"All right," responded Kitty; and dropping the fork with which she had been at work moving up the earth in her garden-plot, she hastened to do her brother's bidding.

Kitty and Bob Glanville were "putting in a morning gardening," as Bob would have expressed it. They were both enthusiastic gardeners, and had been allotted a few yards each in the long strip of ground which stretched at the back of the semi-detached villa in the small provincial town where they lived. And it being the Easter holidays—it was at the end of April—they had plenty of time to devote to tilling their respective garden-plots, and were enjoying their labours in anticipation of the fine show of flowers they would have later on from the seeds which they were now sowing. Kitty, who was a nice-looking little girl of ten years old, with blue eyes and fair, curly hair, was two years her brother's junior, and being extremely good-natured she allowed him to order her about, and rarely thought of refusing to do his will. Bob was very fond of his sister; but he presumed on his seniority in many ways and expected always to take the lead.

Kitty having procured the rake returned with it to her brother. "Bob," she said, "there's a boy next door—at Mr. Shuttleworth's."

"I know," Bob answered laconically. "I saw him arrive yesterday with a big portmanteau. He came in a cab with Mr. Shuttleworth."

"Then you may depend Mr. Shuttleworth met him at the station."

Mr. Shuttleworth was an elderly bachelor of studious habits, who lived next door. Being of a reserved disposition he had little to do with his neighbours, though sometimes he exchanged a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Glanville if they happened to be in their front garden when he was in his, and he always nodded to the children when he met them. Neither Kitty nor Bob remembered Mr. Shuttleworth ever having had a visitor before, and they had lived next door to him for several years now.

"Bob, I wonder who the boy can be," said Kitty, as her brother took the rake from her hand. "I saw him watching us from Mr. Shuttleworth's dining-room window. Such a very ugly-looking boy he is, with red hair, and green goggly eyes, and a snub nose, and a big mouth. He grinned at me."

"And did you grin back at him?" asked Bob with a laugh.

"No, certainly not," Kitty responded loftily; "as though I should do that! He's gone now," she added, with a furtive glance at their neighbour's house. "Oh," she exclaimed in accents of intense astonishment, a moment later, "why, there he is, staring at us over the wall! He must be standing on a ladder, I suppose."

Bob paused in the midst of raking his flower-bed smooth and looked at the wall which divided the two back gardens of the semi-detached villas. It was a brick wall of about six feet in height, and at the present minute the head and shoulders of a boy were visible above it. He had been watching the two young gardeners intently; but when he perceived they noticed him he looked a trifle embarrassed, and his freckled countenance deepened in colour.

"Yes, he must be on a ladder," Bob agreed. "The idea of his spying on us like that! I shall take no notice of him!"

"Nor I," said Kitty; and she turned her attention to her garden again; but she could not refrain from glancing at the partition wall frequently, and every time she did so there was still the ugly boy watching them.

"Do you think he wishes to speak to us?" she suggested to her brother at length. "Shall we ask him if he wants anything?"

"Most certainly not," Bob responded. "I call it cheek his perching himself there; if I spoke to him I should tell him so."

Meanwhile the boy next door—Tim Shuttleworth—who had come out in hopes of picking an acquaintance with his neighbours, saw that, though they had observed him, they had no intention of speaking to him, and was consequently disappointed. Although he had only arrived on a visit to his uncle, Mr. Shuttleworth, on the preceding day, time was hanging heavily on his hands already. At breakfast his uncle had told him he might go where he pleased and do exactly as he liked, and had remarked that no doubt he would find his own amusements—adding that there were young folks in the next house he could play with, but he had evidently not thought of introducing him to them. And then he had shut himself up in his study, leaving his nephew to his own devices.

From the dining-room window Tim had taken stock of the next door garden, and of Kitty and of Bob Glanville with their lemon-and-white fox-terrier, Snip, in close attendance upon them; and seeing that Bob was about his age and that Kitty looked a merry, nice little girl, he had thought how pleasant it would be for him to know them. Accordingly he had procured a short ladder, which he had found hanging against the tool-house wall, and had taken up a position where he could overlook the next door garden. He had seen Kitty call her brother's attention to him, and had observed them whispering together, and he deemed it almost unsociable for them not to speak.

By-and-by Snip trotted up the garden path nearest the partition wall, and suddenly paused, sniffing the air in a suspicious manner. Then he looked up and caught sight of the stranger; but instead of barking at him, he seated himself on his haunches and contemplated him with a world of perplexity in his brown eyes, into which there gradually crept the loveliest possible canine smile.

"Good doggie," Tim murmured. "You're a jolly, friendly little chap." And Snip wagged his tail and wriggled with excitement, every nerve in his body on the twitch, for he liked the voice which addressed him, and he liked the countenance of the next door boy, which did not seem ugly to him at all.

"Look at Snip," said Kitty in an undertone. "The boy's speaking to him, and he's quite pleased."

"Little sniveller!" exclaimed Bob. He immediately called to the dog to come away; whereupon Tim made a grimace at him and descended the ladder in haste.

"What an impertinent boy!" cried Kitty. "But I don't think it was nice of you to call Snip away like that; he was doing no harm, and it seemed rather rude, I thought. I know you didn't mean it to be so," she added hastily, noticing that her brother's colour had risen.

"The fellow had no right there at all," Bob replied. "If any one was rude, he was. He is evidently full of cheek. Did you see what a face he made at me?"

"Yes, and didn't he look ugly?" cried Kitty, smiling at the remembrance of the distorted countenance which had disappeared so suddenly on the other side of the wall. "I wonder if he is a relation of Mr. Shuttleworth's, and if he will stay long?"

"You'd like to know all about him, wouldn't you, Kitty?" her brother said, laughing. "You wouldn't be a girl if you weren't curious."

"Boys are curious, too, only they never will own it," Kitty retorted.

"Some are," Bob admitted. "That red-headed chap is, I should think, or he wouldn't have looked at us over the wall like that."

Tim Shuttleworth watched the young folk next door constantly during the next day or two, for they spent much time in the back garden; but he always kept behind the lace curtains in the dining-room, and did not try to attract their notice again. Their doings interested him exceedingly. Sometimes they would place Snip on the wall to watch for cats, and on one occasion the little dog hunted one of his natural enemies all about Mr. Shuttleworth's garden, around the house, and out into the road. No one would have been more shocked and horrified than the two young Glanvilles had Snip really caught a cat; but he had never done so, and it was most unlikely he ever would, so his mistress and master saw no harm in permitting him to enjoy his little game, though they had several times been told by their father not to encourage him in his favourite pursuit.

Tim knew his visit to his uncle was to be of long duration. He was the eldest of several children, and as his father was only a clerk in a bank in Dublin, his home was a comparatively poor one. During the winter he had had a serious attack of pneumonia, and when his uncle had written and suggested that he should spend the summer with him in England, at the small country town where Mr. Shuttleworth had lived for many years, his parents had promptly accepted the invitation; for the doctor who had attended him during his illness had declared that a thorough change of air and scene, and an absence from school for a few months, would be to his ultimate benefit. Tim had known but little of his uncle up to the present, having only seen him on the rare occasions when he had come on a visit to Dublin, and when he found out how thoroughly engrossed his relative was in his books and his studies, he was dismayed at the prospect of the months of loneliness, he feared he must look forward to. If only the children next door would seek to know him! But he realized that they were not prepossessed with his appearance, and he was too shy and too proud to make any overtures of friendship to them, and determined to find his own amusements, as his uncle expected him to do.

Accordingly, he selected a sunny spot in the back garden—which was almost a wilderness, for Mr. Shuttleworth did not care for flowers, and bought his vegetables—and began to turn up the soil. It was hard work, for the ground had long been neglected, and the tools he found in the tool-house were blunt and heavy; but he persevered. He would have a garden of his own, he decided, which should rival those of the children next door; and at length he succeeded in getting the earth in fairly good condition, and planted it with the seeds of nasturtiums and mignonette and other hardy annuals which he purchased with his own pocket-money.

There came a night when Tim went to bed greatly pleased with the result of his finished labours; but the next morning he found they had been all in vain, for on going into the back garden after breakfast, he discovered that some animal—a dog, presumably—had been scratching and digging holes in the ground he had prepared so carefully for the reception of the seeds.

His indignation was intense; and fetching the ladder from the tool-house, he placed it against the partition wall, climbed it, and looked into the next garden. There were the sister and brother, their attention fixed on the contents of a big box which they had placed against the wall, and near them was Snip, his nose covered with earth.

Tim's wrath burst bounds as he regarded the trio, and he poured forth a volume of angry words, his Irish accent growing more and more pronounced as he proceeded, in which he accused Kitty and Bob of having deliberately put Snip in over the wall to destroy his garden. He vowed vengeance upon them, and at last, overcome with rage, he shook his fist at them and then abruptly quitted the scene.

"What a dreadful boy!" cried Kitty, who had turned quite pale. "What can he mean by speaking to us like that? What can Snip have done?"

"Destroyed his garden, he said," responded Bob. "I didn't put Snip over the wall, though. If he's been in there, he went by himself. My, what a temper that fellow has! I believe, as you say, he's a dreadful boy."

[CHAPTER II.]

TIM'S REVENGE.

A SECOND survey of his garden did not lessen Tim Shuttleworth's indignation in the least; and too angry to endeavour to repair the mischief done, he marched into the house and took up his position behind the lace curtains in the dining-room, through which he kept a watchful eye on the Glanvilles' back garden, his mind full of wild plans for revenge.

What could there be in the box which had been placed against the partition wall, Tim pondered? It had not been there yesterday; but that it contained something very attractive was evident, for Mr. and Mrs. Glanville, and the cook, and housemaid, and later the boot boy, all visited it one by one.

"I expect they've been given some potting plants," Tim decided at length. "Yes, that must be it, for they've put the box against the sunny wall. How would they like it, I wonder, if someone else's dog came into their garden and dug big holes in their flower-beds? I've a great mind to make a complaint against them to uncle; but no, I won't be a sneak. I'll find some way of paying them out myself."

Later in the morning—which was cold and windy for the end of April—Tim went for a stroll in the town, and as he walked up the main street feeling very lonely, and longing for congenial society, he encountered Kitty and Bob coming out of a sweet shop, followed by Snip. He gave them one swift glance in passing, and noticed that Kitty, who had turned rosy red, was pretending not to see him, and that Bob was regarding him with eyes which twinkled humorously. It flashed upon him that his exhibition of temper had caused the other boy amusement, and the knowledge only made him more angry. He felt it was adding insult to injury to laugh at him; and when Snip, evidently recognising him, obtruded himself on his notice by jumping against him, he gruffly told him to get away.

"Come here, Snip," commanded Bob, in a voice which betrayed merriment. "Come here, sir, im—mediately!"

So Snip, looking decidedly crestfallen, turned his attention once more to his young mistress and master; and Tim went on, his head held haughtily, his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets.

"Don't you think we ought to have told him that it was not our fault that Snip did harm to his garden?" asked Kitty of her brother, glancing over her shoulder at Tim's retreating form. She spoke rather indistinctly, because her mouth was full of sweets.

"What! After the way he spoke to us?" cried Bob. "Not likely. Let the fellow think what he likes."

"It doesn't seem right to let him think what isn't true, though, does it?"

"I don't see that it matters."

"No, I don't know that it does." Kitty agreed, as usual coming round to her brother's way of reasoning. "How crossly he spoke to Snip, didn't he? Poor little Snip, he meant no harm."

Meanwhile, Tim having reached the corner of the street, looked back and saw that the Glanvilles were not going home, but had turned down a side road leading in the opposite direction. A sudden, malicious thought flashed through his mind, which caused him to turn and hastily retrace his footsteps. On his arrival at his uncle's house he went immediately to the back garden, and, armed with a spade, he mounted the ladder, which he had left against the wall, and peered cautiously around the Glanville's garden. No one was in sight, and, being assured that he was unobserved, Tim leaned over the wall, the better to view the box beneath; and then, with the aid of the spade, he tried to lift the lid, but failed in the attempt. However, it did not matter what was inside, he told himself; if it was something breakable so much the better.

For a few minutes Tim hesitated, his conscience telling him he was about to act very wrongly; but the remembrance of the grievance, he believed he had every right to cherish against Kitty and Bob nerved him to do that which he afterwards bitterly repented having done. And, with a vigorous shove from the spade, he overturned the box with a jerk, descended the ladder hastily, and hurried back to the house, his feelings those of mingled fear and exultation—fear lest he might have been seen after all, and exultation because he believed he had now scored off the next door children.

When uncle and nephew met at the mid-day meal that day, it occurred to Mr. Shuttleworth to ask Tim how he had spent the morning.

"Oh, I've been in town," Tim answered, flushing, "and—and in the garden. I don't think much of the shops here, Uncle John; they're not to be compared with ours in Dublin."

"No, of course not. You must remember this is only a small country town—not to be compared in any way to 'Dublin's fair city,'" Mr. Shuttleworth replied with a smile. He was a tall man with stooping shoulders, and near-sighted eyes which peered at Tim very kindly through spectacles, and he was very clever; but with all his cleverness, he did not understand children, which was a pity for Tim. "Have you spoken to the young folks next door yet?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," assented Tim, trying to respond in a careless tone. "I've spoken to them; but I don't think much of them, Uncle John."

"Dear me. Why not?" There was surprise in Mr. Shuttleworth's voice.

"They're stuck-up," Tim asserted, after a moment's reflection.

"Stuck-up? You astonish me. I don't know much of my neighbours, but Mr. and Mrs. Glanville seem pleasant people to talk to, and the children—though I have never spoken to them—always struck me as being well behaved. They go to school, I believe; but I suppose it is holiday-time now. Don't you think you'll be friendly with them, then?"

Tim shook his head decidedly, and his uncle dropped the subject, telling himself that perhaps his nephew, like himself, preferred his own company.

As soon as Mr. Shuttleworth had returned to his study, and the servant had cleared the table, Tim took up his post at the window, on the alert to see what would happen when Kitty and Bob paid their next visit to the back garden. It was less cold than it had been earlier in the day, and the wind had gone down, so he opened the window, and it was not long before he heard voices, and the sister and brother appeared, the former carrying something very carefully in a saucer.

Tim's heart beat unevenly as he watched the children. As he had anticipated, they made straight for the box, and great was the consternation depicted on their faces when they found it had been overturned.

"Oh, Bob, what can have happened?" cried Kitty; and the listener at the window caught a note of alarm in her voice. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"Don't be frightened," Bob answered reassuringly. "It's only upset; I'll soon put it right. I hope a dog hasn't been here; it wouldn't have been Snip, anyway, for we warned him off, and he quite understood. Oh, be careful, Kitty! You're spilling the bread and milk all over your frock."

"Never mind," broke in Kitty hastily. "It's an old frock, and—oh, Bob, do be quick and see it's not hurt."

Bob had set the box right side up by this time, and was trying to open the lid; but it had become jammed, and it took him a few minutes to prise it open with his pocket-knife.

Tim now saw that the front of the box had been knocked out and a piece of wire netting put in its place, and that he had not been able to see from the top of the wall. He began to feel anxiety as well as curiosity to ascertain what the box contained. Was it something living—some animal? It might be a pet of some kind, and that would account for Kitty's saucer of bread and milk.

Bob had succeeded in opening the box now, and he and his sister were bending over it, their fair, curly heads close together. A strange quietude seemed to have fallen upon them, and when a minute later they stood upright and looked at each other, Tim observed that the colour had fled from both young faces, and that the tears were rolling down Kitty's cheeks. At length Bob spoke in a voice which sounded rather husky.

"I say, don't cry like that, old girl!" he said kindly. "I'll go in and ask father to come out and look at it." And he rushed off into the house.

Meanwhile Kitty stooped over the box again, and took therefrom something white, which she cuddled in her arms and wept over in bitterest grief.

The onlooker at the window watched her in consternation, a choking sensation in his throat. Although he had not yet fully realized the cause of her trouble, he sympathized with her, for he owned a very warm heart, and the sight of the little girl's tears touched him immeasurably. What had he done to cause this grief?

He was soon to know, for in a very short while Bob returned, followed by his parents, and the two servants, who all congregated around Kitty, and presently Tim heard Mr. Glanville say, "No dog did it, so Snip is guiltless, at any rate, although of course he might have overturned the box, but I don't think he could have done that. It must have been instantaneous death for the poor thing. You can be sure it did not suffer at all, Kitty, and that thought is very comforting, so dry your eyes, there's a good girl. Doubtless, when the box was turned over the little creature was thrown against the side, and received a blow on the head. It takes but a small knock to kill a rabbit, especially a young one like this."

Tim knew what he had done at last, and he was both shocked and frightened. He was anything but a cruel boy, and he was exceedingly fond of all animals, and now that he realized that the white, fluffy object poor Kitty held so tenderly in her arms was a little baby rabbit, which he in his wicked, revengeful temper had killed, he felt like a murderer. His first impulse was to push back the lace curtain, and shout out to the group in the next garden that he was responsible for the rabbit's death; but a minute's reflection made him change his mind, and determine to keep his secret. In an agony of contrition, he watched Bob get a spade and dig a hole under the big apple tree which grew at the bottom of the garden, whilst one of the servants fetched a shoebox, into which Kitty placed the rabbit, and then followed the funeral. Afterwards Bob made a little mound over the grave, and planted a forget-me-not root upon it. And he told Kitty he would try to get her another rabbit very soon.

Mr. and Mrs. Glanville and the servants had returned to the house, but the sister and brother lingered in the garden. They were conversing in low tones, so Tim could not hear what they were saying; but his guilty conscience suggested to him that they might be discussing by what means the rabbit's hutch had been overturned, and perhaps arriving at the truth.

Suddenly Kitty looked up and saw the curtains in Mr. Shuttleworth's dining-room window move, and it flashed upon her that Tim was behind them.

"That boy next door—he is watching us again!" she whispered excitedly to her brother. "Oh, Bob, I wonder if he knows who killed my dear, dear little rabbit. You don't think he could have thrown over the hutch to spite us, do you?" she suggested with a condemning glance in Tim's direction.

Bob shook his head—he thought the idea most unlikely; and a few minutes later he and Kitty went indoors, little dreaming how uneasy Tim was feeling, for he had known they had guessed he was at the window, and Kitty's incriminating glances had not been lost upon him.

Poor Tim! He was utterly miserable for the remainder of the day, and so dispirited and dejected did he look that even Mr. Shuttleworth noticed it, and asked him if he was ill.

Ill? No, he was not ill, he declared; and oh, how he longed to unburden his heart to his uncle! But he shrank from doing so. And, saying he was tired, remarked he thought he would go to bed early, which he accordingly did.

The clocks in the house struck many times before he was able to get any sleep, so tormented was he by his guilty conscience and the fear that the sharp-looking children next door were beginning to have suspicions respecting him. And when at last slumber overcame him, and he fell into a troubled doze, he was confronted in his dream by a vision of Kitty Glanville, her blue eyes full of angry tears, whilst in a voice shrill with accusation, she cried, "Ah, I've found you out now! It is you who killed my rabbit."

[CHAPTER III.]

KITTY INTERVIEWS TIM.

"I'VE spoken to Tom Hatch about getting you another rabbit," Bob informed his sister on the afternoon subsequent to the one on which they had found her late pet dead. "And he says he believes his brother will be able to let you have one, for his doe had young a few weeks back, and he wants to get rid of them all before leaving the place."

The Hatch boys were schoolfellows of Bob's, who were about to leave the place with their parents to take up their abode in a neighbouring town. Kitty had purchased the rabbit, which had come to such an untimely end, from Tom for a shilling, and was very desirous to replace it.

"Will he be willing to sell me another for the same price?" she inquired practically.

"Oh, yes," was the response. "You may be sure of that."

"And will it be a white Angora like the other?"

"I suppose so; he didn't say; you needn't have it if you don't fancy it, you know. I think we had better move the hutch closer to the house, near to the back door."

"Yes, then the servants will be able to keep their eyes on it, and see it is not interfered with. Oh, Bob, I cannot help thinking that the boy next door may know how the hutch got overturned yesterday, for he's always watching us! At any rate, I shall ask him; there can be no harm in doing that."

"I should not have anything to say to him, if I were you," advised Bob; "but please yourself, of course."

Thus it came about that whilst Tim, who was feeling much bored with his own company and was very dispirited, was doing a little gardening by way of passing the time after tea that evening, he heard himself addressed by Kitty's now familiar voice:

"Hi, you boy—I don't know your name—I want to speak to you."

The hoe with which he was working dropped from Tim's hands, so startled was he, and the expression of his face was one of alarm as he looked around hastily; but he could not see the little girl, though he ran his eyes from end to end of the partition wall.

"Here I am," she said, with a merry laugh as she observed his bewilderment. "Why, you seem quite scared," she continued. "Don't you see me? I'm in the apple tree."

There she was sure enough, perched high on a branch of the big apple tree at the bottom of her own garden, from which position she could overlook Mr. Shuttleworth's domain.

"Oh," exclaimed Tim, "now I see you. I couldn't think where your voice came from."

A smile, which was rather embarrassed, though certainly not unfriendly, flickered over his plain, freckled countenance as he spoke.

"I want to speak to you for a minute about something important," said Kitty.

"Oh!" He wondered uneasily what "something important" might be.

"You remember meeting us—my brother and me—in the town yesterday morning?"

"Yes," assented Tim. "So you did see me. I was positive of it at the time, though you kept your head turned aside."

"That was because I was eating sweets, and there was a big caramel in my mouth," she said hastily, looking somewhat abashed. "Not that I should have spoken to you, anyway," she went on truthfully. "You couldn't have expected either of us to do that after—but never mind that now! What I want to know is, where did you go afterwards?"

"Where did I go afterwards? I—I—why do you ask? What does it matter to you?"

What a rude boy he was, Kitty thought. She flushed with annoyance; but she was so anxious to ascertain if he could throw any light on the matter which weighed upon her mind that she answered pacifically:

"It doesn't matter to me, except that I thought, if you came straight home, you might have noticed if there was any one prowling about our garden. The fact is," speaking in a confidential tone, "I had a dear little rabbit in a big box against the wall, and some one upset the box and killed the rabbit. Perhaps you know that?"

"I—I—yes," Tim admitted; "I saw you all in the garden when—when you found it dead, and—and—I was sorry—"

He paused in confusion, whilst Kitty regarded him more favourably, for he really did look sorry, quite distressed, in fact.

"It was a sweet little creature," she said with a sigh, "and it was so sad to find it killed. I daresay you thought me silly and babyish to cry, but really I couldn't help it. I had only bought it the night before; I gave a shilling for it. That wasn't what made me cry, though; it was because it was such a dear, so soft and as white as snow." She paused and blinked away a tear, then proceeded more briskly: "Well, what I want to know is, did you see any one interfering with the rabbit hutch?"

"No," Tim answered, so hesitatingly, that Kitty shot a glance full of suspicion at him. "Perhaps some strange dog got into your garden," he suggested, feeling himself to be very mean-spirited as he spoke, "or perhaps the wind—"

"Oh, it couldn't have been the wind," she interrupted impatiently, "although there was a strong breeze blowing, but not strong enough to upset a heavy box like that. Bob thinks a big dog must have pushed the hutch over in trying to get it open, but I don't know what to think, except that you know something about it," she declared with a ring of decision in her tone.

Tim was so taken aback at this sudden and direct charge that he had no answer ready. The colour rushed to his face in a flood of crimson, then, receding, left him quite pale.

"What do you mean?" he gasped at length, assuming anger to hide his dismay. "How dare you say that I know something about it?"

"You said you'd pay us out because Snip had spoilt your garden—we didn't know he'd done it, so it wasn't our fault—and I thought you might have killed my rabbit out of spite."

"I never knew your rabbit was dead till I saw it in your arms," declared Tim solemnly. "I hadn't the faintest idea there was a rabbit in the box, I didn't know what was there."

"But did you overturn the box?" persisted Kitty.

For a moment Tim hesitated. He still craved for the friendship of Kitty and her brother, and he thought if he acknowledged his guilt they would never have anything to do with him, so, though he was usually truthful, on this occasion he gave way to the temptation of the moment, and answered:

"No, certainly not."

He did not look at Kitty as he spoke; and when several minutes had elapsed without her having addressed him again, he plucked up courage to glance furtively towards the apple tree, he found the little girl had gone. He did not know that he had lied in vain, or guess that Kitty, who was very keen of discernment, believed he held the key of the mystery which surrounded her rabbit's death.

"If that boy next door didn't throw over the box himself, he knows who did it," Kitty declared to her brother after she had given him an account of her interview with Tim.

"Perhaps he was only pretending to know, just to make himself seem important," suggested Bob. "Some fellows are like that. What good have you done by speaking to him, Kitty?"

"None at all," she was bound to admit; "and I wish I had let him be. He seemed sorry my rabbit was dead; but he's a very odd boy, he hardly had a word to say for himself."

"He had plenty of words yesterday when he was in a passion," Bob rejoined with a laugh. "Cook hears that he is Mr. Shuttleworth's nephew, and that he's going to stay here all the summer," he proceeded to explain. "He will have rather a dull time, I should say, for Mr. Shuttleworth doesn't appear to take much notice of him, does he?"

"No, indeed," agreed Kitty. "If he was a nicer boy, he might be friendly with us; but he's a dreadful temper and I believe he tells lies."

"To whom are you giving such a bad character, Kitty?" asked Mrs. Glanville, coming into the room where her children were talking at that moment, holding an open letter in her hand.

"The boy next door, mother," the little girl answered promptly.

"What do you know against him, my dear?"

Kitty told all she knew—of the exhibition of temper Tim had given them on the previous day, and of her suspicion against him, which she was obliged to admit her brother did not share.

"I don't think you ought to jump to the conclusion that the boy has told you an untruth, Kitty," Mrs. Glanville said gravely. "If you have a doubt—well, give him the benefit of the doubt, my dear. Strangely enough I was coming to speak to you about the boy next door. I find Mr. Shuttleworth is his uncle, and that he has come to pay him a long visit because he was very ill a month or so ago, and the doctor has advised his not returning to school for the summer term. His home is in Dublin—"

"That accounts for his accent then," Bob broke in. "I knew he was a Paddy the minute I heard him speak."

"It would be wonderful if he had no touch of brogue, considering he has lived all his life in Ireland," Mrs. Glanville remarked smilingly.

"How do you know that, mother?" inquired Kitty. "Have you been talking to Mr. Shuttleworth?"

"No; but I've had a letter from Mr. Shuttleworth's sister-in-law, telling me her eldest boy—Tim, she calls him, short for Timothy, I suppose—is staying with his uncle here, and asking me to be kind to him."

"How extraordinary!" exclaimed Kitty, whilst her brother gave a soft whistle of surprise.

"Not so extraordinary as you think, my dear, seeing that Tim's mother was once a school-friend of mine. She was an Irish girl, and I knew she had married some one called Shuttleworth, but it never occurred to me that her husband might be in any way connected with our neighbour. Tim's mother does not know we are living next door to her brother-in-law; she simply addressed her letter to this town hoping that I should get it, and as we are the only Glanvilles in the place, it came direct."

"And now, what do you mean to do, mother?" Kitty asked eagerly, as Mrs. Glanville paused and glanced through her letter once more.

"I shall call next door to see my old friend's son to-morrow," was the response, "and most probably bring him back with me to tea. You must not be prejudiced against him, children; if he is anything like his mother in disposition, you will be sure to get on with him, and there will be no difficulty in your making friends with him, for she was one of the kindest-hearted girls I ever knew. Don't you think, when he perched himself on the ladder and stared at you over the wall, he might have been wishful of making your acquaintance? That is my opinion. Had I been in your place, Bob, I fancy I should have spoken to him; he must be about your age—a trifle younger perhaps, but not much. You must try to be friends with him—a stranger in a strange land. I daresay he has been home-sick, poor child!"

"What a nuisance!" exclaimed Bob, as soon as his mother had left the room. "You will see that boy will spoil our holidays—or what is left of them. We shall have to be civil to him—which he certainly has not been to us!"

[CHAPTER IV.]

MAKING AMENDS.

WHEN Mrs. Glanville called at her neighbour's house on the following afternoon, she found that Tim was not at home; but she saw Mr. Shuttleworth and explained her mission to him. He had not the faintest idea where his nephew had gone, he informed her, and greatly regretted his absence. "For I should like him to be friendly with your young people," he said cordially.

"I thought perhaps I should have persuaded him to return with me, and make their acquaintance now," Mrs. Glanville replied. "But, since he is not here and you do not know what time he will be back, will you let him come to tea with us to-morrow? Please let him come early so as to spend a long afternoon with us."

"Certainly," Mr. Shuttleworth agreed readily. "You are very kind and I have much pleasure in accepting your invitation for Tim." And thus it was settled.

Meanwhile Tim had gone on a secret errand. Since his interview with Kitty, he had been possessed with a strong desire to make good the bad turn he had done her, as far as lay in his power, by giving her another rabbit. With that idea he had asked the butcher boy, at the back door earlier in the day, if he knew any one who had rabbits for sale, and the butcher boy had told him of a shop, kept by an old man named Jacob Dottin, in a back street of the town, where all sorts of animals and birds might be purchased. So whilst Mrs. Glanville was interviewing his uncle, Tim was making for the abode of Mr. Dottin. An obliging policeman had shown the little boy the way to go; and, at length, after traversing several narrow, dirty streets, he found himself before the shop he wanted.

Tom stood for a few minutes gazing into the window at rows of cages containing birds of all sorts and descriptions, and, so engrossed was he in watching them that he did not notice the shop door open, and he started when a voice at his side addressed him:—

"Would you like to come and have a look at my little family, young gentleman."

Tim turned quickly and looked at the speaker—a spare, bent-shouldered old man, with grizzled hair which was so thick, as was his beard, that, with a cap drawn far over his forehead, but little of his face was visible except a pair of sharp, black eyes and a hook nose. Tim smiled involuntarily, for he thought the old man was like an animal himself, an animal that was a mixture of a baboon and a parrot with his hairy face, and hook nose, and claw-like fingers, which he twisted together as he blinked and smiled in what he evidently intended to be an amiable manner.

"Mr. Tottin?" said Tim, inquiringly.

"Aye—Jacob Dottin, young gentleman, at your service," was the response.

"I wanted to see you, so I will come in," and Tim followed the old man into the shop.

His first impulse was to retrace his footsteps, for the air in the shop was close and unpleasant, and he felt he could not breathe there; he did not retreat, however, as, on glancing around him, he was fascinated by the sight of a big monkey asleep in a corner with a small, terrier puppy cuddled in its arms, and various other animals such as guinea-pigs, rabbits, mice and rats, ranged in hutches around the walls. Several parrots screamed in cages suspended from the ceiling, and a raven croaked on a shelf over the door. Tim grew accustomed to the babel of sounds in a few minutes, and did not so much notice the offensive atmosphere, and, as the old man desired him politely to look around, he did so at his leisure, finally drawing up before a hutch in which were several young rabbits with beautifully thick, white hair.

"Ah, those are worth looking at," remarked Mr. Dottin; "pure-bred Angoras, they are. Maybe you're a rabbit fancier?" he questioned, regarding his visitor shrewdly.

"No," Tim answered, "but I want to buy a rabbit for a—a—some one I know. What would be the price of one of those, now?"

"Five shillings," was the unhesitating response.

"Five shillings!" echoed Tim, his face clouding over. "Oh dear, so much as that? Then it's out of the question my buying one to-day, thank you."

He turned towards the door as he spoke, but the old man stopped his exit by saying hastily:

"Wait a minute, sir; don't be in such a hurry; perhaps we may be able to come to terms."

"I'm afraid not," Tim replied regretfully. "For I haven't five shillings in the world; that is the truth."

"Well, well, you're frank, and I like you for it. They're beautiful creatures and pure-bred, as I said just now," Mr. Dottin observed thoughtfully, surveying the rabbits and then Tim with his head on one side.

"But I'd wish to oblige you and make a new customer, who'd no doubt recommend me to his friends. Would three shillings be nearer your prize? Well, then," as the little boy shook his head, "say half-a-crown? Half-a-crown for a pure-bred Angora rabbit, why, it's absurd; nevertheless, you shall have that little one for half-a-crown. What do you say?"

Tim reflected. He was a shrewd boy, and it struck him that Mr. Dottin had lowered his price very quickly. He also remembered that Kitty had said she had given a shilling for the rabbit he had killed, so, though half-a-crown was the exact amount of money he had in his pocket, he determined to try to get what he wanted for less.

"I'll give you eighteen-pence for that little rabbit, it's the smallest of the lot, I see," he said. "I don't believe it's worth more."

"Not worth more. Eighteen-pence for a pure-bred Angora! Why, you can't know what you're talking about, young gentleman!" Mr. Dottin cried, in shrill accents of protestation.

"Oh, yes I do," Tim returned, confidently. "I price the rabbit at eighteen-pence."

"And I price it at half-a-crown," the old man retorted. "Stop, stop," he proceeded, as Tim again moved toward the door. "You are too impetuous, sir, too impetuous by half. I'll tell you how we'll settle the matter, we'll split the difference."

"Split the difference?" echoed Tim doubtfully. "I don't understand. You mean—"

"That you shall have the rabbit for two shillings—ready money, of course. You price the rabbit at eighteen-pence, I price it at half-a-crown. Eighteen-pence from a half-a-crown leaves a shilling—split that shilling and the price of the rabbit is two shillings. See? There now, that's fair, isn't it?"

"Yes, I think it is," Tim answered, smiling. "I'll give you two shillings for the rabbit."

"You've a business head on your shoulders. I perceive," observed Mr. Dottin, as he proceeded to open the hutch, "and I like you the better for it. Have you anything to put the rabbit in?"

"No; but I can easily carry it inside my coat, it will be quiet there, won't it?"

"Quiet enough, but mind not to squeeze it—these white rabbits are delicate creatures. Well, I'm pleased to have done business with you and I shall hope to see you again. You're a stranger in the town, I take it? Ah, I thought as much; if you'd lived long in the place you'd have found me out before. Any time you find yourself this way come in and have a look round, I shall be glad to see you, and bring your friends."

"Thank you," Tim replied; "I have no friends in the town, though I may have some later on. Perhaps I may call in again on another occasion as you've been so kind as to ask me."

The little boy paid his money, and unfastening a couple of buttons of his double-breasted coat, he put the rabbit inside, where it appeared quite comfortable and happy. Then he said good-bye to Mr. Dottin, who parted from him most affably, and set out for home. As he went, he turned over in his mind ways and means of conveying the rabbit to Kitty. He wanted the little girl to have it without knowing, in the first place, whom it came from. And, later on, he intended to tell her that he was the donor. After which, he assured himself sanguinely, she and her brother would gladly—and gratefully—allow him to be their friend.

Tim planned everything very carefully. That night, he meant to get over the partition wall, by means of the ladder, and put the rabbit in the hutch, which he had perceived had been placed near the back door of the house. No one would see him do it after dark; and to-morrow morning Kitty and Bob would discover the rabbit; then, on the first favourable opportunity, he would confess that he had bought the rabbit to replace their dead pet. How surprised they would be and how kind they would consider him, whilst he would have salved his conscience to a very great extent.

It was nearly tea-time when Tim arrived at home, so he ran straight upstairs and put the rabbit into one of the drawers in the set in his bedroom, leaving the drawer a little open to admit the air. Then, after washing his hands and brushing his hair, he went downstairs and joined his uncle, who immediately told him of Mrs. Glanville's visit and the purport of it.

"Mrs. Glanville knew mother years ago, and she has asked me to tea to-morrow!" he exclaimed delightedly, his eyes sparkling with excitement, after he had listened to Mr. Shuttleworth's tale. "Oh, Uncle John, how jolly of her!"

"But I thought you didn't think much of the next door children," remarked Mr. Shuttleworth, with an amused smile. "If I remember rightly you said you considered them stuck-up."

"That was because they wouldn't have anything to do with me; but now it will be all right. We shall soon be good friends, you will see."

"I hope so," Mr. Shuttleworth replied. "You are to go early to-morrow afternoon, remember."

"Oh, I will not forget," Tim returned. "No fear of that!"

After tea, he waited impatiently for darkness. The evenings were light until seven o'clock now, consequently it was nearly eight before he ventured to fetch the rabbit from the drawer and steal out of doors with it. In the tool-house he found a basket with a cover, into which he placed the little animal with some bits of bread he had smuggled from the tea-table, remembering it would require food during the night. And then, he procured the ladder, and a minute later, basket in hand, he was sitting astride the partition wall. It was the work of another minute only to transfer the light ladder from one side of the wall to the other, and to descend in the Glanville's garden.

For a few seconds Tim stood quite still listening intently. No one was about; the servants were in the kitchen, for he could see the reflections of two figures on the kitchen blind, and the rest of the household, he guessed, would be in the front part of the house. Very slowly and cautiously the little boy felt his way to the spot where he knew the rabbit hutch to be, and, having found it, he removed the rabbit and its supper from the basket to the hutch in safety, and closed down the lid. His errand thus accomplished, he was startled to hear Snip begin to bark furiously close inside the back door. Not a second was now to be lost, he told himself; and, with a wildly beating heart, he was making a hasty retreat towards the ladder when, to his dismay, the back door was flung suddenly open, and out flew Snip with the series of angry "yaps" to which he never failed to give utterance when in a hot pursuit of a cat.

Tim's dash for the ladder was favoured by success, and he had reached it and placed his right foot on the first rung of it before the little dog could scent him and discover his whereabouts in the darkness. But if the boy's movements were quick, master Snip's were quicker, and, springing at the intruder, he caught him by one of the legs of his trousers, fastening his teeth into it with so firm a grip that Tim knew no amount of kicking and shaking would induce him to drop off.

[CHAPTER V.]

A SPOILT PLAN.

ALTHOUGH startled, Tim was not frightened by Snip's attack upon him. The servants did not follow the dog to discover the cause of his excitement, no doubt taking it for granted that he was hunting a cat; and, relieved upon that point, Tim began to hope he might succeed in disabusing Snip's mind of the idea that he was there for an evil purpose, so he spoke to him in a conciliatory tone:

"Hulloa, Snip, old man! What's the matter with you, eh? Why, you know me right enough, don't you?"

Snip immediately recognised the voice as that of the boy next door, and his firm grip relaxed. Tim stooped and patted him gently, whereupon he gave a little wriggle of pleased surprise and dropped his hold of Tim altogether, realizing he had made a mistake and feeling rather foolish; and after that he stood quietly by whilst Tim mounted the ladder, pulled it up after him, and disappeared on the other side of the wall.

Tim did not linger in the garden; but, having put away the ladder, he entered the house, satisfied that he had carried out his plan as he had intended, and congratulating himself on the way in which he had conciliated Snip.

Meanwhile Snip, who was very curious even for a dog, was exceedingly puzzled by the behaviour of the boy next door, and was taking a stroll round to see what he had been doing. Apparently all was as usual; but, on returning to the back door, Snip's sharp nose made him suspect that there was a rabbit in the hutch, and having satisfied himself that he was not mistaken, he gave one sharp, imperative bark, which the servants knew meant that he desired to call their attention to something.

"What's the matter, Snip?" asked cook, opening the back door.

Snip barked again, more imperatively; and cook came out, a lighted candle in her hand.

"Why, some one's left a rabbit here!" she exclaimed, greatly astonished. "I wonder if Miss Kitty and Master Bob were expecting it. I suppose I'd best call them out."

She accordingly did so, and a short while later the sister and brother arrived upon the scene, the former full of excitement.

"Who brought it, cook?" she inquired, as Bob took the rabbit out of the hutch and they examined it by the light of the candle. "Oh, isn't it a love?" she cried, her face aglow with delight.

"I don't know who brought it, miss," cook answered. "We didn't hear any one, although Mary and I were both in the kitchen; but Snip barked to be let out and, as we fancied he heard a cat about, we opened the back door and he rushed out in a fury. I suppose there must have been somebody here."

"Most likely," agreed Bob. "And that somebody was frightened away."

"But who could it have been, Master Bob?" asked Mary, the housemaid, who had come out too.

"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Bob. "I expect it was an errand-boy, or some one like that, sent by Tom Hatch. I saw Tom this morning, and he said his brother had given him a couple of his young rabbits, and you were to have one of them, Kitty; he told me he didn't want to be paid for it."

"Then it's a present, Bob?" asked Kitty.

"Yes. Tom said he would bring it if he had time—you know the Hatches are leaving B-to-morrow. I suppose he hadn't time, so he sent it. Yes, here's the basket it came in." He picked up the basket which Tim had dropped and forgotten, and examined it. "Snip must have given some one a fine scare," he proceeded, chuckling with amusement. "I say, Kitty, it's a jolly little rabbit, isn't it?"

"It's a beauty!" declared Kitty. "I shall keep it combed, and its coat will soon be lovely. How very kind of Tom Hatch to give it to me! I shan't be able to thank him, shall I?"

"Oh, don't let that weigh upon your mind. I thanked him for you, so that's all right," Bob responded carelessly. "I didn't say anything about it to you before because I thought I'd wait and see if Tom really meant to give you the rabbit," he proceeded to explain. "The fact is, he's such a chap for making promises he never carries out. He's been as good as his word in this case, though. I wonder whom he sent with the rabbit."

"I am afraid whoever it was must have been dreadfully frightened by Snip," said cook regretfully. "I'm sure we wouldn't have let him out if we guessed any one had been here. I'll hang up the basket in the scullery, for I suppose it will be fetched by someone to-morrow."

Bob replaced the rabbit in the hutch, remarking upon the pieces of bread which Kitty collected and soaked in milk for her new pet.

The little girl's heart was full of gratitude towards Tom Hatch, who had, as she naturally believed, from all her brother had said, made her this most welcome gift.

"I shall call the dear little thing 'Fluffy,'" she confided to her brother. "I don't think I shall show it to the boy next door, as I feel so certain he had something to do with the death of the other."

Bob merely shrugged his shoulders on hearing this, and made no reply, for he and his sister could not agree upon the point. Kitty was absurdly suspicious, he told himself.

The following afternoon when Tim Shuttleworth—his countenance shining with the recent application of soap and water—rang the front door bell of the Glanvilles' house, his heart beat fast with excitement. He was shown into the dining-room, where the whole family were assembled, and received a cordial welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Glanville. The latter, in particular, greeted him very kindly, and kissed him for his mother's sake, she said—a remark which made him feel a little choky for a minute, as he was deeply attached to his mother, and he had greatly missed her since he had been away from her—and then she introduced him to Kitty and Bob, who shook hands with him and looked as though they had never seen him in their lives before. At first, Tim felt a trifle embarrassed; but, as Mrs. Glanville talked to him and asked him questions, he soon lost all traces of self-consciousness, and found himself chatting quite easily of his own people—his mother and father, and his two brothers and three sisters, all younger than himself.

Then Snip scraped at the door, and, on being admitted, evinced much delight at the sight of the visitor.

"You are fond of animals," remarked Mrs. Glanville, as Snip promptly accepted an invitation to sit on Tim's knees, where he settled himself comfortably with a flattered expression on his face. "I suppose you keep pets at home, do you not?"

"No," Tim answered, "we have no room for them. Ours is a small house, and we have no garden. Mother had a canary once, but a neighbour's cat came in one day when no one was about and killed it."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Kitty with a shudder. "What a horrid cat it must have been! I should hate a cat that killed birds!"

"Should you hate Snip if he killed a cat?" asked Bob, laughing.

"I don't think I should ever like him again," Kitty answered seriously; "but Snip wouldn't do it."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Glanville, "and that is why I make it a rule to scold Snip when I catch him chasing a cat, and I wish you children to do the same."

A short silence followed this remark, during which Kitty and Bob looked somewhat guilty. Kitty, who was engaged in hemming a duster, kept her head bent over her work until her father spoke again.

"I thought perhaps you boys would like a walk before tea," he said, suggestively, "and if so we had better start at once."

"Can't I go too, father?" inquired Kitty eagerly.

Mr. Glanville glanced at his wife, who shook her head. Kitty had been in disgrace that morning, having left her bedroom untidy and been impertinent to Mary, who had remonstrated with her about it; consequently she had been given some sewing to do by her mother for a punishment, and the duster she was hemming was not half done yet, though she might have finished it before if she had liked.

"It's miserable being a girl," she murmured dolefully, as the boys followed her father from the room. "I do so hate sewing—nothing makes me so hot."

Tim enjoyed his walk exceedingly, and, before it was at an end, he had found out a great deal about his companions—that Mr. Glanville was a retired tea-planter, and that both Bob and Kitty had been born in Ceylon; that Bob now attended the B— Grammar School, and that Kitty went to a private school for girls. In return, he told what a very dull time he was having with his uncle, who kept him all day by himself.

"What do you think of him, Bob?" whispered Kitty to her brother when Tim was talking to her mother after tea.

"I don't fancy he's a bad sort," was the unexpected reply.

"Don't you?" she questioned dubiously.

"No. He improves upon acquaintance. I say, you might show him your rabbit, I think."

"Have you told him about it?"

"No. I'll ask him to come into the garden; shall I?"

"If you like."

Kitty's manner was not gracious. She considered her brother fickle because he seemed inclined to like Tim Shuttleworth, and she marched off into the garden by herself. She was watching her new pet contentedly munching a tender young lettuce when the boys joined her.

"Isn't she a beauty?" she said, addressing Tim, who had been rather surprised he had not been told of the rabbit before.

"Yes," he answered, colouring; adding, somewhat awkwardly, "I'm glad you like it."

"Of course I like it. I've called it Fluffy. I hope I shall be able to keep this one safer than the last."

"I—I hope so," Tim faltered. "I don't think it can come to any harm here. Fluffy is a very good name for it."

"By the way, Kitty, the Hatches are gone," said Bob. "We passed their house this afternoon, and it was shut up; they must have gone early this morning. Tom told me he should come to B— for the Grammar School Sports next month, though; so perhaps you'll be able to speak to him about the rabbit then."

"Oh, yes," agreed Kitty; "that will do very well. No one has come for the basket, Bob; it's still hanging up in the scullery; I noticed it just now."

Tim started, suddenly remembering the covered basket, which, until this moment, he had entirely forgotten he had left behind him the night before when Snip had startled him into flight. Could that be the basket to which Kitty referred? Yes, it must be. He stood pondering, turning over in his mind the best way of letting his companions know that this new pet was his present, and at length, by way of leading up to the point, he asked, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes:

"When did you get the rabbit?"

"Last night," Kitty responded. "It's a present from one of Bob's school friends."

"Oh!" gasped Tim, utterly astounded at this statement.

"Yes. I was going to buy it from Tom Hatch, but he has given it to me instead," the little girl explained. "He sent it last night."

"And we don't in the least know who brought it," said Bob with a laugh; "for Snip scared whoever it was off the premises."

"But—are you sure it was Tom Hatch who sent it?" Tim inquired.

"Of course," answered Kitty, a trifle impatiently. "Who else could it have been?"

"Oh, yes; it was Tom right enough," Bob agreed.

For a minute Tim was tempted to tell them they were wrong; but would they believe him if he did? He doubted if they would; and, upon reflection, he decided to hold his tongue and let them think the donor of the rabbit had been Tom Hatch. How different his plan for ingratiating himself with his companions had turned out from what he had expected, and how vexed and disappointed he felt!

[CHAPTER VI.]

CONCERNING THE COVERED BASKET.

AFTER Tim Shuttleworth's formal introduction to the Glanville family his time no longer hung on his hands, for he was now always sure of a welcome next door; and, during the remainder of Bob's holidays, the two boys were constantly together. Bob, who had certainly been prejudiced against Tim at first, soon grew to like him, for he proved a congenial companion, being very good-natured; and, although he owned a passionate temper, it could not be called a bad one, as Bob was not long in finding out.

Kitty watched the growing friendship between her brother and Tim with anything but approval. She could not overcome her prejudice against the plain-faced, red-headed boy, and, perhaps, she was a little jealous of him, too, for monopolising so much of Bob's society; besides which, she still believed he was not guiltless concerning the death of her first rabbit—for, though two years the junior of her brother, she was far more observant than he was, and she had noticed something strange in Tim's manner when he had been shown Fluffy on the night when he had first seen their guest. Tim could not help perceiving that Kitty was not altogether well-disposed towards him, so he tried to propitiate her, and frequently with such success that she forgot her suspicion against him and treated him with the same good-comradeship she exhibited towards her brother.

It made Tim very happy to be on friendly terms with the family next door, and before the time came for Kitty and Bob to return to school, he was as much at home in their house as in his uncle's. On several occasions he had noticed the covered basket he had dropped by the rabbit hutch hanging on a peg behind the scullery door, and had heard Kitty and Bob wondering why it had not been fetched; but, of course, he could not lay claim to it, and it was not until, one day, he heard Deborah—his uncle's elderly servant, who was housekeeper as well—grumbling because she could not find it, that the thought occurred to him that he ought to try to get it back.

"I suppose you've not seen my basket by any chance, Master Tim," Deborah said, coming out of the tool-house, where she had been searching for the missing article. "It's a covered basket—the one I take to market every Saturday." It was Saturday afternoon, and Deborah, wearing her bonnet and cloak, was ready to start to make her weekly purchases.

"I believe I did see it a few days ago," Tim replied evasively, turning red as he spoke. "Do you want it particularly now, Deborah?"

"Why, yes, Master Tim, I do. I always keep it in one place—on the shelf just inside the tool-house door—so someone must have moved it." She regarded Tim accusingly, noting his heightened colour.

"Perhaps I did," he admitted. "I—I tidied the tool-house yesterday."

"Didn't you see it then?" she inquired.

"No; but I'll promise to have a look for it and try to find it by-and-by. I—I can't stay now, for I'm going in town with Bob Glanville, Can't you manage to do without it for once, Deborah?"

"I suppose I've no choice, Master Tim, as it can't be found; but I haven't another basket so suitable for carrying butter and eggs in. However, I must do the best I can." And Deborah went into the house muttering something about boys being always meddlesome.

"I believe she thinks I've had the basket—and, of course, I have," thought Tim, uneasily. "I'm glad she didn't ask me what I'd done with it. Somehow or other I'll have to get it back."

But how? That was the question occupying his mind all that afternoon which he spent in company with Bob Glanville. He could not ask for the basket, he did not like to take it, and he was sorely puzzled what to do. He was aware that Kitty still suspected him of knowing how her first rabbit had met with its death; and now he was friendly with the Glanvilles, he was more than ever anxious that they should not learn the truth, which, he believed, if they knew, they would never speak to him again. He was appeased to see how fond Kitty was growing of her new pet, and thought regretfully of the circumstances which had prevented his acknowledging that he had bought it for her. But he still hesitated to set the matter on a right footing, doubting if his word would be taken against that of Tom Hatch, of whom Kitty now always spoke with the deepest gratitude, which made it all the more difficult for Tim to undeceive her and declare that Bob's school-fellow, on whose kindness and generosity she was continually harping, had gone from his promise.

Saturday was always the busiest day of the week at B—, and on this afternoon the streets were thronged with farmers who jostled good-naturedly against each other as they discussed cattle and crops, whilst their wives and daughters stood behind the long rows of stalls, in the butter and poultry market, gossiping and doing business by turns.

"I always like the town best on a market day," remarked Bob to Tim, as they stood watching a cheap-jack selling umbrellas, and marvelling at his flow of words, which never seemed to fail. "It's fun watching the country people; they seem to be having such a good time. Oh, I say, Shuttleworth, do look at that old chap over there with those white rats. You haven't seen him, have you? Let us go and watch what he is doing. He's here every week."

They elbowed their way through the crowd until they found themselves close to a stall, behind which a hook-nosed old man, whom Tim recognised at once as Mr. Jacob Dottin, was haranguing several young farmers who were listening and laughing. Out of a box he had taken several white rats, one of which had perched itself on his shoulder, whilst another had hidden in his sleeve and the head of a third peeped out of the breast pocket of his coat; and ranged before him on the stall were scores of little blue paper packets.

"Isn't he a queer old chap?" whispered Bob. "His name is Dottin, and he has a shop in the place—in a back street it is."

"I know," Tim responded. "I've seen it. I suppose he is trying to see those rats?"

"Yes; and he sells rat poison, too—some patent stuff he makes himself. See, that farmer is going to have several packets. I'm not afraid of rats, but I shouldn't care to let them run over me like that, should you?"

Tim was about to reply when Mr. Dottin caught sight of him and recognised him with a most affable nod.

"You know him?" Bob exclaimed in surprise, as Tim, colouring, returned the old man's salutation.

"Yes," Tim answered, moving away from the stall, for he did not wish to give Mr. Dottin an opportunity of speaking to him, fearing he might refer, in Bob's presence, to the purchase of the rabbit. "I was standing outside his shop one day last week when he came out and invited me to look at his 'little family,' as he called his animals."