ONE evening in autumn, two lads stood talking together at the corner of a road in the small seaside village of Springcliffe.
"What are you thinking of doing about it then, Frank?" said the boy who seemed the younger of the two.
"Just nothing at all."
"Have you made up your mind, then?"
"Quite."
"And you will not join them?"
"Not I."
"Why not, Frank?"
"Why not?—Why, because when one is sixteen, I think one has a right to all the spare time one can get; and it's little enough at the best, working from morning to night as we do."
The speaker uttered these words in a decided tone, as much as to say, "There, that will settle the matter." But it did not appear to have the desired effect, for the boy who had first spoken said,—