great day for him. Ah, I was afraid of it! Crag's out, and we still want twenty-five. Who is the last in?"

"Boden! I think we can abandon all hope of winning the shield this year."

The Deanery boys looked glum, but the Magpies beamed with satisfaction, for they all knew Dick. Though a good bowler, he had batting notions of his own which generally brought him to grief. He treated all balls alike, banging at each with a mighty swipe till a crash in the timber-yard told him it was time to retire.

"For goodness sake, be careful, Dicky," whispered Jim, as his chum passed him; "block everything, and keep your wicket up for once. I'll do the hitting."

"All right," grinned Dick. "I will, if I can remember."

There was a deep hush as he stood facing the bowler, and the Deanery boys hardly dared to breathe, for they knew too well that their erratic schoolfellow had an unhappy knack of missing his first ball. If Dicky played up to his reputation, all hope of winning the shield was at an end.

A profound sigh of relief broke from the friends of the Deanery, and they looked at one another in astonishment. Dicky had actually blocked the ball! The next was the last of the over, and then Mr. Laythorne beamed as Jim stood at the wicket.

A little luck and good management enabled Jim to take every ball in the over and to score eight; but the Magpies, still feeling sure of winning the match, whistled cheerfully. Temple would have Dick out in less than no time.

No boy needs to be reminded of the delightful uncertainty of cricket, and here was a splendid example. The Angel stood as if rooted to the ground, and never once attempted one of his mighty but erratic swipes. The cunning bowler tried every variety of dodge to tempt him, but Dicky was not to be coaxed.

The Magpies became impatient, and perhaps a little bit anxious. When Dick pushed the ball away a foot or two they cheered ironically, crying, "Well hit!" "Nearly a boundary!" etc., and advised him in sarcastic tones to run it out.

Dick grinned. He was enjoying himself immensely, and had no objection to any amount of chaff.

As the game proceeded, a magnetic influence seemed to pervade the air. A deep hush fell over the field; the spectators were afraid to turn their eyes from the wicket a second.

Jim had the ball again, and was playing like a professional. Twelve, ten, eight to win! A beautiful drive all along the ground reduced the required number to four, and the Deanery boys burst into a roar of cheering.

Mr. Holmore's eyes brightened, and he turned with a smile to the St. Paul's master, who stood near him.

"Well, Hudson, we shall give you a fright, at least," he remarked.

"It looks as if we shall have to give you the shield," replied Mr. Hudson ruefully.

Another cheer announced that two more runs had been knocked off; and then, from the very last ball of the over, Jim made it a tie.

The excitement was too intense for the Deanery boys even to cheer; they held their breath and waited.

What would Dicky do?

Mr. Laythorne, who was watching through his field-glass, sighed dolefully.

"The strain's too much for him," he said. "He's trembling fearfully. He'll lose his head and throw his wicket away."

Alas! there was a good deal of truth in the young class-master's words. It was not in Dick's nature to stand for long poking quietly at the ball as he had been doing. His fingers tingled as they closed round bat, and he longed to hit out at something.

Temple saw the youngster's state and took his measures accordingly. He placed his men with great care for a catch, and then sent down a tempting slow. Dick blocked it, and a second of the same sort.

Not a bit discouraged, Temple gave him a third; and this time, as the master had prophesied, Dick lost his head. His friends groaned when they saw his bat go up, and decided it would be only a question of caught or stumped. Dicky afterwards confessed it should have been one or the other.

"I couldn't stand it any longer, and that's the truth," said he. "I forgot all about the shield, and just went for the ball with all my might."

Jim declared his chum shut his eyes before hitting out; but be that as it may, the ball travelled through the air towards the boundary. Travers, the Magpie stationed in that part, ran along the edge of the field in a gallant attempt to bring off a fine catch; but he missed the ball by a hair's-breadth, and the coveted shield passed into the possession of the Deanery for the next twelve months.

"I congratulate you," said the master of St. Paul's, turning to Mr. Holmore. "It has been a splendid fight, and you deserved to win."

The last words were almost drowned in the roar that went up from the field. The Deanery boys swarmed in a mob across to the wicket. Some clutched Jim, others surrounded Dick, and lifting them shoulder-high, carried them off in triumph.

Susie could not leave her chair, so her mother and Mrs. Boden wheeled it over to the edge of the crowd which surrounded the pavilion. Then, to crown her happiness, some warm-hearted boys, whispering, "That's Hartland's crippled sister," cleared a passage, and would not be satisfied till the chair was wheeled right to the front where she could see and hear everything. Susie will never forget that half-hour of her life. The mayor made a pretty speech, and handed the shield to Mr. Holmore amidst an outburst of cheering. Then the Magpies stepped on to the platform to receive the medals which were given to the players on each side; and Jim, carried away by enthusiasm, shouted, "Three cheers for the good old Magpies!" which were given by every one on the ground.

Then it was the turn of the Deanery eleven, and fresh plaudits rang out, especially when Jim went forward. The spectators cheered almost as loudly for Dick; and the ladies said what a pretty, innocent-looking boy he was, with his rosy cheeks and crisp curls.

"Oh, it's splendid! just splendid!" Susie kept saying. In her eyes Jim and his curly-haired chum were real heroes, and she was as proud as if they had performed some glorious action.

It was over at last, and the crowd, still talking over the various events of the day, began to disperse slowly. Everywhere the girl heard her brother's name coupled with Dick's, and her face flushed with real pleasure. Presently she saw the head-master shake Jim's hand and pat Dick on the back; then the two boys left the platform and ran quickly to her side.

"Well, the Deanery's got the shield, thanks to Jim," cried Dick, his eyes sparkling.

"Don't you believe him, Mrs. Boden," said Jim. "He had as much to do with our winning as any one."

"Do let me see your medals," said Susie. "Oh, how nice! You will have to take care of them."

"I'm going to buy a safe and lock mine up in it," said Dick, laughing.—"Now, mother, you go on with Mrs. Hartland. Jim and I will take care of Susie. Hasn't the fresh air done her good? Why, her face is as red as a rose."

CHAPTER III.

A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.

The members of that little party will long remember the walk home from the county ground. It was an ideal summer evening. A few fleecy white clouds flaked the blue of the sky, and the sun's heat was tempered by a gentle breeze blowing up pleasantly from the south. Birds sang in the gardens, and the fragrant odour of flowers filled the air.

Now and again the boys stopped the carriage, so that Susie, looking through the gateways, might see the flowers in all their glory of colour. She did not talk much; she was rather tired by the unusual excitement, and by her long stay in the open air.

Occasionally they passed a group of the Deanery boys, and then there were cries of "Good old Hartland!" "Well done, Angel!" which made Susie prouder than ever.

"I say, Dick," said one urchin, "is it true you've been asked to play for the county?"

The Angel, who loved a joke, laughed back broadly.

"Nothing's been settled yet," said he, "but I may give 'em a hand if they're hard pushed. I can't promise to play regularly, though—at least this season."

"What a pity!" exclaimed the boy; "you would have been such a help."

The town was beginning to fill with the usual Saturday evening crowd when they reached the main street, and the newsboys were lustily shouting, "Evening paper!"

"We must have a paper," said Jim's mother.

"Better wait a bit," observed Dick, with an air of wisdom; "the special edition will be out soon."

Just then Temple, the captain of the Magpies, came along. He was reading a paper, and would have passed our friends had not Dick said, "Hullo, old chap; anything about the match there?"

Temple glanced up hastily, and, with an odd look at Jim, answered slowly,—

"Only the result, and there's no need to tell you that."

"Come on, Dick," said Jim; "he's got the hump."

The Angel was turning round to join his chum when Temple called him back softly.

"Haven't you heard the news?" he asked curiously.

"Haven't heard anything," replied Dick. "We've only just come from the ground. You look as solemn as an owl."

"I am thinking of Hartland."

"Why? He's all right."

Unfolding the paper, Temple pointed with his finger to the space reserved for late news.

Dick read the short paragraph, and immediately his face became clouded.

"Oh, poor old Jim!" he exclaimed. "And fancy, to-day of all the days in the year."

"I'm awfully sorry too," remarked Temple. "Better show him the paper, so that he can tell his mother. Lucky the information came too late to put on the placard."

"They'll have it in big letters on the next lot," replied Dick, slipping the paper inside his flannels.

"Hurry him home as fast as you can," said the other. "Somebody may stop Mrs. Hartland and blurt out the news. There are plenty of fools about."

Dick was off at once, and, overtaking his friends, rather surprised his mother by saying,—

"Step out, mother. You forget it's past tea-time, and Susie here is as hungry as a hunter."

Now, of course Mrs. Boden had no suspicion of the truth, but she guessed from Dick's face that something was wrong, and, being a wise little woman, quickened her pace.

"Fancy Temple taking the hump like that," said Jim as they turned into Cedar Road, where he lived. "Shouldn't have thought he was that sort."

"Oh, it wasn't over the match. But I'll tell you all about it another time." And Dick nodded at the chair, as much as to say, "I don't want Susie to hear."

Jim took the hint, and being rather curious, pushed on quickly to the house. They were all near the little gate when his mother said,—

"How very odd! Mrs. Hunt's blinds are all down, and so are Mrs. Pettifer's. There must be some one dead. I didn't know either of them had any one ill."

"A relative has died suddenly, perhaps," suggested Dick's mother; while the boy, who trembled all over thought Jim would never get the front door open.

At last it swung back, and the two boys lifted the carriage into the passage. Then, between them, they carried Susie into the back room and laid her gently on the couch.

Meanwhile Mrs. Boden had gone on home, leaving word for Dick to follow; so, after wishing Susie and her mother good-bye, he went out, accompanied by Jim.

"Come outside," he whispered, "and pull the door to. There's bad news in the town."

"Bad news!" echoed Jim, wondering why his chum trembled so.

"Yes, that's what upset Temple. It's in the paper; but there's only a line or two, and it mayn't be true."

"But what is it?" asked Jim, and, oddly enough, his voice sank to a whisper, while his face was as white as Dick's.

"It's about the—the Morning Star," gasped the boy.

Then Jim understood in a flash what had happened, and why the neighbours had darkened their windows.

"Give me the paper," said he, "and let me see what it says."

The paragraph was very brief, and ran thus:—

"It is reported at Lloyd's that the barque Morning Star has been lost in a storm off Cape Horn. Some of the crew, including the chief mate, got ashore; but the captain, Robert Merritt, and the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship. The Morning Star was owned at Cardiff, and was making for San Francisco with a general cargo."

Jim read the paragraph over several times. The letters seemed blurred and running into one another; only the words, "the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship," stood out clear and distinct, as if raised above the surrounding type.

"There may be a chance yet," suggested Dick, who was hurt by the look of pain on his chum's face. "It isn't certain that your father is drowned."

"No," said Jim absently; "it isn't certain."

Then he put the paper into his pocket and turned to go in.

"Shall I tell my mother to come round?" asked Dick.

"Not to-night—thanks. No, we shall be better by ourselves."

Nodding to Dick, he stepped into the passage and closed the door gently. Then he went quietly to the room where his mother had laid tea. There was nothing of value in the house, for the family had been particularly unfortunate during the last few years. In spite of many obstacles Mr. Hartland had worked his way up to the position of mate, but on his first voyage as an officer had met with an accident which kept him in hospital for months. Then he found it hard to secure another berth, and during the time of his enforced idleness the best of his furniture had been parted with to buy food. Few people knew this, however, as the Hartlands, who were very proud, kept their troubles to themselves.

Mrs. Hartland was a notable housewife, and had a certain amount of taste, which enabled her to make the house look nice. The room which Jim entered was quite attractive. A few nicely-framed black-and-white pictures hung on the walls; long curtains draped the window tastefully; the grate shone by reason of many applications of elbow-polish; everything was beautifully clean. A cloth of snowy whiteness covered the table, and the various articles set out for use showed evidence of capable cleaning.

"Make haste, my boy!" exclaimed his mother cheerfully; "your tea is poured out. Dick and you have had a long gossip."

"Jim's tired, and I don't wonder at it," remarked Susie.

The boy sat down in his usual place and forced himself to eat and drink. His mother, who was proud of the praise he had won, talked about the match.

"There was only one thing wanted to make the day a complete success," said she. "When you were on the platform with all those gentlemen I could not help wishing that your father had been looking on."

Jim put down his cup, so that she should not see how his hand trembled, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The paper seemed to rustle in his pocket, and he made up his mind to tell her the truth at once.

But how? He could not say, "Father will never know anything about it, because he is lying at the bottom of the sea!" Yet it must be done. His mother must not be left to hear the terrible news from a stranger.

While he still hesitated, Susie, who had sharp ears, exclaimed, "Listen, there's the paper-boy. I can hear him shouting, 'Latest Special!'"

"Run, Jim, quick!" cried his mother, taking a half-penny from her pocket. She was as excited as Susie at the thought of seeing her boy's name in print.

Jim tried to stand, but his limbs tottered, and he sat down again.

In an instant his mother, forgetful of the paper, was by his side. "You have overdone yourself, my boy," she said. "All that running about has been too much for you."

"No," said the boy, and he spoke with difficulty; "I am all right, mother!" and then, with a wild cry, "O mother, mother, how can I tell you? It's about the Morning Star, and—and father!"

Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitched painfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself.

"Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew the paper from his pocket with trembling fingers.

"Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke down before the end of the first sentence.

Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dots which danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her.

"Give it to me, mother," said Susie.

For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent a fresh arrow of pain through the mother's heart. But Susie was used to sorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she read through the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood, white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word.

"The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!"

To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the whole paragraph.

"Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon, but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery and sorrow lying behind it.

A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, the evening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light the lamp, but no one moved.

A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found a messenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the Morning Star, but contained no further information than had appeared in the evening paper.

"It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told me first, Jim."

"We don't know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly. "He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of such things."

Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to be considered seriously.

The boy did not realize all that his father's death meant to him, for he was young, and his experience of life had not been great. But his mother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her so devotedly, had to think of the living.

Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow in sleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She had planned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air for him; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears.

"Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the whole of his life."

CHAPTER IV.

FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR."

On the following Monday morning Dick called for his chum as usual, but Jim was in no hurry to start.

"You go on," said he; "I'll come presently."

As a matter of fact he dreaded the meeting with his school-fellows; it would be so different from the scene he had pictured while walking home from the cricket-ground. He had looked forward to a regular triumph, for it must be confessed that Jim was rather vain, though he had the good sense to keep this failing, for the most part, to himself.

"All right!" exclaimed the Angel cheerfully; but he went only a short distance, and waited till his chum came out.

"What a silly chap you are!" said Jim peevishly; "now you'll be late."

"Never mind, my boy; better late than never, as they say in the copy-books. I said that to Laythorne the other day, but he gave me one back. 'Better never late,' said he, as I went to my place."

Prayers were over when they reached the school, but the master made no remark as they passed to their places. He had heard the sad news, and easily understood why the boys were late. At the interval he asked Jim to remain, and told him how sorry he was for his great loss.

"Thank you, sir," said Jim, resolutely keeping the tears from his eyes.

"And, by the way, Hartland," continued the young master kindly, "if there's anything I can do, let me know."

Just then the Head entered the room, and he, too, expressed his sorrow at what had happened, and Jim appreciated the kindness of his masters.

He had dreaded going back to school, but it was not very dreadful after all. Most of the boys looked at him curiously, but only one or two said anything, and then matters resumed their usual course.

At home it was much worse, although Susie, with strange persistence, still cherished the hope that her father had not been drowned.

"We don't know," she argued stoutly—"no one knows. The papers say some of the crew got ashore."

"Don't be stupid," said her brother. "It says plainly enough that father went down with the ship."

"But he might have been picked up afterwards, or got ashore somewhere else."

Even Susie's faith gave way, however, when a fuller account of the wreck came to hand. It was supplied by an A.B. named Davies, who had been picked up by the steamship Cormorant.

"It was on a Friday night," the newspaper report of his narrative ran, "and we were there or thereabout up to the latitude of Cape Horn. I had turned in 'all standing,' for the weather was squally, and I didn't expect to get much of a nap. Sure enough I'd hardly got my eyes shut when there came a crash, and some one sang out, 'All hands, ahoy!' We tumbled up the ladder in a hurry, and I tell you there wasn't a man there who didn't think Davy Jones was calling us. It was a night! The rain was coming down full pelt, and you couldn't keep your feet for the wind. Spars snapped like match-boxes, and the barque lay nearly on her beam-ends. It was dark as pitch just then, though it cleared up afterwards. We did what we could to save the ship; but, bless you, we had no more chance than a parcel of babies. She was settling down like a stone, and the old man sung out that we'd better try the boats. I ran to help clear the port quarter boat, and got in, when a heavy sea broke over her, smashing her in two. Down I went a long way, but at last came up to the surface again, and hammered my right hand against something hard. This turned out to be a top-gallant mast, so I took a firm grip. I couldn't see anything of the Morning Star, but there seemed to be a lot of rigging about, and I heard some men shouting in the distance. I reckoned afterwards it must have been the first mate and the chaps who got away in the other boat. I hulloed back, but they couldn't hear, and I reckoned I was done. Soon after that came another shout close to me, and I yelled back, 'Ahoy, there! Is that you, Mr. Hartland?'

"'Yes. Who are you?'

"'Davies,' I sings out—'on a mast.'

"'Can you hold on?'

"'Not much longer, I'm afeared.'

"'Keep your spirits up,' says he, cheery like, and then it was all quiet. However, we must have drifted pretty close together, for, directly day broke, there he was, not twenty yards off, with a lifebuoy round him, and clinging to a light spar.

"'How goes it now?' says he; and when I tells him I'm nearly done, he says, 'I've a good mind to keep you company. I've some rope here, and a draw or two round the body will keep you tight.' With that he swims over and lashes me to the mast. Presently he says again, quiet as anything, 'Look here, Davies; it's no go! This won't hold us both; I must take my chance. Good-bye, and if you've the luck to be picked up, just let 'em know over in England that I stood by the ship till she went down.'

"Them were his last words. He let go, and the last I saw of him he was striking out towards the shore. Of course he never reached it, though he was a strong swimmer, too. After that I lost count of things, and don't know anything more till my eyes opened aboard the Cormorant. The lashings saved me, or I should have gone under as sure as fate."

The story of her husband's bravery filled Mrs. Hartland with honest pride; but, unfortunately it extinguished the last spark of hope that, almost unknown, had lurked in the recesses of her mind. However, she faced the matter bravely, and talked over her plans with Jim.

"We shall have to leave this house," she said, "and find a cheaper one. Then I must get some kind of work to do."

"What about Susie?" asked Jim.

"Ah, that's the trouble! I can't very well go out and leave her alone. Perhaps I can get some plain sewing."

"Haven't we any money at all, mother?" the boy asked presently.

"Only what is due from your father's wages, and that won't keep us long."

Susie had gone to bed, and there was no one in the room but mother and son. Mrs. Hartland sat by the window with some needlework in her hand, though it was too dark to sew; Jim stood by the mantelpiece, fumbling nervously with a button on his jacket.

Presently he said bravely, "I must leave school and get a place somewhere. I daresay I can earn something, if only a little."

It cost him an effort to say this without breaking down, for he was very ambitious, and had mapped out a great career for himself. In the first place he had made up his mind to win the Gayton Scholarship, which was to be a stepping-stone to fortune. This was all done with now, for even in the event of being successful he could not accept the scholarship.

Mrs. Hartland guessed a part of his thoughts, and, calling him to her side, said,—

"We'll talk about that another time, Jim. There's no need to give up your school at present; I wouldn't like you to do that. I daresay we shall be able to rub along somehow till the next examination."

"But there's no good in trying for the 'Gayton.'"

"Not for yourself, but it would be an honour for your school if you won it. You would leave a good name behind you also."

So, after some further talk, it was decided that Jim should stay on at school; and the next week the family moved to a little house in a much poorer quarter of the town.

Of course Dick went to help, and his bright smile and cheerful humour did much to cheer them.

"Isn't it a poky place?" said Jim, pausing in the work of putting up his sister's bedstead.

"Well, you can't call it exactly a palace," replied Dick, "but it might be worse, you know. O my aunt!" And the Angel finished with a vigorous howl.

"What's the matter?"

"I nipped my hand under that iron bar." And he sucked the tips of his fingers as if they were sticks of sugar-candy. "Just see if you can twist this nut round; I can't move it."

The two friends worked away with a will, making up in zeal what they lacked in experience, and very soon had the room looking quite cozy and comfortable. Then they went downstairs; and before night, as Dick's mother, who had come over to help, put it, "things were beginning to look a bit straight."

Susie, of course, could do nothing herself; but she played the part of superintendent, and ordered the boys about, especially Dick, who good-humouredly obeyed all her commands. He looked on it all as great fun, and announced his intention of worrying his mother until they had a move on their own account.

Mrs. Hartland had faced her trouble bravely, but before long Jim recognized that things were much worse than he had guessed. Beyond his father's wages and the donation of a few pounds from the "Shipwrecked Mariners' Society," they had absolutely no money, and there seemed little prospect of his mother being able to earn sufficient to keep them. Already they had to deny themselves everything in the shape of luxury, and even Susie had to go without various little delicacies which they had been in the habit of providing for her.

"I ought to give up school and go to work," he said; but to this his mother was strongly opposed.

"If you leave school now you can only be an errand boy," she said; "and without education, you will have no chance of doing anything in the world."

Now I have no desire to put James Hartland forward as an uncommonly good boy, because, as you will find for yourselves, he was nothing of the sort; but in this particular case he certainly deserved some credit.

One evening he arrived home very late, which was such an unusual thing that his mother wondered what had kept him.

"Awfully sorry, mother," he cried, looking at the clock; "but I've been up in the town on business."

"For the master?"

"No," replied the boy, with rather a forced smile; "on my own account. I've got a place. Don't be vexed. I shan't have to leave school; it's only mornings and evenings."

"What have you to do?"

"To take the papers to Mr. Broad's customers; and if I help on Saturdays too, he'll give me five shillings a week. What do you think of that? Isn't it splendid?"

"But you will have no time to study for the 'Gayton.'"

"I must work harder at school, and put in an hour extra in the morning. I'll manage, never fear, and the money will just pay the rent. Wasn't it lucky I saw the card in the window? Of course I shan't be able to play in the rest of the cricket matches, but they can easily get some one to take my place."

He spoke cheerfully, but his mother knew what a sacrifice he had made, and hoped, for his sake, that good might come of it.

"Jim," said Susie, plucking his sleeve nervously, "will you have to call out 'Paper!' like the boys who come round here at night?"

"No, you little goose," he laughed—"only to leave them at the different houses. And now, let me finish my tea. I must have a good grind at geography this evening."

CHAPTER V.

JIM STARTS WORK.

It wanted ten minutes to nine, and the Deanery boys were pouring into the playground, ready to assemble for morning school. Percy Braithwaite stood just inside the gate talking to a little group of his chums. He was a good-looking, fair-skinned boy, with sharp, keen eyes. Somehow he was not a favourite with the majority, but as his father kept him well supplied with pocket-money, he generally had a certain following which petted and made much of him.

"I had a jolly lark this morning," he was saying. "What d'you think Jimmy Hartland's doing? You'd never guess! He's selling papers. He brought ours round just now, and I answered the door. You'd have died to see him: he went as red as a turkey-cock.

"'Hullo!' said I—'a fresh paper-boy? You're very late. This won't do, you know. Tell your master if you can't come earlier than this we shall have to make a change.'"

"Did you really say that?" asked Simpson, who was sucking one of Braithwaite's bull's-eyes. "He would be wild. The beggar's as proud as Lucifer."

"I don't see why he shouldn't sell papers," said Alec Macdonald. "There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."

"Perhaps not for fellows of his class," said Braithwaite, with a superior air, "but fancy a paper-boy trying for the 'Gayton'! Why, if he got it, all the school would cut him dead. I call it a great piece of cheek."

"Here he comes with the Angel," whispered Simpson, who had finished his bull's-eye, and was hoping to get another before the bell rang. "I say, let's have a lark!" And raising his voice, he cried, "Hevenin' Noos! Hextry Speshul! Paper, sir?"

The others burst into a roar of laughter; and Braithwaite, who thought it an excellent joke, laughed the loudest of all.

The Angel, scenting mischief, laid hold of his chum's arm, saying,—

"Don't take any notice, Jim; it's only the 'Dandy' and his gang."

This was an unfortunate remark, as it would have been safer just then to wave a red flag before a bull than to mention Braithwaite's name to Jim. He was hot and tired and cross, angry with himself and the world in general, and with Braithwaite in particular. The incident of the morning had upset him, and this mocking laughter was, as Dick afterwards said, "the last straw that broke the camel's back."

"Want a hextry, sir? Take the last one!"

Simpson was fairly earning another bull's-eye.

Jim's face was white with passion as he strode over to the group, in the midst of which Braithwaite stood laughing. Blinded by anger, he did not stay to ask questions, but crying, "You beastly cad!" let out straight from the shoulder.

The Angel, though rather alarmed, could not resist the chance of a joke.

"That's a drop of hextry speshul claret!" he sang out, as the blood spurted from Braithwaite's nose.

Instantly there arose a babel of voices.

"Give him one back, Dandy!"

"Off with your coat; I'll hold it!"

"Who has a spare handkerchief?"

I trust my readers are not thirsting for a description of a fight, because in that case they will be disappointed. In the midst of the hubbub the bell sounded, and the boys went to their places, Simpson leading his friend along, and making a great show of the blood-stained handkerchief.

The injured boy, who was in the same class as Jim and Dick, at once attracted the attention of Mr. Laythorne, who asked what had happened.

"If you please, sir," said Braithwaite, "I was standing just inside the gate when Hartland came along and hit me on the nose."

"Is this correct, Hartland?"

"He called me names, so I hit him, sir," answered Jim sulkily. "And I'll hit him again, too, if he cheeks me."

"I am sorry to hear you talk in that way," said the young master calmly. "Go to your place now, and stay behind during the interval.—Boden, take that boy to the lavatory."

"Yes, sir," responded the Angel cheerfully, taking Braithwaite, not too tenderly, by the arm.

Everything went wrong that morning with Jim. He made the most stupid mistakes in class, and behaved so badly that Mr. Laythorne felt sorely tempted to send him to the head-master. He was kept in during the interval, and again at noon, and accordingly looked on himself as a martyr. When he at last got out, the playground was empty except for Dick, who would never have dreamed of going without his chum.

"Get your face straight, old man," cried he; "it's as long as a fiddle. I wish I had a looking-glass, so that you could see yourself. Think of the milkmen down your way! You'll turn all their milk sour!"

Jim stalked across the playground without deigning to reply.

"Whew!" whistled the Angel; "you ought to be marked dangerous, like a magazine. No wonder Laythorne was afraid to keep you inside any longer. But I say, Jim, that was a lovely tap you gave Braithwaite. He asked me if I thought his nose was broken."

"I'll break his head next time!" said Jim savagely.

The Angel clapped him on the back.

"There's nothing like making a good job of a thing while you're at it," he said. "Going up the lane? All right. I'll call for you after dinner. And take that frown off your face, or you'll frighten Susie into a fit."

Mrs. Hartland saw there was something the matter with the boy, but happily she did not worry him about it, and by the time Dick called he was almost himself again.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, mother," he said as he was going out, "you needn't wait tea for me. I'm going to have mine at the shop. It will save time, Mr. Broad says."

"Have you to work all the evening, Jim?" asked Dick as they went down the street.

"No, I shall be home by eight."

"That doesn't leave you much time."

"Oh, I shall manage. Laythorne is taking all the subjects at school, and I can get in at least two hours extra every day."

As it happened, Jim found in a short time that he was reckoning without his book.

At the close of afternoon school Jim stepped up to the master's desk.

"Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather surprised.

"Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I was in a bad temper."

"It's very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief. How are you getting on for the 'Gayton'? Don't forget that if I can help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so."

"Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good fight for it."

He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town.

"'Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I'll pull through. I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to mother."

"Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop. "I like to see that. Your tea's ready in the kitchen. When you've finished I've something here for you to do."

"Yes, sir," said Jim.

Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a treasure.

"You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don't forget that new brooms sweep clean."

Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion.

Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work. To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him.

"I'll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself.

This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every minute of his spare time to study.

"Don't bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn't be able to dig you up again."

"Oh, I'm all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy. I've made a big move this week."

"Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It's the history that bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don't think history ought to count: it's mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who their grandfathers were?"

"Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.

Not long before, Mr. Laythorne had asked his class to name the "Provisions of Oxford," whereupon the Angel, though rather astonished at such a simple question, replied blandly, "The chief provisions of Oxford, like those of other English towns, are bread, meat, all kinds of vegetables, poultry, fish—" And he only pulled up when the suppressed titter of his classmates broke into uncontrollable laughter.

"Laythorne told the Head of that," said Dick, when he had recovered his breath, "and it went the round of the masters. They chaffed me about it at the cricket match; but I don't call it a fair question. I hope I shan't come a cropper like that at the 'Gayton.' Well, I'm off. See you Sunday." And leaving his chum at the shop door, he went away whistling.

That night when Jim was leaving, Mr. Broad said, "I shall want you to do a double round in the morning, and to stay till ten o'clock in the evening."

"Yes, sir," said the boy, though he was sorry at having to lose his own time.

"But you won't be wanted in the middle of the day," continued his master. "As soon as you have finished in the morning you can go till tea-time."

"Oh," said Jim, brightening, "that will be capital," and at once resolved to use the extra time for study. He felt very tired on the Saturday night, but his heart was light and his face smiling when he got home. As a great treat Susie had been allowed to stay up, and Mrs. Hartland had prepared a tasty if cheap supper.

"This is prime!" exclaimed Jim, sniffing at the savoury odour, "and I'm as hungry as a hunter. But, first of all, you had better take my wages, mother." And he put down a tiny pile of silver on the table with the air of a millionaire.

"There's too much here by sixpence," said Mrs. Hartland, counting the coins. "Your master has made a mistake."

"It's all right, mother," replied Jim proudly; "he gave me an extra sixpence for doing my work so well."

"O Jim!" cried Susie, "isn't it splendid? Fancy earning all that money!"

"It will come in handy," said he, "and in a few months I shall be able to earn more. But while we're chattering the supper's getting cold. Sit down mother. You look tired to death."

"Mother's been sewing all day, and the fine work hurts her eyes," observed Susie.

"I'm not as young as I was," remarked their mother, trying to laugh, "and my eyes feel the strain more."

"When I'm a bit older you won't need to work at all," said Jim, who meant what he said. "I'll earn enough for us all."

They lingered a long while over the simple meal, and then Jim helped his mother to carry Susie to her bedroom.

"I shan't call you early in the morning," said Mrs. Hartland, as Jim kissed her good-night; "I think you've earned a rest."

"I wish that horrid exam. was over!" cried Susie; "then you'd have more time to yourself."

CHAPTER VI.

THE EXAMINATION.

It really seemed as if fate was dead against Jim Hartland's winning the Gayton Scholarship For some time his mother, though saying nothing to the children, had not felt well. The shock of her husband's death, and the consequent change in circumstances, had done much to depress her, and the hard struggle to earn a scanty living had made her worse. She had done her best to keep up as long as possible; but on the Monday morning she was too ill even to get Jim's breakfast.

"Never mind, mother," said he cheerfully; "you stay in bed. I'll see to things. The lessons must go for a bit."

Being a handy sort of fellow, he made breakfast, carried some up to his mother and Susie, straightened things a bit downstairs, and then ran off to his work.

There still remained three weeks till the day of the examination; but, unfortunately for Jim, his mother's illness lasted two-thirds of that time. Mrs. Boden went in as often as she could, and a kindly neighbour did several odd jobs; but there were so many things to be done that Jim found all his time occupied.

"I should chuck the 'Gayton' if I were you," said the Angel one morning. "It will be no good to you if you win it, and with all these upsets you can't expect to be at your best."

"The fellows would think I was afraid of being beaten."

"What's the odds? Who cares what they think? There's no sense in working yourself half to death for nothing."

"Not a bit; but I'm going in all the same."

"Well, you are a stubborn beggar, and no mistake," said his chum, who usually spoke his mind.

The examination was to be held in one of the rooms at the Gayton School, and on the Monday morning the candidates assembled in the big playground.

Jim, who had been granted leave for the day by Mr. Broad, went down with Dick and Tom Moon, who was one of the Magpies. He was feeling wretchedly ill; his head ached, and his brains were all at sixes and sevens. He had worked like a horse all the week to make up for lost time, and was paying the penalty. He had lost all sense of proportion, and it seemed to him that life would be worth nothing if he failed to win this scholarship.

"Hullo!" cried Dick suddenly; "there's Dandy Braithwaite!—Morning, Dandy! Why, you look as pleased as if you'd won the scholarship already!"

"I'm going to have a good shot at it, anyhow."

"Bravo, my boy!—Hullo, Temple! You here?"

"Why not?" asked Temple in surprise.

"I thought you'd more sense, 'pon my word! Now what is the use of you fellows wasting your time when there are three of the Deaneryites in the running?"

The boys who knew the Angel's little ways greeted his remark with good-humoured laughter; the others thought he was a conceited donkey, and some said as much.

"Much plague in India just now, Dicky?" asked Temple mischievously.

"Wait till I've seen the geography questions."

"What's the joke?" asked Tom Moon.

"Haven't you heard of the Angel's little dodge? Why, they fairly screamed over it at the Deanery."

"Look here, Moon," said Dick, without a twinkle in his big blue eyes; "it was a beastly shame, and they treated me most unfairly. We had to write an account of a trip up the Ganges and a visit to Benares. Well, you know there was a horrible plague at Benares just then, and I couldn't afford to risk my valuable life in the town, so I skipped it, stating my reasons. And what do you think they said?"

"Can't guess."

"Why, that 'twas a fake, because I didn't know anything about the blessed old town." And he looked so solemn that Moon was half inclined to think he had been badly treated.

"Did you really put that down?" asked one of the boys in the group.

"Of course I did!" answered Dicky, in a tone of surprise. "They couldn't expect me to go to a plague-spot like that!"

"Didn't I hear some yarn, too, about a dead passenger?" asked Temple.

"Very likely," said the Angel calmly; "that was another misfortune. You see, we had to describe a voyage from London to Odessa, and a very nice little trip, too. Well, my passenger started in a yacht, and had a jolly good time, jotting down his descriptions every night. At last he got into the Adriatic, and the poor fellow fell overboard. The skipper fished him out, but he was quite dead; and so, of course, the trip ended. Now, what do you think the inspector had the conscience to ask me? 'Boden,' said he, 'couldn't you remember any more of the coast-line?' Just as if I'd play a trick like that!"

"Don't cry, Dicky!" observed Temple. "The inspector didn't know you as well as we do, or there would have been no need to ask such a question"—an oracular speech with rather a doubtful meaning.

Jim did not join in the chaff—in fact, he scarcely heard it. His whole mind was absorbed in the forthcoming examination, and he waited impatiently for the door to be opened. When Temple and several of the others spoke to him he answered briefly, and then relapsed into silence.

"What's the matter with him, Dicky?" whispered the popular captain of the Magpies, as they entered the building.

"Too much work. He's been overdoing it, and I shouldn't wonder if he breaks down. He's slaved like a nigger since the news of his father's loss came."

"Poor old chap!" said Temple. "It was hard lines, and no mistake."

The boys passed along a broad corridor, mounted a staircase, and entered a large room. Above the door was a card bearing the words, "Candidates for the Gayton Scholarship."

"Move quietly, please," said a spectacled gentleman standing at a desk. "Each boy will find his name on the desk at which he is to sit."

They were arranged in alphabetic order, and Dick found himself just behind Braithwaite. Jim was in the middle of the room, and Temple at the end. In a short time they were all seated, and the examiner read the rules and regulations. Then his colleague went round with the questions to be answered during the morning, and presently the only sound to be heard was the scratching of busy pens.

After a rapid glance at the paper, Dick settled to work with a pleasant smile; the questions were just to his liking, and he felt sure of doing well in the morning at least. Braithwaite, too, seemed satisfied, while Temple used his pen as if he were master of the situation.

The one boy in the room who appeared ill at ease was Jim Hartland. His face was hot and flushed; there were drumming noises in his ears; letters and figures, all jumbled together, danced wildly before his eyes. At the end of the first half-hour his paper was still blank. Long afterwards, in talking about the examination, he told me that, but for the examiner, he does not think he should have written a single word.

That gentleman, seeing something was amiss, went over, and laying one hand on the boy's shoulder, said kindly, "Are you ill, my lad?"

The sympathetic tone seemed to break the spell, and looking up, Jim answered, "My head aches a bit, sir, but it's getting better now. I think I can make a start."

"That's right, my boy. Time's flying; but you must do your best."

"Yes, sir," said Jim gratefully, and by a great effort he managed to concentrate his attention on the questions. Once started, he worked feverishly to make up for the lost half-hour; but at one o'clock he had to hand in his papers without having gone over them a second time.

Fortunately the interval was too short for comparing notes. There was scarcely time for more than a rush home, a hurried meal, and a run back to be ready for the opening of the doors.

At the gate Jim overtook Braithwaite, who, much to his surprise, said in quite a friendly way, "Done pretty well, Hartland?"

"Pretty well, thanks; how did you get on?"

"Prime! The questions were just made for me."

Just then the Angel came along.

"I say, Dandy," he cried, "how came you to be doing Euclid this morning?"

"Euclid? I wasn't!"

"What were you drawing, then?"

"Why, a map of the United States!"

"Oh!" The blue eyes opened wide with assumed wonder. "I thought 'twas a figure in Euclid."

"Don't be such a fool!" said Braithwaite testily, while the others laughed.

"Wasn't the arithmetic beastly stiff?" grumbled Tom Moon. "Did anybody do that thing about the two trains passing each other?"

"Oh, that was easy enough!" laughed Temple. "It worked out to thirty-seven seconds and a half."

"I got that," said Braithwaite.

"So did I," cried Dick, throwing up his hat. "Well done, Boden, my boy; you'll pull this scholarship off yet!"

Jim said nothing, but his skin burned like fire as he remembered that his answer was more than an hour and twenty minutes.

Just then the doors were opened and the boys trooped into their places. While waiting for the papers to be given out he recalled the sum in question, and soon found what a ridiculous mess he had made of it.

"It's no use," he thought to himself bitterly; "as likely as not I've made as big a hash of the rest."

Once he thought of pleading illness and giving up the struggle. The excuse would not have been without a backing of truth; but, after all, Jim was no coward, and he thrust the idea aside.

"No," muttered he, "I'll see the thing through."

The first subject in the afternoon was history, for which he had always a liking; and when the paper was finished he felt that he had at last done himself justice. Encouraged by this success, he worked away at the others, feeling more and more cheerful at the end of each subject.

"Well," said the examiner, when he came to collect the papers, "are you satisfied?"

"With this afternoon's work, sir," said Jim; "but I'm afraid I lost my chance this morning."

"Oh, you mustn't worry about that. 'Never despair!'—that's the motto, you know!" And the gentleman gave him a good-natured smile as he passed to the next desk.

Outside, the boys clustered together, comparing notes and talking over their doings. Some smiled complacently, others looked rather miserable as they discovered their mistakes.

"The algebra paper was a teaser," remarked Temple, "and as for the last equation, I couldn't do it at all.'

"I don't believe it comes out," said Braithwaite, while Dick admitted with a grin that he had left it untouched.

"Did you have a shot at it, Hartland?" asked Temple.

"Yes," said Jim; "it seemed easy enough, unless I misunderstood it." And with paper and pencil he proceeded to work it out.

"O my aunt!" cried Dick, who was very fond of bringing that worthy person into his conversation "I believe you've got it, Jimmy!"

"Yes," said Temple, "it certainly looks right. That will give you a lift, Hartland; it counts twenty marks."

"Well," replied Jim, thinking of the morning's work, "I shall need them all."

Presently the groups began to break up, and the boys to disperse. Jim still seemed very gloomy, and even his lively little chum found it difficult to bring a smile to his face.

"You haven't to go to the shop, have you?" he asked.

"Not to-night."

"That's jolly; we'll have a good game down at the Old Fort. It's ages since you were down, and the fellows will be glad to see you. Say you'll come, just to please me."

After a good deal of hesitation Jim promised, and the Angel went off whistling merrily. He little guessed what a terrible tragedy he was thus, in an indirect way, helping to bring about.

CHAPTER VII.

"IT'S ALL MY FAULT"

The port of Beauleigh has a fine harbour and splendid docks generally crowded with shipping. To the west of the harbour lies a sandy bay, while still farther west the coast becomes rugged and dangerous. When the tide is out, the rocks form a favourite playground for the boys of the neighbourhood, as also, at the time of our story, did the Old Fort. This is a ruined tower standing well out in the bay, and approached at low water by a stone bridge built up from the bottom of the sea. The width of this bridge is about sufficient to allow of two persons walking abreast, and here and there pieces have been knocked off by the action of the waves. At high tide it is covered to a height of several feet. The tower itself is so old that its origin was a matter for dispute among many learned men. Some said it had been built as a lighthouse; others that it was a real fort; while a third party declared that its original purpose was to serve as a prison for the king's enemies. The Beauleigh boys, without deciding on these abstruse matters, unanimously voted that it was a jolly place for a good game.

Not having any business there, they found it the more attractive, especially as there was a real element of danger in playing there at dusk. The notice-board marked "Dangerous" and the warning to trespassers added spice to their enjoyment. Now and again it was proposed by the townspeople to demolish the tower, as it no longer served any useful purpose; but somehow nothing was done.

Despite the danger, accidents rarely happened; the last one, in fact, was beyond the memory of even the oldest inhabitant.

Before joining the ranks of the workers Jim had played many a game both on the rocks and at the Fort, and his companions were glad to have him back.

"Here's Jim Hartland coming down with the Angel!" cried one.

Mrs. Hartland, thinking a good game would "blow the cobwebs," had urged him to go with Dick. He had been gloomy enough on the way down, but he brightened up at the boys' welcome, and threw himself heartily into the games. Whether he had done well or badly, the examination was over, and he might as well enjoy his brief holiday.

First they had their favourite military game. For this they divided into two parties—one, under Dick, defending the Fort; the second, led by Jim, trying to force an entrance. The besieged warriors performed prodigies of valour; but the enemy were too strong, and after a desperate fight succeeded in storming the outworks and putting the garrison to the sword. Then the Angel, scorning to surrender, seized his battered flag, and with a shout of defiance, leaped from the battlements, taking particular care, however, to come down where the sand was nice and soft.

After this some one proposed a game of "I spy!" among the rocks, to which the others readily agreed.

As they were scampering along Dick cried out, "Hullo! there's Braithwaite!—Come on, Dandy, and have a game! 'Twill do you good after all that dry stuff at Gayton to-day!"

"All right," replied Braithwaite, who did not often join in these rough sports; "where are you going?"

"Up to the rocks. Come along; we'll give the rest a breather!" And off he went, light of foot and heart and, I am afraid, somewhat light of head. Indeed it was partly owing to one of his mischievous pranks that the incident which I am about to relate occurred.

After playing a considerable time on the rocks, they went back across the bay. It was getting dusk now, and the tide, though still some distance out, was flowing shoreward. Some of the boys, wishing their companions good-night, started for home; five or six gathered at the stone bridge for a chat.

Then it was that Dick Boden made his unfortunate proposal.

"I've thought of a ripping game," said he. "See this knife? I'll hide it somewhere in the Old Fort, and you can try to find it."

"It will soon be dark," objected Braithwaite.

"Not too dark to see the knife, for a bit."

"The tide's coming in too, and you know how fast it comes in just here."

"Oh, go on, Dick!" cried Jim scornfully; "don't take any notice of him: he's always showing the white feather!"

Braithwaite flushed. "You think you're very brave, Jim Hartland," he said, "but you're no braver than any one else. I'm not afraid of going to the Fort."

"Oh, not a bit!" sneered Jim; "you'd walk across to France if the sea was all dry land. Make haste, Dick; we'll come on slowly. Call out when you're ready."

Dick, who was now half-way across, soon disappeared in the ruin, and presently they heard him shouting, "Come on!"

Perhaps the catastrophe might not have occurred even then; but, unfortunately, Jim, who was eager to be first, put out his hand to push Braithwaite aside; whereupon the latter, evidently thinking this a challenge, ran forward. Jim followed with young Moon, and two others brought up the rear.

"Bravo, Dandy!" cried Dick, who was waiting for them. "Now then, spread yourselves out, my amateur detectives, and search for the lost property. Well done, Dandy; you're hot on the scent. O Tommy Moon, O Tommy Moon, I'm sure you'll find it very soon."

Whether Braithwaite remembered the danger I cannot tell, but the others forgot everything in hunting for the knife and listening to Dick's nonsense. Laughing and joking, he led them on, keeping their noses to the grindstone, as it were, though without result.

"I don't believe he's hidden it at all!" grumbled Tom Moon at last, stretching his cramped legs.

"You young fraud!" cried Jim suddenly; "I believe the knife's in your pocket."

"I told you 'twas a ripping game!" chuckled the Angel, preparing to run. "Whoop!" And he was off like a shot.

"After him!" cried Jim. Then from those nearest the bridge came a shout of "Make haste! Quick! quick! The water's in!"

A sudden gust of wind blew Jim's cap into the dry well of the Fort, and a considerable time passed before he could scramble out; then, for a moment, he stood helpless and amazed.

The sky was dark and overcast with black clouds scudding in from the sea; the tide had half filled the bay; the waves were washing the bridge and increasing in violence every second. Dick and the others were racing along the slippery path, and had by this time almost gained safety.

"Thank goodness they're safe!" said he. "Shall I risk it? I think not. I'll climb to the top of the tower till the tide goes down, or perhaps a boatman will take me off."

He was turning to go back when a yell from the shore attracted his attention, and looking along the bridge again, he exclaimed, "Good gracious! what's that fool of a Braithwaite doing? He'll be washed off for certain.—Hi, Braithwaite, Braithwaite! come back! D'you hear? Come back! You'll be all right here in the Fort."

The boy in the middle of the pathway moved neither backward nor forward. It was poor Braithwaite, who, though far from being a coward, was overwhelmed by the startling suddenness of the danger. He could not swim, and the possibility of being drowned unnerved him. Instead of following the others, he had stopped short on the bridge, too dazed to move, though the peril increased every moment.

Even now, with care and a little luck, he might have got safely through, but he did not try. In vain the boys on shore shouted; in vain Jim yelled from the fort; he seemed not to hear.

"He'll be drowned," groaned Jim—"he's bound to be. And," with a sudden rush of memory, "it's all my fault. If I hadn't chaffed him, he would have been at home now."

Raising his voice, he once more shouted, "Braithwaite, Braithwaite, come back; it's quite safe here!" But it appeared as if the unhappy boy had lost all power to move.

It was not only useless, it might be fatal, to wait longer. Taking out his pocket-knife, Jim cut the laces of his boots, slipped them off, and put them in a safe place. Then he laid his coat and waistcoat by them, muttering, "Better go light, in case of accident."

"Keep your footing, Braithwaite!" he yelled; "I'm coming."

Full of their play, the boys had not noticed the signs of the coming storm. It was sweeping in now. The sky had darkened. Across the bay the great white sea-horses were leaping madly at the jagged rocks. The boys on shore had disappeared, but Jim knew the Angel would not desert him.

Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee. Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist, and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not quite despair.

"Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I'm coming!"

From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger. Again and again he said to himself, "It's all my fault."

Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a piercing cry—a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had been swept into the water.

Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment of the boy's head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning companion.

"Don't struggle, Dandy, and don't catch hold of me," he cried; but the advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the throat.

Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt water.

By this time Braithwaite's struggles had ceased, and supporting him with one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help, but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an encouraging shout in reply.

Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him. He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down. Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or perish in the attempt.

The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his open mouth.

"Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky's voice he heard in answer.

He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized the words now—"Jim! Jim! where are you?"—and put all his remaining strength into one last cry of despair.

Help must come quickly, or it would be too late. His strength was failing, his mind wandering.

"It's all my fault, Dandy," he murmured, "but I'll do my best. I'll stick to you. Look at the star! It's getting bigger and brighter. It's coming this way. Look! it's dancing up and down!" And he broke into loud laughter.

He had ceased swimming now, and was merely keeping himself and his silent companion afloat, almost without knowing that he did so.

CHAPTER VIII.

"DID I SAVE HIM?"

When Dick Boden ran from the Fort and raised the alarm, he waited till his companions made their appearance; then, expecting they would all follow, he dashed off across the stone bridge. In his opinion, as he afterwards said, the worst that could happen for any one was a few hours' imprisonment in the old tower.

No one looked behind till reaching the shore, and then Tom Moon noticed that Braithwaite had stopped.

"Unless he hurries up, he'll get a jolly good wetting," said Dick, and they all began to shout.

"What a muff the fellow is!" said Moon. "Why doesn't he come? There's Jimmy Hartland just come out; he'll bustle him along."

"Dick," suddenly said one of the other boys in a grave tone, "he'll be drowned, I'm sure." His name was Spencer, and his father being a fisherman, he was well acquainted with the bay.

"Look!" he continued; "just look how high the water is getting! Jim will have to stay in the Fort."

As soon as Dick grasped the danger he sent a boy for help, and with Moon and Spencer ran down the beach.

"Here you are!" he cried, stopping at the boat nearest the incoming tide. "Unfasten her, Spencer.—Light the lantern, Tommy; here's a match. Are the oars there? Right you are!—Now—one, two, three, and all together, boys. Push her along! Now she's riding! In with you!—Give me an oar, Spencer.—You steer, Tommy—straight for Braithwaite."

"No, no," said Spencer hastily; "steer for that rock with the whitewashed top; then swing her round, and we'll pick him up coming back. We should never reach there in a straight course."

"All right!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully; "you boss the show. I don't mind as long as he's saved."

The boys bent their backs with a will: but the boat was heavy, the tide strong, and, as the Angel admitted, the rowing was hardly up to regatta mark. Still they were making progress when Moon called out, "There's Hartland going for him!—Well done, Jim!—Pull, you fellows!"

They tugged away desperately, but suddenly a piercing shriek startled them, and they knew that Braithwaite was fighting for life in the water.

Dick groaned, and pulled till it seemed as if his arms must come out.

"They'll both be lost!" he cried, knowing well that Jim would not hesitate a second in jumping to the rescue.

"There are some men on the shore," said Spencer; "they're getting out another boat."

"Too late!" muttered Dick gloomily. "Listen! There's Jim calling for help. Shout back. Now again, and all together."

The sweat poured down their faces, their muscles ached terribly, their throats were dry and parched, but they pulled on without a second's pause.

Again the cry for help rang out, this time much nearer, and soon they discerned a dark object in the water.

"Keep her steady!" roared Spencer. "Grab the other fellow, Dick!" And he himself caught Jim, and pulled him up so that he partly rested on the gunwale.

The whole manoeuvre was full of danger, but they were taking risks that night. By degrees, Spencer, who was fortunately strong as a horse, managed to pull Jim into the boat, and then helped to drag in Braithwaite, who displayed no sign of life.

"Let's put our coats over them, and that dry sail in the corner," said Dick. "Now, a pull for the shore. Keep her head straight, Tommy!"

News of the desperate situation of the boys had spread rapidly. Numbers of people had assembled on the shore, and cheer after cheer greeted the plucky rescuers as they beached and made fast the boat.

Two or three doctors were among the spectators. Some thoughtful soul had hastily made and sent down a can of hot coffee, while a man from the York Hotel arrived soon afterwards with warm blankets.

"Are they alive?" was the question on the lips of every one, as the doctors ran down to the boat, and a few policemen kept the crowd back.

Dick had already unfastened his friend's braces, and taken off his shirt, in order to expose his chest fully, while Spencer and Tom Moon were doing the same for Braithwaite.

"That's right, my boy," said one of the doctors to Dick. "Now, help me to turn him face downwards. Place one of his arms under the forehead, so, and hold it there while I wipe his mouth."

Dick was half wild with grief; but he did as he was told, though feeling sure in his mind that Jim was dead.

Assisted by another man, the doctor presently turned the body gently on one side, and then back again sharply, Dick supporting the head meanwhile. This movement was repeated many times, and at last the doctor exclaimed with a look of satisfaction, "We've got him; he's beginning to breathe. Slip the trousers off and cover him with a blanket. Now rub his limbs upward, under the blanket. You've saved him, my boy!"

"Is he alive, sir?" asked Dick, hardly able to believe the truth.

"Alive? Yes; he'll be as right as ninepence in a few hours."

As soon as Jim began to breathe he was carried to a hotel close by, where the landlady busied herself to procure hot flannels and hot water-bottles. Then she brought a bottle of old wine, and gave Jim some in a teaspoon, under the doctor's orders.

"Now," said that gentleman, "there's nothing but a few hours' sleep required. Let this youngster stay in the room. I'm going to see how the other poor boy's getting on."

So Dick sat beside the bed on which his friend lay, and wondered what was happening on the beach. After a time Jim stirred uneasily, opened his eyes, and recognized his chum.

"Dick!" he whispered faintly.

"Don't try to talk, old chap. It's all right. Go to sleep."

There was an uneasy look in Jim's eyes, and his forehead puckered up as if he were in thought. Then he said in a whisper, "Did I save him?"

Jim had asked a question difficult to answer, but his chum thought it best to soothe him.

"Yes," said he; "you kept him afloat till the boat came up. Now go to sleep—there's a good chap—or I shan't be allowed to stay with you."

Jim's lips moved as if in speech, but no words passed them, and in a short time he was fast asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face.

Meantime, news of the accident had reached Mrs. Hartland, who, getting a neighbour to stay with Susie, hurried to the hotel, where she was permitted to go into the boy's room to satisfy herself that he was really alive.

"I'm going to stay with him," said Dick, following her to the door, "and the doctor says there's no need at all to worry. Does Susie know?"

"Yes; I couldn't keep it from her. How did it happen?"

Dick told the story briefly, and then, promising to bring Jim home in the morning, he returned to the room. An hour later the doctor came to have another look at his patient, who was still sleeping nicely.

"Hum!" said he, rubbing his hands, "one's better than none, though it is a pity the other slipped past us."

"Is Braithwaite dead, sir?" asked Dick, sinking his voice to a whisper lest Jim should hear him.

"Yes, my boy, I'm sorry to say he is. We've tried hard to restore breathing, but it's no good. How came he to get into the water?"

Dick told him.

"And this lad jumped in to save him? Well, that was very plucky, but none of you had any business there at all."

"No, sir," replied Dick humbly, "but I only thought to have a joke."

"Well, well, I don't suppose you're more to blame than the rest!" exclaimed the doctor; and then, after making a note of Jim's name and address, he said he would call at his house in a day or two.

That was a wretched night for Dick. The kind-hearted landlady brought him in a good supper, and a servant made him a comfortable bed on the floor, but he could not sleep.