E-text prepared by Lionel G. Sear of Truro, Cornwall, England, and

dedicated to the memory of R. F. Mudie, who won the book used as the source for this e-text as Form II First Prize for the Summer Term in 1901 at the Seafield House Preparatory School, Broughty Ferry, Scotland

THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE

ITS TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS

By HAROLD AVERY

CONTENTS.

Chapter.

I. A NEW BOY,

II. THE PHILISTINES,

III. DISCOMFITURE OF THE PHILISTINES,

IV. THE SUPPER CLUB,

V. CATCHING A TARTAR,

VI. GUNPOWDER PLOT,

VII. RONLEIGH COLLEGE,

VIII. THIRD FORM ORATORY,

IX. A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE,

X. A SCREW LOOSE IN THE SIXTH,

XI. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS,

XII. THE WRAXBY MATCH,

XIII. THE ELECTIONS,

XIV. A PASSAGE OF ARMS,

XV. THE READING-ROOM RIOT,

XVI. THE CIPHER LETTER,

XVII. DIGGORY READS THE CIPHER,

XVIII. A SECRET SOCIETY,

XIX. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS,

XX. SOWING THE WIND,

XXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND,

XXII. WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?

CHAPTER I.

A NEW BOY.

"What's your name?"

"Diggory Trevanock."

The whole class exploded.

"Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a broad grin on his own face—"now, then, there's nothing to laugh at.—Look here," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?"

Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of his class-mates, the youngster seemed rather to enjoy the joke, and immediately rattled out a semi-humorous reply to the master's question,—

"D I G, dig; G O R Y, gory—Diggory: T R E, tre; VAN, van; O C K, ock—Trevanock." Then turning round, he smiled complacently at the occupants of the desks behind, as much as to say: "There, I've done all I can to amuse you, and I hope you're satisfied."

This incident, one of the little pleasantries occasionally permitted by a class master, and which, like a judge's jokes in court, are always welcomed as a momentary relief from the depressing monotony of the serious business in hand—this little incident, I say, happened in the second class of a small preparatory school, situated on the outskirts of the market town of Chatford, and intended, according to the wording of a standing advertisement in the Denfordshire Chronicle, "for the sons of gentlemen."

This establishment, which bore the somewhat suggestive name of "The Birches," was owned and presided over by Mr. Welsby, who, with an unmarried daughter, Miss Eleanor, acting as housekeeper, and his nephew, Mr. Blake, performing the duties of assistant-master, undertook the preliminary education of about a dozen juveniles whose ages ranged between ten and fourteen.

On the previous evening, returning from the Christmas holidays, exactly twelve had mustered round the big table in the dining-room; no new faces had appeared, and Fred Acton, a big, strong youngster of fourteen and a half, was undisputed cock of the walk.

The school was divided into two classes. The first, containing the five elder scholars, went to sit at the feet of Mr. Welsby himself; while the second remained behind in what was known as the schoolroom, and received instruction from Mr. Blake.

It was while thus occupied on the first morning of the term that the lower division were surprised by the sudden appearance of a new boy. Miss Eleanor brought him into the room, and after a few moments' whispered conversation with her cousin, smiled round the class and then withdrew. Every one worshipped Miss Eleanor; but that's neither here nor there. A moment later Mr. Blake put the question which stands at the commencement of this chapter.

The new-comer's answer made a favourable impression on the minds of his companions, and as soon as the morning's work was over, they set about the task of mutual introduction in a far more friendly manner than was customary on these occasions. He was a wiry little chap, with bright eyes, for ever on the twinkle, and black hair pasted down upon his head, so as not to show the slightest vestige of curl, while the sharp, mischievous look on his face, and the quick, comical movements of his body, suggested something between a terrier and a monkey.

There was never very much going on in the way of regular sports or pastimes at The Birches; the smallness of numbers made it difficult to attempt proper games of cricket or football, and the boys were forced to content themselves with such substitutes as prisoner's base, cross tag, etc., or in carrying out the projects of Fred Acton, who was constantly making suggestions for the employment of their time, and compelling everybody to conform to his wishes.

Mr. Welsby had been a widower for many years; he was a grave, scholarly man, who spent most of his spare time in his own library. Mr. Blake was supposed to take charge out of school hours; he was, as every one said, "a jolly fellow," and the fact that his popularity extended far and wide among a large circle of friends and acquaintances, caused him to have a good many irons in the fire of one sort and another. During their hours of leisure, therefore, the Birchites were left pretty much to their own devices, or more often to those of Master Fred Acton, who liked, as has already been stated, to assume the office of bellwether to the little flock.

At the time when our story commences the ground was covered with snow; but Acton was equal to the occasion, and as soon as dinner was over, ordered all hands to come outside and make a slide.

The garden was on a steep slope, along the bottom of which ran the brick wall bounding one side of the playground; a straight, steep path lay between this and the house, and the youthful dux, with his usual disregard of life and limb, insisted on choosing this as the scene of operations.

"What!" he cried, in answer to a feeble protest on the part of Mugford, "make it on level ground? Of course not, when we've got this jolly hill to go down; not if I know it. We'll open the door at the bottom, and go right on into the playground."

"But how if any one goes a bit crooked, and runs up against the bricks?"

"Well, they'll get pretty well smashed, or he will. You must go straight; that's half the fun of the thing—it'll make it all the more exciting. Come on and begin to tread down the snow."

Without daring to show any outward signs of reluctance, but with feelings very much akin to those of men digging their own graves before being shot, the company set about putting this fearful project into execution. In about half an hour the slide was in good working order, and then the fun began.

Mugford, and one or two others whose prudence exceeded their valour, made a point of sitting down before they had gone many yards, preferring to take the fall in a milder form than it would have assumed at a later period in the journey. To the bolder spirits, however, every trip was like leading a forlorn hope, none expecting to return from the enterprise unscathed. The pace was terrific: on nearing the playground wall, all the events of a lifetime might have flashed across the memory as at the last gasp of a drowning man; and if fortunate enough to whiz through the doorway, and pull up "all standing" on the level stretch beyond, it was to draw a deep breath, and regard the successful performance of the feat as an escape from catastrophe which was nothing short of miraculous. The unevenness of the ground made it almost impossible to steer a straight course. A boy might be half-way down the path, when suddenly he felt himself beginning to turn round; an agonized look spread over his face; he made one frantic attempt to keep, as it were, "head to the sea;" there was an awful moment when house, garden, sky, and playground wall spun round and round; and then the little group of onlookers, their hearts hardened by their own sufferings, burst into a roar of laughter; while Acton slapped his leg, crying, "He's over! What a stunning lark! Who's next?"

At the end of an hour and a half most of the company were temporarily disabled, and even their chief had not escaped scot free.

"Now then for a regular spanker!" he cried, rushing at the slide. A "spanker" it certainly was: six yards from the commencement his legs flew from under him, he soared into the air like a bird, and did not touch the ground again until he sat down heavily within twenty paces of the bottom of the slope.

One might have supposed that this catastrophe would have somewhat damped the sufferer's ardour; but instead of that he only seemed fired with a fresh desire to break his neck.

He hobbled up the hill, and pausing for a moment at the top to take breath, suddenly exclaimed, "Look here, I'm going down it on skates."

Every one stood aghast at this rash determination; but Acton hurried off into the house, and soon returned with the skates. He sat down on a bank, and was proceeding to put them on, when he discovered that, by some oversight, he had brought out the wrong pair. "Bother it! these aren't mine, they're too short; whose are they?"

"I think they're mine," faltered Mugford.

"Well, put 'em on."

"But I don't want to."

"But I say you must!"

"Oh! please, Acton, I really can't, I—"

"Shut up! Look here, some one's got to go down that slide on skates, so just put 'em on."

It was at this moment that Diggory Trevanock stepped forward, and remarked in a casual manner that if Mugford didn't wish to do it, but would lend him the skates, he himself would go down the slide.

His companions stared at him in astonishment, coupled with which was a feeling of regret: he was a nice little chap, and they had already begun to like him, and did not wish to see him dashed to pieces against the playground wall before their very eyes. Acton, however, had decreed that "some one had got to go down that slide on skates," and it seemed only meet and right that if a victim had to be sacrificed it should be a new boy rather than an old stager.

"Bravo!" cried the dux; "here's one chap at least who's no funk.
Put 'em on sharp; the bell 'll ring in a minute."

Several willing hands were stretched out to assist in arming Diggory for the enterprise, and in a few moments he was assisted to the top of the slide.

"All right," he said; "let go!"

The spectators held their breath, hardly daring to watch what would happen. But fortune favours the brave. The adventurous juvenile rushed down the path, shot like an arrow through the doorway, and the next instant was seen ploughing up the snow in the playground, and eventually disappearing head first into the middle of a big drift.

His companions all rushed down in a body to haul him out of the snow. Acton smacked him on the back, and called him a trump; while Jack Vance presented him on the spot with a mince-pie, which had been slightly damaged in one of the donor's many tumbles, but was, as he remarked, "just as good as new for eating."

From that moment until the day he left there was never a more popular boy at The Birches than Diggory Trevanock.

"I say," remarked Mugford, as they met a short time later in the cloak-room, "that was awfully good of you to go down the slide instead of me; what ever made you do it?"

"Well," answered the other calmly, "I thought it would save me a lot of bother if I showed you fellows at once that I wasn't a muff. I don't mind telling you I was in rather a funk when it came to the start; but I'd said I'd do it, and of course I couldn't draw back."

The numerous stirring events which happened at The Birches during the next three terms, and which it will be my pleasing duty to chronicle in subsequent chapters, gave the boys plenty of opportunity of testing the character of their new companion, or, in plainer English, of finding out the stuff he was made of; and whatever his other faults may have been, this at least is certain, that no one ever found occasion to charge Diggory Trevanock with being either a muff or a coward.

One might have thought that the slide episode would have afforded excitement enough for a new boy's first day at school; yet before it closed he was destined to be mixed up in an adventure of a still more thrilling character.

The Birches was an old house, and though its outward appearance was modern enough, the interior impressed even youthful minds with a feeling of reverence for its age. The heavy timbers, the queer shape of some of the bedrooms and attics, the narrow, crooked passages, and the little unexpected flights of stairs, were all things belonging to a bygone age, of which the pupils were secretly proud, and which caused them to remember the place, and think of it at the time, as being in some way different from an ordinary school.

"I say, Diggy," exclaimed Jack Vance, addressing the new boy by the friendly abbreviation, which seemed by mutual consent to have been bestowed upon him in recognition of his daring exploit—"I say, Diggy, you're in my bedroom: there's you, and me, and Mugford. Mug's an awful chump, but he's a good-natured old duffer, and you and I'll do the fighting."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, sometimes when Blake is out spending the evening, and old Welsby is shut up in his library, the different rooms make raids on one another. It began the term before last. Blake had been teaching us all about how the Crusaders used to go out every now and then and make war in Palestine, and so the fellows on the west side of the house called themselves the Crusaders, and we were Infidels, and they'd come over and rag us, and we should drive them back. Miss Eleanor came up one night, and caught us in the middle of a battle. O Diggy, she is a trump! Blake asked her next day before us all which boys had been out on the landing, because he meant to punish them; and she laughed, and said: 'I'm sure I can't tell you. Why, when I saw they were all in their night-shirts, I shut my eyes at once!' Of course it was all an excuse for not giving us away. She doesn't mind seeing chaps in their night-shirts when they're ill, we all know that; and once or twice when for some reason or other she told us on the quiet that there mustn't be any disturbance that evening, no one ever went crusading— Acton would have licked them if they had. Acton's going to propose to Miss Eleanor some day, he told us so, and—"

"But what about the bedrooms?" interrupted Diggory; "have you given up having crusades?"

"Yes, but we have other things instead. We call our rooms by different names, and it's all against all; one lot come and make a raid on you, and then you go and pay them out. This term Kennedy and Jacobs sleep in the room above ours, and next to the big attic. They're always reading sea stories, and they call their room the 'Main-top,' because it's so high up. Then at the end of the passage are Acton, Shaw, and Morris, and they're the 'House of Lords;' and next to them is the 'Dogs' Home,' where all the other fellows are put."

A few hours later Diggory and his two room-mates were standing at the foot of their beds and discussing the formation of a few simple rules for conducting a race in undressing, the last man to put the candle out.

"You needn't bother to race," said Mugford; "I'll do it—I'm sure to be the last."

"No, you aren't," answered Vance. "We'll give you coat and waistcoat start; it'll be good fun—"

At this moment the door was suddenly flung open, two half-dressed figures sprang into the room, and discharged a couple of snowballs point-blank at its occupants. One of the missiles struck Diggory on the shoulder, and the other struck Mugford fair and square on the side of the head, the fragments flying all over the floor. There was a subdued yell of triumph, the door was slammed to with a bang, and the muffled sound of stockinged feet thudding up the neighbouring staircase showed that the enemy were in full retreat.

"It's those confounded Main-top men!" cried Jack Vance; "I will pay them out. I wonder where the fellows got the snow from?"

"Oh, I expect they opened the window and took it off the ledge," answered Diggory. "Look here—let's sweep it up into this piece of paper before it melts."

This having been done, the three friends hastily threw off their clothes and scrambled into bed, forgetting all about the proposed race in their eagerness to form some plan for an immediate retaliation on the occupants of the "Main-top."

"I wonder if they'll hear anything of the ghost again this term?" said
Mugford,

"What ghost?" asked Diggory.

"Oh, it's nothing really," answered Vance; "only somebody said once that the house is haunted, and Kennedy and Jacobs say the ghost must be in the big attic next their room. They hear such queer noises sometimes that they both go under the bed-clothes."

"Do they always do that?"

"Yes, so they say, whenever there is a row."

"Well, then," said Diggory, "I'll tell you what we'll do: we'll go very quietly up into that attic, and groan and knock on the wall until you think they've both got their heads well under the clothes, and then we'll rush in and bag their pillows, or drag them out of bed, or something of that sort. You aren't afraid to go into the attic, are you?" he continued, seeing that the others hesitated. "Why, of course there are no such things as ghosts. Or, look here, I'll go in, and you can wait outside."

"N—no, I don't mind," answered Vance; "and it'll be an awful lark catching them with their heads under the clothes."

"All right, then, let's do it; though I suppose we'd better wait till every one's in bed."

The last suggestion was agreed upon, and the three friends lay talking in an undertone until the sound of footsteps and the gleam of a candle above the door announced the fact that Mr. Blake was retiring to rest.

"He's always last," said Vance; "we must give him time to undress, and then we'll start."

A quarter of an hour later the three boys, in semi-undress, were creeping in single file up the narrow staircase.

"Be careful," whispered Vance; "there are several loose boards, and they crack like anything."

The small landing was reached in safety, and the moon, shining faintly through a little skylight formed of a single pane of glass, enabled them to distinguish the outline of two doors.

Now it was a very different matter, when lying warm and snug in bed, to talk about acting the ghost, from what it was, when standing shivering in the cold and darkness, to put the project into execution. During the period of waiting the conversation had turned on haunted houses, and no one seemed particularly anxious to claim as it were the post of honour, and be the first to enter the big attic.

"Go on!" whispered Mugford, nudging Vance.

"Go on!" repeated the latter, giving Diggory's arm a gentle push.

The new boy had certainly undertaken to play the part of the ghost, and there was no excuse for his backing out of it at the last moment.

"All right," he muttered, "I'll go."

Just then a terrible thing happened. Diggory clutched the door-knob as though it were the handle of a galvanic battery, while Mugford and Vance seized each other by the arm and literally gasped for breath.

The stillness had been broken by a slight sound, as of something falling inside the attic, and this was followed a moment later by a shrill, unearthly scream.

For five seconds the three companions stood petrified with horror, not daring to move; then followed another scream, if anything more horrible than the last, and accompanied this time by the clanking rattle of a chain being dragged across the floor.

That was enough. Talk about a sauve qui peut! the wonder is that any one survived the stampede which followed. The youngsters turned and flew down the stairs at break-neck speed, and hardly had they started when the door of the "Main-top" was flung open, and its two occupants rushed down after them. As though to ensure the retreat being nothing less than a regular rout, Mugford, who was leading, missed his footing on the last step, causing every one to fall over him in turn, until all five boys were sprawling together in a mixed heap upon the floor.

Freeing themselves with some little difficulty from the general entanglement, they rose to their feet, and after surveying each other for a moment in silence, gave vent to a simultaneous ejaculation of "The ghost!"

"What were you fellows doing up there?" asked Kennedy.

"Why, we came up to have a joke with you," answered Vance; "but just when we got up to the landing, it—it made that noise!"

There was the sound of the key turning in the lock of Mr. Blake's door.

"Cave!" whispered Mugford.

"Tell him about it," added Vance; and giving Diggory a push, they all three darted into their room just as the master emerged from his, arrayed in dressing-gown and slippers.

"Now, then," exclaimed the latter, holding his candle above his head, and peering down the passage, "what's the meaning of this disturbance? I thought the whole house was falling down.—Come here, you two, and explain yourselves!"

"Please, sir," answered Kennedy and Jacobs in one breath, "it's the ghost!"

"The ghost! What ghost? What d'you mean?"

The two "Main-top" men began a hasty account of the cause of their sudden fright, taking care, however, to make no mention of the three hostile visitors who had shared in the surprise.

Mr. Blake listened to their story in silence, then all at once he burst out laughing, and without a word turned on his heel and went quickly upstairs. He entered the attic, and in about half a minute they heard him coming back.

"Ha, ha! I've got your ghost; I've been trying to lay him for some time past."

The jingle of a chain was distinctly audible; Mr. Blake was evidently bringing the spectre down in his arms! Diggory and Vance could no longer restrain their curiosity; they hopped out of bed and glanced round the corner of the door. The master held in his hand a rusty old gin, the iron jaws of which were tightly closed upon the body of an enormous rat.

"There's a monster for you!" he said; "I think it's the biggest I ever saw. He'd carried the trap, chain and all, right across the room, but that finished him; he was as dead as a stone when I picked him up. Now get back to bed; I should think you're both nearly frozen."

Diggory and Jack Vance followed the advice given to Kennedy and Jacobs, and did so rather sheepishly. They felt they had been making tools of themselves; yet it would never have done to own to such a thing.

"What a lark!" said the new boy, after a few moments' silence.

"Wasn't it!" returned Jack Vance; "it's the best joke I've had for a long time. But we didn't pay those fellows out for throwing those snowballs; we must do it some other night. And now we three must swear to be friends, and stand by each other against all the world, and whatever happens. What shall we call our room?"

"I know," answered Diggory: "we'll call it 'The Triple Alliance!'"

CHAPTER II.

THE PHILISTINES.

The Triple Alliance, the formation of which has just been described, was destined to be no mere form of speech or empty display of friendship. The members had solemnly sworn to stand by one another whatever happened, and the manner in which they carried out their resolve, and the important consequences which resulted from their concerted actions, will be made known to the reader as our story progresses.

Poor Mugford certainly seemed likely to be a heavy drag on the association; he was constantly tumbling into trouble, and needing to be pulled out again by those who had promised to be his friends.

An instance of this occurred on the day following Diggory's arrival at The Birches. He and Vance had gone down after morning school into what was called the playroom, to partake of two more of the latter's mince-pies, and on their return to the schoolroom found a crowd assembled round Acton, who, seated on the top of a small cupboard which always served as a judicial bench, was hearing a case in which Mugford was the defendant, while Jacobs and another boy named Cross appeared as plaintiffs.

The charge was that the former was indebted to the latter for the sum of half a crown, which he had borrowed towards the end of the previous term, in separate amounts of one shilling and eighteen pence, promising to repay them, with interest, immediately after the holidays. The money had been expended in the purchase of a disreputable old canary bird, for which Noaks, the manservant, had agreed to find board and lodging during the Christmas vacation. Now, when the creditors reminded Mugford of his obligations, they found him totally unable to meet their demands for payment.

"Now, look here," said Acton, addressing the defendant with great severity, "no humbug—how much money did you bring back with you?"

"Well, I had to pay my brother before I came away for my share in a telescope we bought last summer, and then—"

"Bother your brother and the telescope! Why can't you answer my question? How much money did you bring back with you?"

"Only five bob."

"Then why in the name of Fortune don't you pay up?"

"Because I had to pay all that to Noaks for bird-seed."

"D'you mean to say that that bird ate five shillings' worth of seed in four weeks?"

"Well, so Noaks says; he told me he'd kept scores of birds in his time, but he'd 'never seen one so hearty at its grub before.' Those were the very words he used, and he said it was eating nearly all the day, and that's one reason why it looks such a dowdy colour, and never sings."

"Well, all I can say is, if you believe all Noaks tells you, you're a fool. But that's no reason why these two chaps should be done out of their money; so now, how are you going to pay them?"

"If they only wait till pocket-money's given out—" began Mugford.

"Oh no, we shan't!" interrupted Cross. "He only gets sixpence a week, and he's always breaking windows and other things, and having it stopped."

There seemed only one way out of the difficulty, and that was to put as it were an execution into Mugford's desk, and realize a certain amount of his private property.

"Look here," said Acton, "he must sell something.—Now, then," he added, turning to the defendant, "just shell out something and bring it here at once, and we'll have an auction."

The boy walked off to his desk, and after rummaging about in it for some little time, returned with a miscellaneous collection of small articles in his arms, which he proceeded to hand up one by one for the judge's inspection.

"What's this?"

"Oh, its a book that was given me on my birthday, called 'Lofty Thoughts for Little Thinkers.'"

"Lofty grandmother!" said Acton impatiently.

"What else have you got ?"

"Well, here's a wire puzzle, only I think a bit of it's lost, and the clasp of a cricket belt, and old Dick Rodman's chessboard and some of the men, and some stuff for chilblains, and—"

"Oh, dry up!" interrupted Acton; "what bosh! Who d'you expect would buy any of that rubbish? Look here, we'll give you till after dinner, and unless you find something sensible by then, we shall come and hunt for ourselves."

"That's just like Mug," said Jack Vance to Diggory, as the group of boys slowly dispersed; "he's always doing something stupid. But I suppose as we made that alliance, we ought to try to help the beggar somehow."

They followed their unfortunate comrade to his desk, which when opened displayed a perfect chaos of ragged books, loose sheets of paper, broken pen-holders, pieces of string, battered cardboard boxes, and other rubbish.

"Look here, Mug, what have you got to sell? you'll have to fork out something."

"I don't know," returned the other mournfully, stirring up the contents of the desk as though he were making a Christmas pudding. "I've got nothing, except—well, there's this book of Poe's, 'Tales of Adventure, Mystery, and Imagination,' and my clasp-knife; and perhaps some one would buy these fret-saw patterns or this dog-chain."

He turned out two or three more small articles and laid them on the form.

"Are there any of these things you particularly wish to keep?" asked Diggory; "because, if so, Vance and I'll bid for them, and then you can buy them back from us again when you've got some more money."

"That's awfully kind of you," answered Mugford, brightening up. "I'll tell you what I should like to keep, and that's my clasp-knife and the book; they're such jolly stories. 'The Pit and the Pendulum' always gives me bad dreams, and 'The Premature Burial' makes you feel certain you'll be buried alive."

"All right; and did you bring a cake back with you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, sell that first, and you can share our grub."

The auction was held directly after dinner. The cake fetched a shilling, and Diggory and Vance bid ninepence each for the book and pocket-knife; so Mugford came out of his difficulty without suffering any further loss than what was afterwards made good again by the generosity of his two comrades. They, for their part, made no fuss over this little act of kindness, but handed the book and clasp-knife over to Mugford without waiting for the money, and little thinking what an important part these trifling possessions would play in the subsequent history of the Triple Alliance.

The sale had not long been concluded, and the little community were preparing to obey Acton's order to "Come outside," when the latter rushed into the room finning with rage.

"I say," he exclaimed, "what do you think that beast of a Noaks has done? Why, he's gone and put ashes all over our slide!"

In their heart of hearts every one felt decidedly relieved at this announcement; still it was necessary, at all events, to simulate some of their leader's wrath, and accordingly there was a general outcry against the offender.

"Oh, the cad!"—"What an awful shame!"—"Let's tell Blake!" etc., etc.

"Who is Noaks?" asked Diggory. "Is he that sour-looking man who brings the boots in every morning?"

"Yes, that's so," answered Vance. "He hates us all—partly, I believe, because his son's a Philistine. I wonder old Welsby doesn't get another man."

"His son's a what?" asked Diggory; but at that moment Acton came marching round the room ordering every one out into the playground, and Jack Vance hurried off to get his cap and muffler without replying to the question.

Sliding was out of the question, and the "House of Lords" having amused themselves for a time by capturing small boys and throwing them into the snow-drift, some one remarked that it would be good fun to build a snow man; which proposition was received with acclamation, and all hands were soon hard at work rolling the big balls which were to form the base of the statue. As the work progressed the interest in it increased, the more so when Diggory suggested that the figure should be supposed to represent the obnoxious Noaks, and that the company could then relieve their feelings by pelting his effigy as soon as it was completed. Every one was pleased with the project, and even Acton, who as a rule would never follow up any plan which was not of his own making, took special pains to cause the snow man to bear some likeness to the original. He had just, by way of a finishing touch, expended nearly half a penny bottle of red ink in a somewhat exaggerated reproduction of the fiery hue of Noaks's nose, when the bell rang for afternoon school, and the bombardment had to be postponed until the following day.

It was no small trial of patience being thus obliged to wait nearly twenty-four hours before wreaking their vengeance on the effigy; still there was no help for it. The boys bottled down their feelings, and when at last the classes were dismissed, and the dux cried, "Come on, you fellows!" every one obeyed the summons willingly enough. There had been a slight thaw in the night, and the statue stood in need of some trifling repairs. Acton suggested, therefore, that the half-hour before dinner should be devoted to putting things to rights, and to making some small additions in the shape of pebbles for waistcoat buttons, and other trifling adornments.

Mr. Welsby kept the boys at the table for nearly a quarter of an hour after the meal was finished, talking over his plans for the coming term, and when at last he finished there was a regular stampede for the playground. Acton was leading the rush; he dashed through the garden doorway, and then stopped dead with an exclamation of dismay. All those who followed, as they arrived on the spot, did the same. Every vestige of the snow man, which had been left barely an hour ago standing such a work of art, had disappeared. Certainly a portion of the pedestal still remained, looking like the stump of an old, decayed tooth; but the figure itself had been thrown down, trodden flat, and literally stamped out of existence!

The little crowd stood for a moment speechless, gazing with woebegone expressions on their faces at the wreck of their hopes and handiwork; then the silence was broken by a subdued chuckle coming from the other side of the wall on their left, and every one, with a start and a sudden clinching of fists, cried simultaneously: "The Philistines!"

The words had hardly been uttered when above the brickwork appeared the head and shoulders of a boy a size or so bigger than Acton; a dirty-looking brown bowler hat was stuck on the very back of his head, and rammed down until the brim rested on the top of his ears; and it will be quite sufficient to remark that his face was in exact keeping with the manner in which he wore his hat. Once more everybody gave vent to their feelings by another involuntary ejaculation—"Young Noaks!"

The stranger laughed, pulled a face which, as far as ugliness went, was hardly an improvement on the one Nature had already bestowed upon him, and then pointed mockingly at the remains of the masterpiece.

His triumph, however, was short-lived. Jack Vance, as he left the house, had caught up a double handful of snow, which he had been pressing into a hard ball as he ran down the path, determining in his own, mind to be the first to open fire on the snow man. Without a moment's hesitation he flung the missile at the intruder's head, and, to the intense delight of his companions, it struck the latter fairly on the mouth, causing him to lose his precarious foothold on the wall and fall back into the road.

It needed no further warning to inform the Birchites that the Philistines were upon them, and every one set to work to lay in a stock of snowballs as fast as hands could make them. "Look out!" cried Kennedy. Young Noaks's face rose once more above the top of the wall, and the next moment a big stone, the size of hen's egg, whizzed past Diggory's head, and struck the garden door with a sounding bang.

"Oh, the cad!" cried Acton; "let's go for him."

The whole garrison combined in making a vigorous sortie into the road; but it was only to find the enemy in full retreat, and a few dropping shots at long range ended the skirmish.

"I say, Vance," exclaimed Diggory, "who are they? Who are these fellows?"

Now, as the aforesaid Philistines play rather an Important part in the opening chapters of our story, I propose to answer the question myself, in such a way that the reader may be enabled to take a more intelligent interest in the chain of events which commenced with the destruction of the snow man; and in order that this may be done in a satisfactory manner, I will in a few words map out the ground on which this memorable campaign was afterwards conducted.

Take the well-known drawing of two right angles In Euclid's definition, and imagine the horizontal line to be the main road to Chatford, while the perpendicular one standing on it is a by-way called Locker's lane. In the right angle stood The Birches; the house itself faced the Chatford road, while behind it, in regular succession, came first the sloping garden, then the walled-in playground, and then the small field in which were attempted such games of cricket and football as the limited number of pupils would permit. There were three doors in the playground—one the entrance from the garden, another opening into the lane, and a third into the field, the two latter being usually kept locked.

Locker's Lane was a short cut to Chatford, yet Rule 21 in The Birches Statute-Book ordained that no boy should either go or return by this route when visiting the town; the whole road was practically put out of bounds, and the reason for this regulation was as follows:

At the corner of the playing field the lane took a sharp turn, and about a quarter of a mile beyond this stood a large red-brick house, shut in on three sides by a high wall, whereon, close to the heavy double doors which formed the entrance, appeared a board bearing in big letters the legend—

HORACE HOUSE,
Middle-Class School for Boys.
A. PHILLIPS, B.A., Head-master.

The pupils of Mr. Phillips had been formerly called by Mr. Welsby's boys the Phillipians, which title had in time given place to the present nickname of the Philistines.

I have no doubt that the average boy turned out by Horace House was as good a fellow, taking him all round, as the average boy produced by The Birches; and that, if they had been thrown together in one school, they would, for the most part, have made very good friends and comrades. However, in fairness both to them and to their rivals, it must be said that at the period of our story Mr. Phillips seemed for some time past to have been unusually unfortunate in his elder boys: they were undoubtedly "cads," and the character of the whole establishment, as far as the scholars were concerned, naturally yielded to the influence of its leaders.

It had been customary every term for the Birchites to play a match against them either at cricket or football; but their conduct during a visit paid to the ground of the latter, back in the previous summer, had been so very ungentlemanly and unsportsmanlike that, when the next challenge arrived for an encounter at football, Mr. Welsby wrote back a polite note expressing regret that he did not see his way clear to permit a continuation of the matches. This was the signal for an outbreak of open hostilities between the two schools: the Philistines charged the Birchites in the open street with being afraid to meet them in the field. These base insinuations led to frequent exchanges of taunts and uncomplimentary remarks; and, last of all, matters were brought to a climax by a stand-up fight between Tom Mason, Acton's predecessor as dux, and young Noaks. The encounter took place just outside the stronghold of the enemy, the Birchite so far getting the best of it that at the end of a five minutes' engagement he proclaimed his victory by dragging his adversary along by the collar and bumping his head a number of times against the very gates of Horace House. Unfortunately a rumour of what had happened got to the ears of Mr. Welsby. Mason was severely reprimanded, and his companions were forbidden, under pain of heavy punishment, to walk in Locker's Lane further than the corner of their own playing field.

"But who is young Noaks?" asked Diggory, as Jack Vance finished a hasty account of this warfare with the Philistines.

"Why, that's just the funny part of it," returned the other. "This Sam Noaks is the son of our Noaks, but he's got an uncle, called Simpson, who lives at Todderton, where I come from. This man Simpson made a lot of money out in Australia, and when he came back to England he adopted young Noaks, and sends him here to Phillips's school."

By this time the home forces had all struggled back into the playground. In one corner stood a wooden shed containing a carpenter's bench, a chest for bats and stumps, and various other things belonging to different boys. Acton, as head of the school, kept the key, and having unfastened the door, summoned his followers inside to hold an impromptu council of war and discuss the situation. There was a grave expression on each face, for every one felt that things were beginning to look serious. Mason, the only one of their number who had been physically equal to the leaders of their opponents, was no longer among them, and the enemy, evidently aware of their helpless condition, had dared for the first time to actually come and beard them in their own den.

"What I want to know first is this," began Acton. "You can see by the footmarks that they came in through that door; of course it's always kept locked, and here's the key hanging up inside the shed. Now who opened it for them, and how was it done?"

"Perhaps it wasn't fastened," suggested Morris.

"Yes, it was," answered Kennedy excitedly. "I noticed that this morning, when we were picking up stones for the snow man's buttons."

"Then I tell you what it is," continued Acton solemnly: "some one here's playing us false, and my belief is it's old Noaks. D'you remember last term when Mason and Jack Vance and I made a plot for going down and throwing crackers into their yard? Well, they must have heard of it from some one; for they were all lying in wait for us behind the wall, and as soon as we got near to it they threw cans of water over us and pelted us with stones."

There was a murmur of suppressed wrath at the memory of the fate of this gallant expedition.

"Yes," added Shaw, "and I believe some one told them about this snow man."

"Well, one thing's certain," said Acton—"we must serve 'em out somehow for knocking it down. They evidently think now Mason's gone they can do what they like, and that we shall be afraid of them. Now what can we do?"

There was a silence; every one felt that a serious crisis had arrived in the history of the Birchites, and that unless some immediate steps were taken to avenge this insult they would no longer be free men, but live in constant terror of the Philistines;—every one, I say, felt that some bold action must be taken, yet nobody had a suggestion to make.

"Well, look here," said Acton, "something's got to be done. We must all think it over, and we'll have another meeting in a week's time; then if any one's made a plan, we'll talk it over and decide what's to be done."

"Jack," said Diggory two evenings later, "you know what Acton said about the Philistines; well, I've got part of a plan in my head, but I shan't tell you what it is till Wednesday."

CHAPTER III.

DISCOMFITURE OF THE PHILISTINES.

On Wednesday afternoon, as soon as dinner was over, Acton summoned his followers to attend the council of war which was to decide what reprisals should be taken on the Philistines for the destruction of the snow man. Every one felt the importance of a counter-attack, for unless something of the kind were attempted, as Acton remarked in his opening speech, "they'll think we're funky of them, and they'll simply come down here as often as they like, and worry us to death."

"Couldn't we tell Mr. Welsby?" suggested Butler, a timid small boy belonging to the "Dogs' Home."

"Tell Mr. Welsby!" cried half a dozen voices in withering tones; "of course not!"

It was well known by both parties that whenever the real state of affairs became known to their respective head-masters, the war would come to an abrupt termination; and the great reason why each side forbore to make any open complaint against the other was undoubtedly because every one secretly enjoyed the excitement of the campaign, and felt that a peace would make life rather dull and uninteresting.

"The thing that licks us," said Acton, "is what I was speaking about last week: somehow or other, they always seem to know just what we're up to, and it's no use our doing anything, because they're always prepared. Some one's acting the spy. I can't think it's any of you fellows, but I believe it's old Noaks. You see his son's there, and for some reason or other he seems to hate every one here like poison. Now, what are we to do?"

There was a silence, broken at length by Diggory Trevanock.

"I don't know what you think," he began, "but it seems to me it's no use making any plans until we find out who tells 'em to the Philistines. I should say that Noaks is the fellow who does it, but we ought to make certain."

"Yes, but how are we to do it?" asked Acton, laughing; "that's just what
I want to know."

"Well, I've got a bit of a plan," returned the other, "only I should like to tell it you in private."

"All right," answered the dux; "come on outside. Now, then, what is it?"

"Why," said Diggory, "it's this (I didn't want the other chaps to hear, because then it'll prove who's the spy). You say the last time you went down to throw some crackers over the wall they were all lying in wait for you. Well, let you and me go into the boot-room when Noaks is at work there, and pretend to make a plan as though we were going to do it again to-morrow night; then two of us might go down and see if they're prepared. If so, it must have been Noaks who told them, because no one else knows about it. I'll go for one, and Jack Vance'll go for another. I'll tell him to keep it dark, and you can let us in and out of the door."

"Oh—ah!" said Acton, "that isn't a bad idea; at all events we'll try it."

The project was put into immediate execution. That same afternoon, just before tea, Acton and Diggory discussed the bogus plan in Noaks's hearing, while Jack Vance, having been admitted into their confidence and sworn to secrecy, willingly agreed to go out with Diggory and form the reconnoitering party which was to report on the movements of the enemy.

"I knew you'd come," said the latter; "and we'll show them what sort of stuff the Triple Alliance is made of."

On the following evening, as soon as tea was over, the two friends slipped off down into the playground, where they were joined a minute later by Acton, who, unlocking the shed, took down from the peg on which it hung the key of the door in the outer wall.

"You'll have plenty of time," he said, glancing at his watch, "and with this moonlight you'll soon be able to see if they're about. I'll keep the door, and let you in when you come back."

The next moment the two members of the Alliance were trotting down Locker's Lane. It was a bright, frosty night, and the hard ground rang beneath their feet like stone. They turned off on to the grass, lest the noise should give the enemy warning of their approach; and when within about a hundred yards of Horace House, pulled up to consider for a moment what their plan of action should be, before proceeding any further.

"I don't see any one," said Jack Vance.

"Perhaps they are hiding," answered Diggory. "Look here! let's get into this field and run down on the other side of the hedge until we get opposite the gate."

The stronghold of the Philistines was silent as the grave. The two chums crouched behind a thick bush, and peering through its leafless branches could see nothing but the closed double doors, and a stretch of blank wall on either side.

"There's no one about," whispered Vance; "I don't believe old Noaks has told them."

"Wait a minute," answered Diggory. "I'll see if I can stir any of them;" and so saying, he knelt up, and cried in an audible voice, "Now, then, are you all ready?"

Diggory and Jack Vance dropped flat on their stomachs, for the words had hardly been uttered when the doors were flung open, and at least ten of the Philistines rushed out into the road with a yell of defiance. Many of them were bigger than Acton, and what would have been the fate of the two Birchites had they kept to the road instead of acting on Diggory's suggestion of advancing under cover of the hedge, one hardly dares to imagine.

"Hullo!" cried young Noaks, who had headed the sortie. "There's nobody here, and yet I'll swear I heard them somewhere."

"So did I," answered another voice; "they must have cut and run."

"There's no place for them to run to," returned Noaks; "they must be behind that hedge.—Come out of it, you skunks!"

A big stone came crashing through the twigs within a yard of Diggory's head. The two boys crouched close to the low earth bank and held their breath.

"They must be about somewhere," cried Noaks. "I knew they were coming, and I'm sure I heard some one say, 'Are you ready?' They're behind that hedge. We can't get through, it's too thick; but you fellows stop here, and I and Hogson and Bernard'll run down to the gate and cut off their retreat."

"What shall we do?" whispered Jack; "this field's so large they'll run us down before we get to the other hedge. Shall we make a bolt and chance it?"

Diggory was just about to reply in the affirmative, when help came from an unexpected quarter.

"What are you boys doing out here at this time?" cried a loud, stern voice.—"Noaks, what are you about down the road there?—Come in this moment, every one of you!"

"Saved!" whispered Jack Vance, in an ecstasy of delight as the Philistines trooped back through the double doors. "That was old Phillips. I hope he gives Noaks a jolly good 'impot.' That chap is a cad," continued the speaker, as they hurried back towards The Birches: "when he can't do anything else, he chucks stones like he did to-night. The wonder is he hasn't killed some one before now. I don't see how it's possible for the Philistines to show up well when they've got a chap like him bossing the show."

The bell for evening preparation was ringing as they reached The Birches, and only a very few hasty replies could be given to Acton's eager inquiries as they rushed together up the garden path. In the little interval before supper, however, the subject was resumed in a quiet corner of the passage.

"So it must have been old Noaks who told them," said Acton; "that's proved without a doubt. I vote we go and have a jolly row with him to-morrow morning."

"No, I shouldn't do that," answered Diggory; "don't let him know that we've found him out."

"Well, look here," answered Acton, thumping the wall with his fist and frowning heavily, "what are we going to do to get even with the Philistines? We can't go out and fight them in Locker's Lane; we're too small, and they know it. Young Noaks would never have dared to act as he did after they'd knocked our snow man down if Mason had been here. They think now they're going to ride rough-shod over us; but they aren't, and we must show them we aren't going to be trampled on."

"So we will," cried Jack Vance excitedly, "and that jolly quick!"

"But how?"

There was a moment's pause. "I'm sure I don't know," answered Jack sadly, and so the meeting terminated.

The fact of the insult, which had been put upon them by the destruction of their snow man, remaining unavenged, caused a sense of gloom to rest upon the Birchites, as though they already felt themselves suffering beneath the yoke of the conquering Philistines. Even the bedroom feuds were forgotten: night after night the "House of Lords" left the "Dogs' Home" in undisturbed tranquillity, and the occupants of the "Main-top" retired to rest without even putting a washstand against their door. One thought occupied the minds of all, and even Mugford, when asked on one occasion by Mr. Blake who were the conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot, answered absent-mindedly, "The Philistines!"

"Look here, you two," said Diggory one evening, as he scrambled into bed, "we three must think of some way of paying those fellows out for knocking down our snow man. It would be splendid if we could say that the Triple Alliance had done it, and without telling any one beforehand."

"So we will," answered Jack Vance; "that is if you'll think of the plan.
I'm not able to make one, and I'm jolly sure Mugford can't."

The speaker turned over and went to sleep; but after what seemed half the night had passed, he was suddenly aroused by several violent tugs at his bed-clothes. Thinking it nothing less than a midnight raid, Jack sprang up and grasped his pillow.

"No, no, it's not that," said Diggory, "but I wanted to help you;
I've got an idea."

"W—what about?" asked the other, in a sleepy voice.

"Why, how we can pay out the Philistines!"

"Oh, bother the Philistines!" grumbled Jack, and promptly returned to the land of dreams.

"I wonder where those fellows Vance and Trevanock are?" said Acton the following afternoon, as the boys were picking up for a game at prisoner's base. "And there's that dummy of a Mugford—where's he sneaked off to? he never will play games if he can possibly help it."

They set to work, and at the end of about twenty minutes were engaged in a most exciting rally. Acton had started out to rescue one of the prisoners, while Shaw had rushed forth to capture Acton. Morris left the base with similar designs on Shaw, and every one, with the exception of the den-keepers, seemed suddenly seized with an irresistible desire to do something. The playground was full of boys rushing and dodging all over the place, when suddenly everybody stood still and listened. Some one was pounding with his clinched fist at the door opening into Locker's Lane, and at the same time Jack Vance was heard shouting, "Let us in quick, or the Philistines'll have us!"

Acton ran to fetch the key, and the next moment the three members of the Triple Alliance dashed through the open door, which was hastily secured behind them, while a shout of baffled rage some little distance down the road showed that they had only narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the enemy. The pursuit, however, was evidently abandoned, and Morris, climbing on the roof of the shed, saw young Noaks and Hogson slowly retreating round the corner of the road.

The three friends certainly presented a striking appearance. Mugford's nose was bleeding, Jack Vance's collar seemed to have been nearly torn off his neck, while Diggory's cap was in his hand, and his hair in a state of wild disorder. Their faces, flushed with running, were radiant with a look of triumph, while all three, the unfortunate Mugford included, leaned up against the wall, and laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks.

"What have you fellows been up to?" cried Acton; "why don't you tell us?"

"Oh my!" gasped Diggory, "we've taken a fine rise out of the Philistines; they can't say we're not quits with them now!" and he went off into a fresh fit of merriment.

Shaw and Morris seized hold of Jack Vance, and at length succeeded in shaking him into a sufficient state of sobriety to be able to answer their questions.

"Oh dear," he said faintly, "I never laughed so much in my life before! Diggory ought to tell you, because he planned it all. We went very quietly down to Horace House, and found the double doors were shut. You know just what they're like, how the wall curves in a bit, and there's a scraper close to the gate-post, on either side, about a foot from the ground. We'd got an old play-box cord with us, and we tied it to each of the scrapers. The doors have a sort of iron ring for a handle, and through this we stuck a broken cricket-stump, and Mug and I held the two ends so that you couldn't possibly lift the latch on the inside. Then—but you go on, Diggy."

"Well, then," continued the other, "I scrambled on to these two chaps' shoulders, and looked over the top of the door. We could hear some of the Philistines knocking about on the gravel, and I saw there were about half a dozen of them playing footer with a tennis-ball. I shouted out, 'Hullo! Good-afternoon!' They all stood still in a moment, and young Noaks cried, 'Why, it's a Birchite!—What do you want here, you young dog?' I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I said, 'I want to know if this is the bear-pit or the monkey-house.' My eye, you should have seen them! I dropped down in a trice, and they all rushed to the doors; but they couldn't lift the latch, because Mug and Jack were holding fast to the stump. We waited a moment, and then let go and ran for it. You may judge what happened next. It's a regular sea of mud outside those gates. They all came rushing out together, and I saw Noaks and Hogson go head first over the rope, and two or three others fall flat on the top of them. It was a sight, I can tell you!"

"Yes, but that wasn't all," interrupted Jack Vance. "Bernard, one of their big chaps, hopped over the rest and came after us. We ran for all we were worth, but he collared me. Mugford went for him, and hung on to his coat like a young bull-terrier, and got a smack on the nose; and just then Diggory turned, and came prancing back, and ran his head into the beggar's stomach, and that doubled him up, and so we all got away. But," concluded the speaker, turning towards his wounded comrade, "I never thought old Mug had so much grit in him before; he stuck to it like a Briton!"

A demonstration of the most genuine enthusiasm followed this warlike speech. Acton folded Diggory to his breast in a loving embrace, Shaw and Morris stuffed the door-key down Mugford's back, while the remainder of the company executed a war-dance round Jack Vance.

"My eye," cried the dux, "won't the Philistines be wild!
Fancy upsetting them in the mud, and knocking Bernard's wind out!
They won't be in a hurry to meddle with us again. Well done, Diggy!"

"It wasn't I alone," said the author of the enterprise; "we did it between us—the Triple Alliance."

"Then three cheers for the Triple Alliance!" cried Acton.

The company shouted themselves hoarse, for every one felt that the honour of The Birches had been retrieved, and that the day was still far distant when they would be crushed beneath the iron heel of young Noaks, or be exposed as an unresisting prey to the ravages of the wild hordes of Horace House.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SUPPER CLUB.

As this story is to be a history of the Triple Alliance, and not of The Birches, it will be necessary to pass over many things which happened at the preparatory school, in order that full justice may be done to the important parts played by our three friends in an epoch of strange and stirring events at Ronleigh College.

Diggory, by the daring exploit described in the previous chapter, won all hearts; and instead of being looked upon as a new boy, was regarded quite as an old and trusty comrade. Acton displayed marked favour towards the Triple Alliance, and was even more friendly with Diggory and Jack Vance than with his room and class mates, Shaw and Morris.

The Philistines seemed, for the time being, paralyzed by the humiliation of their mud bath, and for many months there was a complete cessation from hostilities.

It was perhaps only natural that in time of peace a brave knight like Acton should turn his thoughts from war to love-making, and therefore I shall make no excuse for relating a little experience of his which must be introduced as a prelude to the account of the formation of the famous supper club.

At the very commencement of the summer term it was plain to everybody that something was wrong with the dux; he seemed to take no interest in the doings of his companions in the playground, and only once roused himself sufficiently to bang Cross with a leg-guard for bowling awful wides at cricket.

At length, one afternoon, Diggory and Jack Vance on entering the shed found him sitting on the carpenter's bench, with his chin resting in his hand, and a most ferocious expression on his face.

"Hullo! what's up?"

Acton stared blankly at the new-comers until the question had been repeated; then he sat up and straightened his back with the air of one who has made a great resolve.

"I don't mind telling you two," he said. "You know I've said before that I meant some day to propose to Miss Eleanor. Well," he added, stabbing the bench with the gimlet, "I'm going to do it."

"I've saved five and ninepence," continued the speaker, "to buy a ring with, but I can't make up my mind whether I'd better speak or write to her. What do you think?"

"I should say," answered Diggory, after a moment's thought, "that the best thing would be to toss up for it."

"All right; have you got a coin?"

"No, but I think I've got a brass button. Yes, here it is. Now, then, front you speak, and back you write. There you are—it's a letter!"

"Well, now," said Acton, getting off the bench and sticking his hands deep in his trousers pockets, "what had I better say? I shall be fifteen in August; I thought I'd tell her my age, and say I didn't mind waiting."

"I believe it's the girl who always says that," answered Jack Vance, kicking a bit of wood into a corner.

"Then, again, I don't know how to begin. Would you say 'Dear Miss Eleanor,' or 'Dear Miss Welsby'? I think 'Dear Eleanor' sounds rather cheeky."

"I'll tell you what I should do," answered Diggory, who seemed to have a great idea of letting the fates decide these matters: "I should write 'em all three on slips of paper and then draw one."

"Well, I'm going to write the letter in 'prep' this evening, and let her have it to-morrow. Did you notice I gave her a flower this morning, and she stuck it in her dress?"

"Yes; but fellows are often doing that," answered Jack Vance, "and she always wears them, either in her dress or stuck up somehow under her brooch."

"Oh, but this was a white rose, and a white rose means something, though
I don't know what. At all events, she'll have the letter to-morrow, and
I'll tell you fellows when I give it her, only of course you mustn't
breathe a word to any one else."

"All right: we won't," answered Diggory, "except to old Mugford, because he's one of the Alliance, and we've sworn not to have any secrets from each other, and he won't split."

That evening the Triple Alliance lay awake until a late hour discussing the situation. Mugford's opening comment was certainly worth recording,—

"I hope she'll accept him."

"Why?"

"Why, because if she does, I should think old Welsby'll give us a half-holiday."

It was evident at breakfast, to those who were in the know, that Acton was prepared for the venture. He was wearing a clean collar and new necktie, and ate only four pieces of bread and butter, besides his bacon.

"He's shown me the letter," whispered Diggory to Jack Vance; "only I promised I wouldn't say what was in it, but it ends up with a piece of poetry as long as this table!"

After morning school was the time agreed upon for the dux to cast the die which was to decide his future; and as soon as the classes were dismissed, Jack Vance and Diggory met him by appointment in one corner of the garden.

"I've done it," he said, looking awfully solemn. "She was in the hall, and I gave it to her as I came out. I say, how many t's are there in 'attachment'?"

Jack Vance thought one, Diggory said two; and the company then relapsed into silence, and stood with gloomy looks upon their faces, as though they were waiting to take part in a funeral procession.

At length a voice from the house was heard calling, "Fred—Fred Acton!" The dux turned a trifle pale, but pulling himself together, marched off with a firm step to learn his fate.

"She called him Fred," murmured Diggory; "that sounds hopeful."

"Oh, that's nothing," answered Jack Vance; "Miss Eleanor always calls fellows by their Christian names. There's one thing," he added, after a few moments' thought—"if she'd cut up rough over the letter, she might have called him Mr. Acton. Hullo, here he comes!" As he spoke Acton emerged from the house, and came down the path towards them; his straw hat was tilted forward over his eyes, and his cheeks were glowing like the red glass of a dark-room lamp. He sauntered along, kicking up the gravel with the toe of his boot.

"Well, what happened?" inquired Jack Vance.

No answer.

"What's the matter ?" cried Diggory; "what did she say?"

"Why, this!" answered the other, in a voice trembling with suppressed emotion: "she said I was a silly boy, and—and—gave me a lump of cake!"

If any one else had done it, the probability is Acton would have slain them on the spot. Diggory opened his eyes and mouth wide, and then exploded with laughter. "Oh my!" he gasped, "I shall die, I know I shall! Ha, ha, ha!"

Acton eyed him for a moment with a look of indignant astonishment; then he began to smile, Jack Vance commenced to chuckle, and very soon all three were laughing in concert.

"Well, I think it's rather unfeeling of you fellows," said the rejected suitor; "I can tell you I'm jolly cut up about it."

"I'm awfully sorry," answered Diggory, "but I couldn't help laughing. Cheer up; why, think, you won't have to get the ring now, so you can do what you like with that five and ninepence you saved. Why, it's worth being refused to have five and ninepence to spend in grub!"

"Ah, Diggy !" said the other, shaking his head in a mournful manner, "wait till you're as old as I am: when you're close on fifteen you'll think differently about love and all that sort of thing."

As has already been hinted, it was the failure of this attempt on the part of the dux to win the heart and hand of Miss Eleanor that indirectly brought about the formation of the famous supper club. About a week after the events happened which have just been described, Acton invited the Triple Alliance to meet the "House of Lords" in the work-shed, to discuss an important scheme which he said had been in his mind for some days past; and the door having been locked to exclude outsiders, he commenced to unfold his project as follows:—

"I've been thinking that during the summer term, and while the weather's warm, our two rooms might form a supper club. We'd hold it, say, once a week, when pocket-money is given out, and have a feed together; one time in your room, and the next in ours, after every one's gone to bed. You know I saved some money at the beginning of the term to buy an engagement ring with; but I don't want it now, so I'm going to spend the tin in grub, and if you like I'll stand the first feed."

There was a murmur expressive of approbation at this generous offer, mingled with sympathy for the unhappy circumstance which gave rise to it, and which was now an open secret.

"Oh," said Shaw, "that's a grand idea! I know my brother Bob, who's at a big school at Lingmouth, told me that he and some other chaps formed a supper club and held it in his study. It's by the sea, and they used to go out and catch shrimps; and they only had one old coffee-pot, that they used to boil over the gas; so they cooked the shrimps in it first, and made the coffee after. One night they only had time to heat it up once, and so they boiled the shrimps in the coffee; and Bob says they didn't taste half bad, and that they always used to do it after, to save time."

"Well, I propose that we have one," cried Morris.

The resolution was carried unanimously. Acton was elected president, and by way of recognizing the mutual interest of the Triple Alliance, Jack Vance was appointed to act as secretary, and it was decided to hold the first banquet on the following night.

"We can buy the grub to-morrow," said Acton; "but there's one thing we ought to fetch to-day, and that is, I thought we might have, say, six bottles of ginger-beer. Then each man must take his own up to bed with him this evening, and hide it away in his box or in one of his drawers."

This was accordingly done, and, as it happened, was the cause of the only disaster which attended the formation of the club. For the first week in June the weather was unusually hot: a candle left all day in the "Main-top" was found drooping out of the perpendicular, and when the Triple Alliance retired to rest their bedroom felt like an oven. They were just dozing off to sleep, when all three were suddenly startled by a muffled bang somewhere close to them. In an instant they were sitting up in bed, rubbing their eyes with one hand and grasping their pillows with the other.

"Look out, they're coming!" whispered Jack Vance; "wasn't that something hit the door?"

"It sounded as if something fell on the floor," answered Diggory.
"I wonder if anything's rolled off either of the washstands."

Jack Vance reconnoitred the passage, while Diggory and Mugford examined the room; but nothing could be found to account for the disturbance.

"It must have been the fellows in the 'Main-top.' I expect they dropped a book or upset a chair. Don't let's bother about it any more."

The following morning, however, the mystery was explained. The boys were hastily putting on their clothes, when Mugford, who had just thrown aside a dirty collar, gave vent to an exclamation of dismay, which attracted the attention of his two companions.

"Hullo! what's up?"

"Why, look here! If this beastly bottle of ginger-beer hasn't gone and burst in the middle of my box!"

The first meeting of the supper club was a great success. How ever Acton and his noble friends had managed to smuggle upstairs, under their jackets, a pork-pie, a plum-cake, a bag of tarts, and a pound of biscuits, was a feat which, as Jack Vance remarked, "beat conjuring."

Shortly after midnight the Triple Alliance wended their way to the "House of Lords," where they found the three other members quite ready to commence operations. The good things were spread out on the top of a chest of drawers, and the company ranged themselves round on the available chairs and two adjacent beds, and commenced to enjoy the repast.

"Ah, well," sighed Acton, with his mouth full of pork-pie, "I'm rather glad for some things that I didn't get engaged. It must be rather a bore having to spend all your money in rings and that sort of thing, instead of in grub; though I really think I'd have given up grub for Miss Eleanor."

"I wonder," said Morris, who was of a more prosaic disposition, "how it is that it's always much jollier having a feed when you ought not to than at the proper time. For instance, eating this pork-pie at a table, with knife and fork and a plate, wouldn't be a quarter the fun it is having it like we're doing now—cutting it with a razor out of Acton's dressing-case, and knowing that if we were cobbed we should get into a jolly row."

"Talking about rows over feeds," said Acton, "my brother John is at Ronleigh College, and I remember, soon after he went there, he said they had a great spree in his dormitory. One of the chaps had had a hamper sent him, and they smuggled the grub upstairs; and when they thought the coast was clear, they spread a sheet on the floor, and laid out the grub as if it were on a table-cloth. The fellow who was standing treat was rather a swell in his way, and among other things he'd got his jam put out in a flat glass dish. It was a fine feed, and they'd just begun, when they heard some one coming. They'd only just got time to turn out the gas and jump into bed before the door opened, and in came one of the masters called Weston. Well, of course, they all pretended to be asleep. But the master had heard them scrambling about, and he walked in the dark up the aisle between the beds, saying, 'Who's been out of bed here?' Then all of a sudden he stuck his foot into the glass jam-dish, and it slid along the floor, and down he came bang in the middle of all the spread. John said that when the gas was lit they couldn't help laughing at old Weston: he'd rammed one elbow into a box of sardines, and there was a cheese-cake stuck in the middle of his back. But oh, there was a row, I can tell you!"

This yarn produced others, and the time passed pleasantly enough, until full justice had been done to the provisions, and hardly a crumb remained.

"Phew! isn't it hot?" said Diggory; "let's open the window a bit. The moon must be full," he continued, as he raised the sash; "it's nearly as light as day. I can see all down the garden, and—hullo! quick, put the candle out!"

Every one started to his feet, and the light was extinguished in a moment.

"What is it—what's the matter?" they all asked. "There's some one in the playground," whispered Diggory, as the others crowded round him. "You see the door at the bottom of the garden; well, just when I spoke some one opened it and looked up at the house, and then shut it again. It must have been Blake, and he's seen our light."

"It can't be Blake," answered Acton; "he's gone to Fenley to play in a cricket match, and isn't coming back till to-morrow morning. Old Welsby went to bed hours ago; and, besides, what should either of them want to be doing down there at this time of night? You must have been dreaming, Diggy."

"No, I wasn't; I saw it distinctly. It must be old Blake. He's come home sooner than he expected, and I shouldn't wonder if he's going round by the road to take us by surprise."

"He can't do that," answered Acton, "because I've got the key of the shed, and the door-key's hung up inside."

Acton remained watching at the window while the others hastily cleared away all traces of the feast; the Triple Alliance retired to their own room, and nothing further was heard or seen of the mysterious visitor.

The next morning it was discovered that Mr. Blake had not returned from Fenley, and the five other members of the supper club were inclined to regard Diggory's vision of the midnight intruder as a sort of waking nightmare, resulting from an overdose of cake and pork-pie. Two days later Cross came into the schoolroom in a great state of excitement.

"Look here, you fellows," he exclaimed: "some one keeps taking away my things out of the shed, and not putting them back. Last week I missed a saw and two chisels, and now that brace and nearly all the bits are gone. It's a jolly shame!"

Carpentering was Cross's great hobby, and his collection of tools was an exceptionally good one, both as regards quantity and quality. Every one, however, denied having touched the things mentioned. A general search was made; but the missing articles could not be found, and at length the matter was reported to Mr. Welsby.

The latter was evidently greatly displeased on hearing the facts of the case. As soon as dinner was over he called the school together, and after standing for some moments in silence, frowning at the book he carried in his hand, said briefly,—

"With regard to these tools, there is a word which has never been used before in connection with any pupil at The Birches, and which I hope I may never have occasion to use again. I can hardly think it possible that we have a thief in the house. I am rather inclined to imagine that some one has removed the things and hidden them away in joke; if so, let me tell him that the joke has been allowed to go too far, and that, unless they are returned at once, a shadow of doubt will be cast upon the honour and integrity of all here present. It is impossible for such large articles as a saw and a brace to be mislaid or lost on such small premises as these, and I trust that before this evening you will report to me that the things have been found. I have purposely allowed the key of the shed to remain in your own possession, feeling certain that your behaviour as regards each other's property would be in accordance with the treatment which one gentleman expects to receive from another. You may go."

There was little in the nature of a scolding in this address, and yet something in it caused every one to leave the room in a state of great excitement. Acton and Jack Vance especially fairly boiled with wrath.

"What old Welsby says is quite right," remarked the latter; "and until those things are found, we may all be looked upon as thieves."

The search, however, proved fruitless; and, what was worse, in turning over the contents of the shed, Acton discovered that a bull's-eye lantern belonging to himself had disappeared from the shelf on which it usually stood; while Mugford declared that a box of compasses, which he had brought down a few days before to draw a pattern on a piece of board, was also missing.

Directly after tea Acton button-holed Diggory, and taking him aside said, "Look here, I'm in an awful rage about these thing's being prigged, because, of course, I've got the key of the shed; and didn't you hear what old Welsby said about it? It looks uncommonly as if I were the thief. You remember what you said the other night when we had that feed, about seeing that man? D'you think there is any one who comes here at night and steals things?"

"Well, I'm certain I saw some one in the playground when I told you. It was a man; but whether he comes regularly and goes into the shed I don't know, but I think we ought to be able to find out."

"How?"

"Oh, some way or other; I'll tell you to-morrow." That night, long after the rest of the house were asleep, the Triple Alliance lay awake engaged in earnest conversation; and in the morning, as the boys were assembling for breakfast, Diggory touched Acton on the shoulder and whispered,—

"I say, we've thought of a plan to find out if any one goes into the shed at night."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Why, the Triple Alliance; we thought it out between us. Sneak out of the house directly after evening 'prep,' and meet me in the playground, and I'll show you what it is."

At the time appointed Acton ran down the path, and found Diggory waiting for him by the shed.

"Look," said the latter, "I've cut a little tiny slit with my knife in each door-post, about three feet from the ground, and I'm going to stretch this piece of black cotton between them. No one will see it, and if they go through the door, the thread will simply draw out of one of the slits without their noticing it, and we shall see that it's been disturbed. Jack Vance says that when he's been out shooting with his guv'nor he's seen the keeper put them across the paths in a wood to find out if poachers have been up them. Now unlock the door, and let's go inside."

In front of the bench, where the ground had been much trodden, there was a great deal of loose dust. Diggory went down on his hands and knees, and producing an old clothes-brush from his pocket, swept about a square yard of the ground until the dust lay in a perfectly smooth surface.

"There," he said, rising to his feet again; "we'll do this the last thing every night, and any morning if we find the cotton gone we must look here for footprints, and then we ought to be able to tell if it's a man or a boy."

"Don't you think we ought to tell Blake about that man you saw?" asked
Acton, as they walked back to the schoolroom.

"Well, I don't see how we can," answered Diggory. "The first thing he'll ask will be,' Who saw him?' I shall say, 'I did;' and then he'll want to know how I saw the playground door from my bedroom window, which looks out on the road; and then the fat'll be in the fire, and it'll all come out about that supper."

Regularly every evening, as soon as supper was over, the two boys stole down into the playground to set their trap; but when morning came there was no sign of the shed having been entered. This went on for nearly a month, but still no result.

"I don't think it's any good bothering about it any more," said Acton; "the thief doesn't mean to come again."

"Well, we'll set it to-night," answered Diggory, "and that shall be the last time."

The following morning Acton was sauntering towards the playground, when
Diggory came running up the path in a state of great excitement.
"I say, the cotton's gone!"

Acton rushed down, unlocked the door of the shed, and went inside.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, as Diggory followed; "it is some man. Look at these footprints, and hobnailed boots into the bargain!"

CHAPTER V.

CATCHING A TARTAR.

It was impossible for two boys to keep such an important discovery to themselves, and the shed was soon filled with an eager crowd, all anxious to view the mysterious footprints. The Triple Alliance gained fresh renown as the originators of the scheme by which the disclosure had been made, and it was unanimously decided that the matter should be reported to Mr. Blake.

The master cross-questioned Acton and Diggory, but seemed rather inclined to doubt their story.

"I think," he said, "you must be mistaken. I expect the piece of cotton blew away, and the foot-marks must have been there before. I don't see what there is in the shed that should make it worth any one's while to break into it; besides, if the door was locked, the thief must have broken it open, and you'd have seen the marks."

Certainly nothing seemed to have been touched, and as no boy complained of any of his property having been stolen, the subject was allowed to drop, and the usual excitement connected with the end of term and the near approach of the holidays soon caused it to be driven from every one's thoughts and wellnigh forgotten.

With the commencement of the winter term a fresh matter filled the minds of the Triple Alliance, and gave them plenty of food for discussion and plan-making. On returning to Chatford after the summer holidays, they discovered that all three were destined to leave at Christmas and proceed to Ronleigh College, a large school in the neighbourhood, to which a good number of Mr. Welsby's former pupils had been transferred after undergoing a preliminary course of education at The Birches. Letters from these departed heroes, containing disjointed descriptions of their new surroundings, awakened a feeling of interest in the doings of the Ronleigh College boys. The records of their big scores at cricket, or their victories at football, which appeared in local papers, were always read with admiration; and the name of an old Birchite appearing in either of the teams was a thing of which every one felt justly proud.

"I wish I was going too," said Acton, addressing the three friends; "but my people are going to send me to a school in Germany. My brother John is there; he's one of the big chaps, and is captain of the football team this season. I'm going to get the Denfordshire Chronicle every week, to see how they get on in the matches."

Early in October the goal-posts were put up in the field, and the Birchites commenced their football practice. Mr. Blake was a leading member of the Chatford Town Club, and although six a side was comparatively a poor business, yet under his instruction they gained a good grounding in the rudiments of the "soccer" of the period. The old system of dribbling and headlong rushes was being abandoned in favour of the passing game, and forwards were learning to keep their places, and to play as a whole instead of as individuals.

"Come here, you fellows," said the master, walking into the playground one morning, with a piece of paper in his hand; "I've got something to speak about."

The boys crowded round, wondering what was up.

"I've got here a challenge from Horace House to play a match against them, either on our ground or on theirs. I think it's a pity that you shouldn't have an opportunity of playing against strangers. Of course they are bigger and heavier than we are, and we should probably get licked; but that isn't the question: any sportsman would sooner play a losing game than no game at all, and it'll be good practice. We always used to have a match with them every term; but some little time ago there seemed to be a lack—well, I'll say of good sportsmen among them, and the meetings had to be abandoned. I've talked the matter over with Mr. Welsby, and he seems willing to give the thing another trial."

An excited murmur ran through the crowd.

"Wait a minute," interrupted the speaker, holding up his hand. "Mr. Welsby has left it with me to make arrangements for the match, and I shall only do so on one condition. I know that since the event happened to which I referred a moment ago a decidedly unfriendly spirit has existed between you and the boys at Mr. Phillips's. Now an exhibition of this feeling on a football field would be a disgrace to the school. You must play like gentlemen, and there must be no wrangling or disputing. They are agreeable for a master to play on each side, so I shall act as captain. Anything that has to be said must be left to me, and I shall see you get fair play. Do you clearly understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, then, I'll write and say we shall be pleased to play them here on Saturday week."

The prospect of mooting the Philistines in the open field filled the mind of every boy with one thought, and the whole establishment went football mad. It was played in the schoolroom and passages with empty ink-pots and balls of paper, in the bedrooms with slippers and sponges, and even in their dreams fellows kicked the bed-clothes off, and woke up with cries of "Goal!" on their lips.

Mr. Blake arranged the order of the team, and remarking that they would need a good defence, put himself and Shaw as full backs. Acton took centre forward, with Jack Vance on his right, while Diggory was told off to keep goal.

At length the eventful morning arrived. Class 2 came utterly to grief in their work; but Mr. Blake understood the cause, and set the same lessons over again for Monday.

It was the first real match most of the players had taken part in, and as they stood on the ground waiting for their opponents to arrive, every one was trembling with excitement. The only exception was the goal-keeper, who leaned with his back against the wall, cracking nuts, and remarking that he "wished they'd hurry up and not keep us waiting all day." At length there was a sound of voices in the lane, and the next moment the enemy entered the field, headed by their under-master, Mr. Fox. Young Noaks and Hogson pounced down at once upon the practice ball, and began kicking it about with great energy, shouting at the top of their voices, and evidently wishing to make an impression on the spectators before the game began.

"I say," muttered Jacobs, "they're awfully big."

"Well, what does that matter?" answered Diggory, cracking another nut and spitting out the shell. "They aren't going to eat us; and as for that chap Noaks, he's all noise—look how he muffed that kick."

Mr. Blake tossed up. "Now, you fellows," he said, coming up to his followers, "we play towards the road; get to your places, and remember what I told you."

With young Noaks as centre forward, Hogson and Bernard on his right and left, and other big fellows to complete the line of hostile forwards, the home team seemed to stand no chance against their opponents. The visitors bowled them over like ninepins, and rushed through their first line of defence as though it never existed. But Mr. Blake stood firm, and kept his ground like the English squares at Waterloo. Attack after attack swept down upon him only to break up like waves on a rock, and the ball came flying back with a shout of "Now, then! Get away, Birches!" Twice the Horace House wing men got round Shaw, and put in good shots; but Diggory saved them both, and was seen a moment later calmly rewarding himself with another nut. Gradually, as the time slipped away and no score was made, the Birchites began to realize that being able to charge wasn't everything, and that their opponents could do more with their shoulders than with their feet, and soon lost control of the ball when bothered by the "halves." The play of the home eleven became bolder—the forwards managed a run or two; and though the Philistines had certainly the upper hand, yet it soon became obvious to them that it was no mere "walk over," and that victory would have to be struggled for.

Noaks and the two inside forwards evidently did not relish this state of things; they had expected an easy win, and began to show their disappointment in the increased roughness of their play.

At length, just before half-time, a thing happened which very nearly caused Mr. Blake's followers to break their promise.

Cross was badly kicked while attempting to take the ball from Hogson, and had to retire from the game.

There were some black looks and a murmur of indignation among the home team, but Mr. Blake hushed it up in a moment.

"I think," he said pleasantly, "that the play is a trifle rough. Our men," he added, laughing, "are rather under size."

Noaks muttered something about not funking; but Mr. Fox said,—

"Yes, just so. Come, play the game, boys, and think less about charging."

The loss of their right half-back was distinctly felt by the Birchites during the commencement of the second half, and Diggory was called upon three times in quick succession to save his charge. He acquitted himself like a brick, and the last time did a thing which afforded his side an immense amount of secret satisfaction. He caught the ball in his hands, and at the same moment Noaks made a fierce rush, meaning to knock him through the goal. Diggory, with an engaging smile, hopped on one side, and the Philistine flung himself against the post, and bumped his head with a violence which might have cracked any ordinary skull. He came back scowling. A moment later Jack Vance ran into him, and took the ball from between his feet. Noaks charged viciously, and in a blind fit of temper deliberately raised his fist and struck the other player in the face.

"Stop!"

It was Mr. Blake's voice, and he came striding up the ground looking as black as thunder.

"I protest against that deliberate piece of foul play. I have played against all the chief clubs in the district, and in any of those matches, if such a thing had happened, this man would have been ordered off the ground."

There was a buzz of approval, in which several of the Philistines joined.

"You are quite right, Mr. Blake," answered Mr. Fox. "I deeply regret that the game should have been spoiled by a member of my team.—Noaks," he added, turning to the culprit, "put on your coat and go home; you have disgraced yourself and your Comrades. I shall see that you send a written apology to the boy you struck."

"Bravo!" whispered Acton; "old Fox is a good sort."

"Oh, they're most of them all right," answered Morris; "it's only two or three that are such beasts."

The game was continued. The loss of one man on each side made the teams equal in numbers, but the sudden calamity which had overtaken their centre forward seemed to have exerted a very demoralizing effect on the Philistines.

Their attacks were not nearly so spirited, and several times the
Birchite forwards appeared in front of their goal.

Neither side had scored, and it seemed as though the game would end in a draw—a result which the home team would have considered highly satisfactory.

The umpire looked at his watch, and in answer to a query from Mr. Fox said, "Five minutes more."

"Look here, Acton," said Mr. Blake: "let me take your place, and you go back. Do all you can to stop them if they come."

The ball was thrown out of touch; Mr. Blake got it, and in a few seconds the fight was raging in the very mouth of the enemy's goal. Morris put in a capital shot; but the ball glanced off one of the players, and went behind.

"Corner!" cried Mr. Blake. "I'll take it. Now you fellows get it through somehow or other!"

"Mark your men, Horace House!" cried Mr. Fox. The next moment every one was shoving and elbowing with their eyes fixed on the ball as it flew through the air. It dropped in exactly the right place, and Jack Vance, by some happy fluke, kicked it just as it touched the ground. Like a big round shot it whizzed through the posts, and there was a rapturous yell of "Goal!"

The delight of the Birchites at having beaten their opponents was unbounded, and when, a short time later, the latter retired with a score against them of one to nil. Jack Vance was seized by a band of applauding comrades, who, with his head about a couple of feet lower than his heels, carried him in triumph across the playground, and staggered half-way up the steep garden path, when Acton happening to tread on a loose pebble brought the whole procession to grief, and caused the noble band of conquering heroes to be seen all grovelling in a mixed heap upon the gravel.

But it is not for the simple purpose of recording the victory over Horace House that a description of the match has been introduced into our story; and although the important part played by Diggory in goal and Jack Vance in the "fighting line" caused it to be an occasion when the Triple Alliance was decidedly in evidence and won fresh laurels, yet there are other reasons which make an account of it necessary, as the reader will discover in following the course of subsequent events. If Jack Vance had kicked the ball a yard over the bar instead of under it, the probability is that the following chapter would never have been written; while the public disgrace of young Noaks was destined to cause our three comrades more trouble than they ever expected to encounter, at all events on this side of their leaving school.

If the result of the match made such a great impression on the minds of the victors, it is only natural that it should have had a similar effect on the hearts of their opponents. Most of the Philistines would have been content to take their defeat as a sportsman should, but neither Noaks nor his two cronies, Hogson and Bernard, had any of this manly spirit about them; and smarting under the disappointment of not having won, and the knowledge that at least one of them had reaped shame and contempt instead of glory, they determined to seek a speedy revenge. As the three biggest boys in the school, they had little difficulty in inducing their companions to join in the crusade which they preached against The Birches, and the consequence was that the two schools were soon exchanging open hostilities with greater vigour than ever.

Now, although the Birchites had proved themselves equal to their opponents at football, they would have stood no chance against them in anything like a personal encounter. The other party were, of course, perfectly well aware of this fact, and waxed bold in consequence. Again and again, when Mr. Welsby's pupils were at football practice, and Mr. Blake happened not to be present, the enemy's sharp-shooter crept into ambush behind the hedge and discharged stones from their catapults at the legs of the players, while the latter replied by inquiring when they meant to "come over and take another licking." At other times these Horace House Cossacks swooped down on single members of the rival establishment, harrying them in the very streets of Chatford, and on one occasion had the audacity to lay violent hands on Jacobs, beat his bowler hat down over his eyes, and push him through the folding doors of a drapery establishment, where he upset an umbrella-stand and three chairs, had his ears boxed by the shop-walker, and was threatened with the police court if ever he did such a thing again! At length it became positively perilous for the weaker party to go beyond the precincts of their own citadel except in bodies of three or four together. All kinds of plans for retaliation were suggested, but still the Philistines continued to score heavily. At length, about the last week in October, a thing happened which raised the wrath of the Birchites to boiling-point.

Cross having received five shillings from home on the morning of his birthday, determined to celebrate the occasion by the purchase of a pork-pie, of which he had previously invited all his companions to partake. The latter were standing in the playground waiting for his return from Chatford, when they became conscious of certain "alarms without;" whoops and war-cries sounded somewhere down Locker's Lane, and ceased as suddenly as they had begun. The boys stood for some moments wondering what this could mean, and were just thinking of starting a fresh game of "catch smugglers," when there came a banging at the door. It was flung open, and Cross rushed into their midst, flushed, dishevelled, and empty-handed!

What words of mine can tell that tale of woe or describe the burst of indignation which followed its recital? Cross had unwisely decided to shorten his return journey by risking the dangers of Locker's Lane. He had been captured by a party of Philistines, who, under the leadership of Hogson, had not only robbed him of his pie, but had held him prisoner while they devoured it before his very eyes!

What this terrible outrage would have excited those who had suffered this cruel wrong to do in return—whether they would have started off there and then, burnt Horace House to the ground, and hung its inhabitants on the surrounding trees—it would be hard to say; as it was, at this very moment a counter-attraction was forced upon their attention by Morris, who came shouldering his way into their midst, saying,—

"Look here, you fellows, some one's stolen my watch and chain!"

It seemed as if a perfect shower of thunderbolts had commenced to descend from a clear sky upon the devoted heads of Mr. Welsby's pupils. Every one stared at his neighbour in mute amazement, and only Fred Acton remained in sufficient possession of his faculties to gasp out,—

"What?"

"It's true," continued Morris excitedly. "I didn't change for football yesterday afternoon, but before going into the field I hung my watch up on a nail in the shed, and stupidly forgot all about it until I came to wind it up last night. Then it was too late to fetch it, and now it's gone!"

"Look here !" cried Acton, glaring round the group with an unusually ferocious look, "who knows anything about this? speak up, can't you! We've had enough of this prigging business, and I'm sick of it!"

No one attempted to reply.

"Well," continued the dux, "I'm going straight off to old Welsby to tell him, and I won't keep the key of that place. Of course it makes me look as if I were the thief, and I won't stand it any longer."

The speaker turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of the house.

"Oh, I say," muttered Jack Vance, "now there'll be a row!"

Jack's prophecy was soon fulfilled. The watch and chain could not be found, and there was but little doubt that they had been stolen. Mr. Welsby called the boys together, and though he spoke in a calm and collected manner, with no trace of passion in his voice, yet his words made them all tremble. Miss Eleanor sat silent at the tea-table, with a shocked expression on her face; and Mr. Blake, when told of the occurrence, said sharply, "Well, we'd better have locks put on everything, and the sooner the better."

Acton produced his bunch of keys, and insisted that all his possessions should be searched, and every one else followed his example. The whole of the next afternoon was spent in a careful examination of desks and boxes, but with no result beyond the discovery that Mugford owned a cord waistcoat which he had 'never had the moral courage to wear.

There is one feature in the administration of justice by an English court which is unhappily too often overlooked in the lynch law of schoolboys, and that is the principle that a man shall be considered innocent until he has been clearly proved guilty. Smarting under a sense of shame which was entirely unmerited, every boy sought eagerly for some object on which to vent his indignation; it became necessary, to use the words of the comic opera, that "a victim should be found," and suspicion fell on Kennedy and Jacobs. The result of Diggory's trap seemed to show that the various thefts had been committed at night. It was agreed that the two occupants of the "Main-top" had special opportunity for getting out of the house if so minded; every other room had one or more fellows in it who had suffered the loss of some property; and lastly, Kennedy was known to possess a pair of hob-nailed fishing-boots, which he usually kept under his bed. The two boys indignantly denied the accusation when it was first brought against them, but the very vehemence with which they protested their innocence was regarded as "put on," and accepted as an additional proof of their guilt. The evidence, however, was not thought sufficient to warrant bringing a charge against them before the head-master, and accordingly it was decided to send them both to Coventry until some fresh light should be brought to bear upon the case.

To do full justice to the memory of Diggory Trevanock, he alone stood out against this decision, and incurred the wrath both of Acton and Jack Vance in so doing. He continued to affirm that it must be the man he had seen in the playground on the occasion of the first meeting of the supper club; and that the footprint in the dust had been a man's, and much larger than Kennedy's boot could have produced.

This outlawing of the "Main-top" and difference of opinion with Diggory spoiled all chance of games and good fellowship. Even the association of the Triple Alliance seemed likely to end in an open rupture, and very possibly might have done so if it had not been for an event which caused the members to reunite against the common enemy.

One half-holiday afternoon Mugford and Diggory had gone down to Chatford. It was nearly dark when they started to come back, and the latter proposed the short cut by Locker's Lane.

"I'm not afraid of the Philistines; besides, they won't see us now."

As they drew near to Horace House, a solitary figure was discovered standing in the shadow of the brick wall.

"It's young Noaks," whispered Diggory. "It's too late to turn back, but most likely he won't notice us in this light if we walk straight on."

They passed him successfully, and were just opposite the entrance, when three more boys sauntered through the doorway. A gleam of light from the house happened to fall on Diggory's cap and broad white collar, and immediately the shout was raised, "Birchites!"

There was a rush of feet, a wild moment of grabbing and dodging, and Mugford, who had managed somehow to shake himself free from the grasp of his assailants, dashed off at full speed down the road. After running for about two hundred yards, and finding he was not followed, he pulled up, waited and listened, and then began cautiously to retrace his steps. There was no sign either of his companion or the enemy; and though he ventured back as far as the double doors, which were now closed, not a soul was to be seen. He knew in a moment that his class-mate had been captured, but all hope of attempting anything in the shape of a rescue was out of the question. It was impossible for him single-handed to storm the fortress, and so, after lingering about for some minutes in the hope that his friend would reappear, he ran home as fast as he could, and bursting into the schoolroom, where most of his schoolfellows sat reading round the fire, threw them into a great state of consternation and dismay by proclaiming in a loud voice the alarming intelligence that Diggory had been taken prisoner, and was at that moment in the hands of the Philistines!

CHAPTER VI.

GUNPOWDER PLOT.

The news caused a profound sensation, the like of which had probably never been witnessed at The Birches before—no, not even on that memorable occasion when the intelligence arrived that Scourer, one of the past seniors, had ridden his bicycle through the plate-glass window of Brown's big crockery-shop, and was being brought home on a shutter.

All the boys threw down their books, and started to their feet. Acton and Vance banished from their minds all thought of the disagreement which had lately estranged them from their unfortunate school-fellow, and joined heartily in the general outburst of wrath and consternation.

The thought that Diggory, their well-beloved, was at that very moment languishing, a prisoner of war, in the hands of the Philistines was almost unbearable.

"What will they do with him?"—"Where have they put him?"—"How can we rescue the fellow?" were questions which everybody was asking, but no one could answer. It seemed altogether beyond their power to do anything, and yet there was not a boy who would not have given his dearest possession, were it a white rat or a stamp collection, if by parting with it he could have rendered some assistance to his ill-fated comrade.

"There's only half an hour before tea," said Vance, looking up at the clock; "if anything can be done, we must do it at once."

The precious moments sped away, but in vain did the assembly rack their brains for some plan of action which might in any way be likely to serve the purpose they had in view. The first wild suggestion, that they should go in a body and carry Horace House by storm, was abandoned as impracticable; in hopeless inactivity they stood watching the long hand of the clock creep up from six till twelve.

The first tea-bell had just finished ringing, when there was a sound of footsteps hurrying along the passage, the door burst open, and in rushed no other person than Diggory himself!

"Hullo! how did you get away?"—"What have they been doing?"—"How did you escape?"

"Oh, such a lark!" cried the boy. "They'll wish they'd never caught me!
I'll tell you all about it after tea."

As soon as the meal was over, Diggory was seized, hurried up into the schoolroom, and there forced to relate his adventures.

"Well," he began, "they collared me, and dragged me through the gates and along into their playground. Noaks looked at me and said, 'Hullo, here's luck! This is the young beggar who tied that rope to the scrapers; I vote we give him a jolly good licking.' I told them that my father was a lawyer, and if any of them touched me he'd take a summons out against them for assault. That frightened Noaks, for you can see he's a regular coward, so he asked the others what they thought had better be done with me.

"'I know,' said Hogson. 'There's an old cow-shed in the field next to ours; let's shut him in and keep him there till after tea. He'll get a jolly row for being late when he gets back, and he won't dare to say where he's been; because I know it's against their rules to come anywhere near us, and Locker's Lane is out of bounds. If he does tell, we'll swear he was in the road chucking stones at the windows.'

"Some one said there was only a staple on the door of the shed, but
Noaks said he'd fetch the padlock off his play-box, and so he did.

"Well, they took me across their playing field, and over the hedge into the next, and shut me up in this beastly old hovel. 'It's no use your making a row,' said Hogson, 'because no one'll hear you; and if you do, summons or no summons we'll come down and give you a licking.' After that they left me, and went back to the house; and as soon as they'd gone, I began to try to find some way of escape, but it was so dark inside the shed I couldn't see anything. Presently I heard a knocking on the boards. There was a wide crack between them in one place, and looking through it I could just make out that there was some boy standing there with what looked like a dirty apron over his trousers. I said, 'Hullo!' and he said, 'Hullo! what's up? who are you? and what have they been a-sticking of you in there for?'

"I told him, and asked him who he was, and it turned out his name was Joe Crump, and he's the boy who cleans the knives at Philips's. He happened to be knocking about when they took me prisoner, and he couldn't see who it was in the dark, and thought it might be his younger brother who comes on errands from the grocer's; the Philistines are always playing tricks on him.

"I said, 'Look here, Joe Crump, you let me out, there's a good chap.' But he wouldn't; he was afraid of what young Noaks would do to him. At last I gave him a shilling through the crack of the boards, and vowed I wouldn't say who'd done it, and then he undid the door. I fastened the padlock again, and threw the key into the hedge, for Noaks had left it in the keyhole; so now he won't be able to get his lock again unless he either breaks it or the staple, and they're both pretty tough. After that I got round through two other fields into the lane, and here I am."

The conclusion of Diggory's story was hailed with shouts of triumph. To imagine the disappointment of the Philistines when they discovered that the bird had flown, and the chagrin of young Noaks when he found that his play-box padlock was fastened to the door of the shed, was simply delightful; and Acton was so carried away that he once more fell on Diggory's neck, and pretended to shed tears of joy upon the latter's broad turn-down collar.

"But that's not all," cried the youngster, shaking himself free from his leader's embrace. "The best is this. I had a bit of a talk with Joe Crump before I came away, and he says that young Noaks is going to leave at the end of this term, and he's been telling the Philistines that before he goes he means to do something that'll pay us out for his being sent off the field in that football match. Crump doesn't know what he means to do, but I made him promise, if he finds out, to come and tell me, and I'll give him another shilling. Then we shall be prepared."

"I say, Diggy," exclaimed Jack Vance, "you are a corker!" and the bell now commencing to ring for evening preparation, the meeting terminated.

It was an annual custom at The Birches for the boys to subscribe towards getting a display of fireworks, which were let off in the playground under the superintendence of Mr. Blake. The head-master himself gave a donation towards the fund, and allowed the boys to prepare the next day's work in the afternoon instead of in the evening.

This year, however, when Acton went, as usual, to the library to formally ask permission that the celebration should take place, he met with a terrible rebuff.

"No, Acton," answered Mr. Welsby; "as long as the school continues to be disgraced by these repeated thefts—as, for example, this recent instance of Morris's watch and chain—I do not feel inclined to allow the same privileges as before. There will be no fireworks this term."

As may be imagined, when the dux reported the result of his visit to head-quarters, the news created great excitement. The unfortunate occupants of the "Main-top," who were still in the position of scapegoats, were hunted round the place by an indignant mob, and fled, vainly protesting their innocence, from one shelter to another, until they finally escaped from the playing field into the open country, where they hid behind hedges for the remainder of the afternoon.

"Look here," exclaimed Jack Vance, as the Triple Alliance were wending their way from the playground to the house, "there's only one thing to be done, and that is, we must set Miss Eleanor on old Welsby's track. She'll make him alter his mind. Some one must go and ask her.—Acton, you're the man; you must do it!"

"I'm shot if I do!" answered the dux, turning round to face the trio, and walking backwards up the path; "why should I go more than any other fellow?"

"Why, because you've got such a way with you," returned Diggory. "She'd be sure to do it for you; why, the last time you spoke to her she gave you a lump of cake."

Acton seized the speaker by the neck and shook him like a rat. "You're the cheekiest little imp I ever came across," he said. "I've a jolly good mind to give you a good licking, only I don't believe you'd care tu'pence if I did!"

"Well, anyhow you've got to go," answered Diggory, calmly picking up his cap, which had fallen to the ground; "and if you're afraid to go alone for fear she should think it's another proposal, I'll come with you."

After some further discussion it was agreed that the thing should be attempted. The two boys found Miss Eleanor making cake, and the conference began by Diggory's having his ears boxed for picking plums out of the dough. But no one ever appealed to Miss Eleanor without being sure, at all events, of a patient hearing, and the following morning Mr. Welsby informed the school that he had been led to reconsider his decision regarding the fifth of November, and that they might have their display as usual.

Accordingly, the fireworks were ordered, and arrived soon after breakfast on the morning of the fourth. Miss Eleanor had a dread of gunpowder, and Mr. Blake sent Jack Vance to tell Noaks to carry the box as usual down into the shed.

"Humph!" growled the man, as the boy gave him the message. "It's a nice thing that I should have to fetch and carry all your fooling playthings for you; it's a pity you young gen'lemen can't do something for yourselves, instead of bothering me."

"Well, it isn't my orders," answered Jack; "it's Mr. Blake's."

"Mr. Blake's, is it? All right, I'll do it when I can spare the time."

When the boys came out at interval, the box was still lying about in the yard, although there were heavy clouds overhead threatening rain. Mr. Blake sent for Noaks, and a rather sharp passage of arms took place between them, which ended in the man's being told to leave what he was doing and carry the fireworks down to the shed.

"I believe he left them on purpose, in the hope they'd get wet," said Shaw. "He hates us all like poison, and I believe it's all because his son's at the other school. D'you remember what a row he kicked up when he heard Acton say that the Philistines were cads for shooting at us with catapults?"

"Yes," answered Morris; "and if he hates us, he hates Blake a jolly sight worse. He's been like it ever since that football match; and he'll get sacked if he doesn't mind, for Blake won't stand his cheek much longer."

The purchase of fireworks had this year been more extensive than on any previous occasion, and every one was looking forward with great anticipation to the business of the following evening.

"I say, Diggy," cried Acton at the close of afternoon school, "I wish you'd run down into the playground and bring up that football flag that's got to be mended; I left it in the corner by the shed. I'd go myself, but I want to finish this letter before tea."

Diggory trotted off to fetch the flag, and Jack Vance, who was loitering about one of the passages, accompanied him down into the playground. It was very dark, the stars being hidden by heavy clouds.

"I say," exclaimed Diggory, "it'll be a splendid night for the fireworks if it's like this to-morrow. We must get—Hark! what's that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"Yes, there was a sort of a rapping sound. Hush! there it is again."

Jack heard it this time. "It's some one knocking very gently against that door leading into Locker's Lane," he whispered.

They groped their way across the playground until they reached the wall. There was no mistake about it—some one was gently tapping with his knuckles on the other side of the door.

"Who's there?" asked Jack Vance.

"I want to speak to the young gen'leman who was locked up t'other day in the cow-shed," was the answer, given in a low voice which Diggory instantly recognized.

"I know him," he said; "it's Joe Crump. Here, give me a leg up, and
I'll talk to him over the wall.—All right, Joe; I'm the chap."

"Well, if you are," answered the voice, "you'll remember you offered me a bob if I could find out and tell you when somebody was going to do something."

"Well, what's the news?"

"Give me the money first, and then I'll tell you."

Jack Vance fortunately had the required coin in his pocket, and Diggory dropped it into Joe Crump's cap.

"Well, the news is this," said the latter, speaking in the same low tone—"that there Noaks and Hogson are coming up here to-night just afore nine o'clock, and they're a-going to drown your fireworks."

"Drown our fireworks! why, what ever d'you mean? How do they know we've got any fireworks? and how can they get at them when they're all locked up?"

"I can't say," returned Crump, "so it's no use asking me. I only knows that Noaks is a-going to do it; 'drown 'em all in a bucket of water,' was what he said. Remember you promised to tell nothink about me, that's all. Good-night, mister!"

The stranger vanished in the darkness, and Diggory dropped down from the wall.

"Here's a pretty go!" he remarked. "What are we to do? there's no time to lose. Come on, Jack, let's go and tell Acton."

The latter was engaged on the closing sentence of his letter; but on hearing the intelligence which Diggory had to impart, he threw the unfinished epistle into his desk, and rose to his feet with an exclamation of astonishment.

"D'you think it's really true? or is this fellow, Lump or Bump or whatever you call him, trying to take a rise out of us, or telling lies to earn the shilling?"

"I don't think so," answered Diggory, "and I'll tell you why. For some reason or other, he's at daggers drawn with young Noaks and Hogson. I think they've knocked him about, and he's doing it to pay them out."

"But how did they get to know about our fireworks? and how do they reckon they're going to get them out of the shed? Look here, hadn't we better tell Blake?"

"We can't do that," answered Jack Vance, "or it'll get Diggy in a row. If he says anything about Joe Crump, it'll all come out about his having been in Locker's Lane when the Philistines caught him, and of course that's against rules."

"What time did he say they meant to come?"

"About a quarter to nine."

There was a silence which lasted for over a minute; then Diggory spoke.

"This is what I think we'd better do. If they come at all, they are certain to be here soon after half-past eight, because I heard Fox telling Blake on the day of the match that they go to bed at nine. We won't tell any one, but as soon as 'prep' is over we'll cut down into the playground, and when they come we'll kick up a row. They'll soon make tracks if they find they're discovered, and it'll be better than saying anything to Blake about it, and we shall have defeated them ourselves."

"All right," answered Acton. "But it'll look queer if we all three stop out from supper; two's enough. I'll go for one, and you and Vance toss up."

This suggestion was accepted with some reluctance, as both boys were anxious to take part in the adventure. Acton's word, however, was law, and eventually Diggory was chosen by fate to be his companion.

Directly after tea all the boys paid a visit to the shed; the door was securely locked, as also was the one leading into Locker's Lane, and it seemed impossible for the Philistines to carry out their evil designs upon the fireworks.

"I believe it's all bunkum," said Acton, as they strolled back towards the house. "However, we'll come down as we said, and just see if anything happens."

Three boys, at all events, did very little work that evening, for it was impossible to concentrate one's mind on Caesar or on French verbs with such an adventure looming in the near future. How would the Philistines get at the fireworks? Would they change their minds, and instead of drowning them apply a slow match and blow up the shed? or would it, after all, turn out to be only a false alarm, raised by the boy Crump for the sake of the promised shilling?

These and other thoughts filled the minds of the trio as they sat frowning at the books in front of them. The clock seemed to go slower and slower, until they really began to wonder whether it had stopped. At length the long hand reached the half-past. Mr. Blake yawned, put down his paper, and said, "Put away your work, and pass on to supper."

Acton and Diggory, both tingling with excitement, lingered behind until the rest had left the room; then, when the coast was clear, they slipped out into the garden, and hurried down the sloping path. It was considerably lighter than it had been before tea; the clouds had cleared away, and there were plenty of stars.

"Locked," muttered Acton, examining the shed. "Locked," he repeated, trying the door leading into Locker's Lane. "I don't believe there's anything in it. They might get over the wall if one gave the other a leg up, but then how's the last man to get back again?"

"Well, if there's nothing in it," answered Diggory, "how should Joe
Crump have got to know we had any fireworks in the place? There must—
Hush! what's that?"

There was a sound of footsteps coming down the path from the house. "Cave!" cried Acton. "It's Blake; let's hide!"

Several shrubs growing in the garden and overhanging the boarded partition threw one corner of the playground into deep shadow. The boys rushed into the angle, and, crouching down in the inky darkness, were at once hidden from the view of any one who might advance even to within a few feet of their hiding-place.

They had hardly time to conceal themselves, when a man, the outline of whose figure they could just make out in the gloom, came through the garden door, and, advancing a few yards, stood still, turning his head from side to side as though looking to make sure that the quadrangle was empty.

"He heard us talking," whispered Acton.

The new-comer having apparently come to the conclusion that he was alone, walked slowly across to the shed, halted in front of the door, and the next moment there was the sound of a key being fitted into the lock. At that instant Diggory, who had been craning his neck forward to get a better view of the intruder, suddenly gripped Acton's arm, and, putting his mouth close to the latter's ear, whispered,—

"It isn't Blake; it's old Noaks! Now keep quiet," he added, as his companion made a movement as though he meant to rush out of their hiding-place; "let's see what he does."

"He's the thief who stole all those things!" answered Acton excitedly.
"He must have another key, and he's going to bag something now."

Noaks (for certainly it was he) disappeared inside the shed; but in a few seconds he was out again, and once more stood waiting as though undecided what to do next.

Before the boys could have counted ten, there was a low whistle in the lane.

"They've come," whispered Diggory. "He's got the key of the door, and is going to let them in."

His words were speedily verified, and the next moment two more figures entered the playground, the object of their visit being at once made evident by the fact that one of them was carrying a bucket. It was too dark to distinguish their faces, but the short conversation which took place on their entry soon made them known to the two watchers.

"Now, then," said old Noaks, "if you're going to do it, just look sharp."

"Awful joke, isn't it, dad?" answered one of the new-comers. "Lend us a hand, and we'll dip 'em all in this bucket and put 'em back again."

"No, I shan't," returned the man. "I don't know nothink about it.
It's your game, and all I promised was I'd open the door."

"Well, show us where the box is.—Come on, Hogson; don't make more row than you can help."

After a moment's hesitation and some muttered remarks about "that there Blake" and "them uppish young dogs," Noaks senior led the way across the gravel, and followed by the two Philistines entered the shed. Hardly had they crossed the threshold when Diggory started up, kicked off his slippers, crept swiftly and noiselessly as a shadow across the ground, and before his companion had time to realize what was happening, the door of the shed was slammed to and locked on the outside.

To describe exactly what followed would be well-nigh impossible, as even the principal actors themselves seemed to have but a confused recollection of the part they played. Those concerned, however, will probably never forget Diggory's bursting into the room as they sat finishing supper, and striking every one dumb with amazement by saying to Mr. Blake, "Please, sir, some fellows are stealing our fireworks, and I've locked them up in the shed." And there will still remain in their minds memories of a wild rush to the playground; of old Noaks being peremptorily ordered to "clear out," and on attempting to bandy words with Mr. Blake, being taken by the scruff of the neck and "chucked out;" of the two Philistines being conducted, under a strong escort, to Mr. Welsby's study; of a polite note being dispatched by the latter to Mr. Philips; and of the unmitigated delight of the Birchites when Hogson and Noaks junior were delivered over into the hands of Mr. Fox, and marched off by that gentleman to take their trial at Horace House. Every one was in high spirits. Acton and Diggory were made to tell their story over twenty times. Kennedy and Jacobs were at once declared innocent, and instead of being looked upon as outcasts, came to be regarded as martyrs who had suffered in a good cause. Old Noaks was clearly the culprit. He volunteered no explanation as regarded his possession of a duplicate key to the shed door, and though no attempt was made to bring the charge home against him, there was little doubt as to his guilt, and he was dismissed the next morning.

The firework display came off the following evening, and was a great success. Every rocket or Roman candle that shot into the air seemed to attest the final triumph of the Birchites over the Philistines, and was cheered accordingly. I say final triumph, for the removal of young Noaks and Hogson from the rival school caused a great change for the better among the ranks of Horace House. The old feud died out, giving place to a far better spirit, which was manifested each term in the friendly manner in which the teams met for matches at cricket and football.

This sounds very much like the end of a story; but it is not, and for a connecting-link to join this chapter to those that follow, we will go forward for one moment into the future.

Nearly a year later Diggory and Jack Vance were sauntering arm in arm across one of the fives-courts at Ronleigh College.

"D'you remember," remarked the former, "how, that night we caught the Philistines bagging our fireworks, you said, 'Well, I should think now we've just about finished with young Noaks'?"

"Did I?" answered Jack, shrugging his shoulders. "My eye, I ought to have said we'd just begun!"

CHAPTER VII.

RONLEIGH COLLEGE.

The first two or three weeks of a new boy's life at a big school are, as a rule, a dull and uneventful period, which does not furnish many incidents that are of sufficient interest to be worth recording.

The Triple Alliance passed through the principal entrance to Ronleigh College one afternoon towards the end of January, with no flourish of trumpets or beat of drums to announce the fact of their arrival to their one hundred and eighty odd schoolfellows. They were simply "new kids." But though, after the fame they had won at The Birches, it was rather humiliating at first to find themselves regarded as three nobodies, yet there was some compensation in the thought that, just as the smallest drummer-boy can point to a flag covered with "honours," and say "My regiment," so, in looking round at the many things of which Ronleians past and present had just reason to be proud, they could claim it as "our school," and feel that they themselves formed a part, however small and insignificant, of the institution.

The crowd of boys, and the maze of passages, rooms, and staircases, were very confusing after the quiet, old-fashioned house at Chatford; but though in this world there is no lack either of lame dogs or of stiles, there is also a good supply of kindly-disposed persons who are ever ready to help the former over the latter, and our three friends were fortunate enough to fall in with one of these philanthropic individuals soon after their arrival.

The stranger, who was a youngster of about their own age, with a pleasant, good-natured-looking face, patted Diggory on the back in a fatherly manner, and addressing the group said,—

"Well, my boys, we're a large family at Ronleigh, but fresh additions are always welcome. How did you leave them all at home? Quite well, I hope? Um, ah! Just so. That's what Dr. Denson always says," continued the speaker, without waiting for any reply to his numerous questions. "You'll have to go and see him after tea. My name's Carton; what's yours?"

The three comrades introduced themselves.

"What bedroom are you in?"

"Number 16."

"Then you're in the same one as I and young Hart. Come for a stroll, and I'll show you round the place."

With Carton acting as conductor, the party set out on a tour of inspection. It was some time before the new-comers could find their way about alone without turning down wrong passages, or encroaching on forbidden ground, and getting shouted at by irate seniors, and ordered to "Come out of that!" But by the time they had finished their round, and the clanging of a big bell summoned them to assemble in the dining-hall for tea, they had been able to form a general idea as to the geography of Ronleigh College, and a brief account of their discoveries will be of interest to the reader.

Passing through the central archway in the block of buildings which faced the road, the boys found themselves in a large gravelled quadrangle surrounded on all sides by high walls, broken by what appeared at first sight to be an almost countless number of windows, while the red brick was relieved in many places by a thick growth of ivy.

"That's the gymnasium on the left," said Carton, "and above it are studies; and that row of big windows on the right, with the coloured glass in the top, is the big schoolroom."

Crossing the gravel they passed through another archway, in which were two folding-doors, and emerged upon an open space covered with asphalt, upon which stood a giant-stride and two double fives-courts.

This formed but a small corner of a large level field, in which a number of boys were to be seen wandering about arm in arm, or standing chatting together in small groups, pausing every now and then in their conversation to give chase to a football which was being kicked about in an aimless fashion by a number of their more energetic companions.

"The goal-posts aren't up yet," said Carton, "and this is only what's called the junior field; the one beyond is where the big fellows play. The pavilion is over the hedge there, with the flagstaff by the side of it. That's the match ground, and there's room for another game besides."

"Where do all the fellows go when they aren't out of doors?" asked
Diggory.

"Well, the Sixth all have studies; then comes Remove, and those chaps have a room to themselves; all the rest have desks in the big school, and you hang about there, though of course, if you like, there's the gymnasium, or the box-room—that's where a lot of fellows spend most of their time."

"What sort of a place is that?"

"Oh, it's where the play-boxes are kept. Come along; we'll go there next."

They passed once more through the double doors, and were crossing the quadrangle, when a certain incident attracted their notice, unimportant in itself, but indicating a strong contrast in the manner of life at Ronleigh to what they had always been accustomed to at The Birches. A youngster was tearing up a piece of paper and scattering the fragments about on the gravel.

"Hi, you there!" cried a voice; "pick that up. What d'you mean by making that mess here?"

The small boy grabbed up the bits of paper, stuffed them in his pocket, and hurried away towards the schoolroom.

"Is that one of the masters?" asked Mugford.

"No," answered Carton, "that's Oaks; he's one of the prefects.
Don't you see he's got a blue tassel to his mortar-board?"

"But what's a prefect?"

"Whew!" laughed the other, "you'll soon find out if you play the fool, and don't mind what you're about. Why, there are fourteen of them, all fellows in the Sixth, and they keep order and give you lines, and all that sort of thing."

"Why, I thought it was only masters did that," said Jack Vance.

"Well, you'll find the prefects do it here," answered Carton; "and when they tell you to do a thing, I'd advise you to look alive and do it, for they don't reckon to speak twice."

The evening passed quickly enough. After tea came an interview with the head-master in his study, and then what was perhaps a still more trying ordeal—a long spell of sitting in the big schoolroom answering an incessant fire of questions such as, "What's your name?"—"Where d'you come from?" etc., etc.

At length the signal was given for passing on to bed, and the Triple
Alliance were not sorry to gain the shelter of No. 16 dormitory.

The room contained seven other beds besides their own, two of which were as yet still vacant, waiting the arrival of boys who had not turned up on the first day. The remainder were occupied by a couple of other new-comers, and three oldsters, Carton, Hart, and Bayley.

It was very different from the cosy little bedrooms at The Birches; but the three friends were glad to be allowed to undress in peace and quiet, and had scrambled safely into bed some time before the prefect put in an appearance to turn out the light.

"I tell you what," said Hart, a few moments later: "you new kids may think yourselves lucky that you're in a quiet room for a start. I know when I came first there used to be christenings and all kinds of humbug."

"What was that?" asked Diggory.

"Why, fellows used always to christen you with a nickname: they stuck your head in a basin and poured water over you, and if you struggled you got it all down your back."

"Yes," continued Carton, "and they hid your clothes, and had bull-fights and all sorts of foolery. That was in Nineteen: old 'Thirsty' was the prefect for that passage, and he doesn't care tu'pence what fellows do. But Allingford's put a stop to almost all that kind of thing: he's captain of the school, and he's always awfully down on anything of that sort."

By the time breakfast was over on the following morning, Diggory and his two companions were beginning to recover a little from their first state of bewilderment amid their strange surroundings. They donned the school cap of black flannel, with the crest worked in silk upon the front, and went out to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine in the playground.

It was a bright, frosty day, and the whole place seemed full of life and activity. There was plenty to engage their attention, and much that was new and singular after their comparatively quiet playground at The Birches. But whatever there was to awaken their interest out of doors, a thing was destined to happen during their first morning school which would be a still greater surprise than anything they had yet encountered during their short residence at Ronleigh.

At nine o'clock the clanging of the big bell summoned them to the general assembly in the big schoolroom. They took their places at a back desk pointed out to them by the master on duty, and sat watching the stream of boys that poured in through the open doors, wondering how long it would take them to become acquainted with the names of such a multitude.

The forms passed on in their usual order, and the new boys were conducted to a vacant classroom, where they received a set of examination papers which were intended to test the amount of their knowledge, and determine the position in which they were to start work on the following day.

Jack Vance, Diggory, and Mugford sat together at the first desk, just in front of the master's table, and were soon busy in proving their previous acquaintance with the Latin grammar. Presently the door opened, and a voice, which they at once recognized as Dr. Denson's, said, "Mr. Ellesby, may I trouble you to step here for a moment?" None of the trio raised their eyes from their work. There was a muttered conversation in the passage, and then the door was once more closed.

The master returned to his desk, dipped his pen in the ink, and addressing some one at the back of the room, inquired,—

"What did Dr. Denson say your name was?"

"Noaks, sir."

The Triple Alliance gave a simultaneous start as though they had received an electric shock, and their heads turned round like three weathercocks.

There, sure enough, at the back desk of all, sat the late leader of the Philistines, with a rather sheepish expression on his face, somewhat similar to the one it had worn when the marauders from Horace House had been ushered into Mr. Welsby's study.

Jack Vance looked at Mugford, and Mugford looked at Diggory. "Well, I'm jiggered!" whispered the latter, and once more returned to his examination paper.

At eleven o'clock there was a quarter of an hour's interval. Being still, as it were, strangers in a strange land, the three friends kept pretty close together. They were walking arm in arm about the quadrangle, giving expression to their astonishment at this latest arrival at Ronleigh, when Diggory suddenly exclaimed, "Look out! here he comes!"

After so many encounters of a decidedly hostile nature, it was difficult to meet their old enemy on neutral ground without some feeling of embarrassment. Young Noaks, however, walked up cool as a cucumber, and holding out his hand said,—

"Hullo, you fellows, who'd have thought of seeing you here! How are you?"

The three boys returned the salutation in a manner which, to say the least, was not very cordial, and made some attempt to pass on their way; but the new-comer refused to see that he was not wanted, and insisted on taking Mugford's arm and accompanying them on their stroll.

"I say," he continued, addressing Jack Vance, "were you at Todderton these holidays? I don't think I saw you once."

"The last time I saw you," returned Jack, in rather a bitter tone, "was when you came to spoil our fireworks, and we collared you in the shed."

Noaks clinched his fist, and for a moment his brow darkened; the next instant, however, he laughed as though the recollection of the incident afforded him an immense amount of amusement.

"Ha, ha! Yes, awful joke that, wasn't it? almost as good as the time when that fool of a master of yours, Lake, or Blake, or whatever you call him, had me sent off the field so that you could win the match."

"It was no such thing," answered Jack. "You know very well why it was
Blake interfered; and he's not a fool, but a jolly good sort."

"Oh, don't get angry," returned the other. "I'm sure I shouldn't fly into a wax if you called Fox or old Phillips a fool. I got sick of that beastly little school, as I expect you did of yours, and so I made my uncle send me here.—Hullo! I suppose that's the bell for going back to work; see you again later on."

"I say," whispered Diggory, as soon as they had regained their seat in the examination-room, "I vote we give that chap the cold shoulder."

The following morning the three friends heard their names read out as forming part of the Third Form, to which their friend Carton already belonged. Young Noaks was placed in the Upper Fourth, and they were not destined therefore to have him as a class-mate.

The Third Form at Ronleigh had, for some reason or other, received the title of "The Happy Family." They certainly were an amusing lot of little animals, and Diggory and his companions coming into the classroom rather late, and before the entrance of the master, saw them for the first time to full advantage. Out of the two-and-twenty juveniles present, only about six seemed to be in their proper places.

One young gentleman sitting close to the blackboard cried, "Powder, sir!" and straightway scrubbed his neighbour's face with a very chalky duster. The latter, by way of retaliation, smote the former's pile of books from the desk on to the ground—a little attention which was immediately returned by boy number one; while as they bent down to pick up their scattered possessions, a third party, sitting on the form behind, made playful attempts to tread upon their fingers. Two rival factions in the rear of the room were waging war with paper darts; while a small, sandy-haired boy, whose tangled hair and disordered attire gave him the appearance, as the saying goes, of having been dragged through a furze-bush backwards, rapped vigorously with his knuckles upon the master's table, and inquired loudly how many more times he was to say "Silence!"

The entrance of the three new-comers caused a false alarm, and in a moment every one was in his proper seat.

"Bother it!" cried the small, sandy-haired boy, who had bumped his knee rushing from the table to his place; "why didn't you make more noise when you came in?"

"But I thought you were asking for silence," answered Diggory.

"Shut up, and don't answer back when you are spoken to by a prefect," retorted the small boy. "Look here, you haven't written your name on Watford's slate.—They must, mustn't they, Maxton?" he added, turning to a boy who sat at the end of one of the back seats.

"Of course they must," answered Maxton, who, with both elbows on the desk, was blowing subdued railway whistles through his hands; "every new fellow has to write his name on that little slate on Mr. Watford's table, and he enters them from there into his mark-book. I'm head boy, and I've got to see you do it. Look sharp, or he'll be here in a minute, and there'll be a row."

Diggory, Vance, and Mugford hastily signed their names, one under the other, upon the slate. There was a good deal of tittering while they did so; but as a new boy is laughed at for nearly everything he does, they took no notice of it, and had hardly got back to their places when the master entered the room, and the work began in earnest.

About a quarter of an hour later the boys were busy with a Latin exercise, when silence was broken by a shuffle and an exclamation from the back desk. "You again, Maxton," said the master, looking up with a frown. "I suppose you are determined to idle away your time and remain bottom of the class this term as you were last. I shall put your name down for some extra work. Let's see," he continued, taking up the slate: "I appear to have three boys' names down already—'Vance,' 'Mugford,' and 'Trevanock.' What's the meaning of this? This is not my writing. How came these names here?"

"Please, sir," faltered Mugford, "we put them there ourselves."

"Put them there yourselves! What d'you want to put your names down on my punishment slate for? I suppose some one told you to, didn't they?"

"Please, sir," answered Diggory warily, "we thought we had to, so that you might have our names to enter in your mark-book."

There was a burst of laughter, but that answer went a long way towards setting the Alliance on a good footing with their class-mates.

"That young Trevanock's the right sort," said Maxton, "and so are the others. I thought they'd sneak about that slate, but they didn't."

Mr. Noaks, junior, on the other hand, was destined to find that he was not going to carry everything before him at Ronleigh as he had done among the small fry at Horace House, The Upper Fourth voted him a "bounder," and nicknamed him "Moke." After morning school he repeated his attempt to ally himself with his former foes, but the result was decidedly unsatisfactory.

Down in the box-room, a good-sized apartment boarded off from the gymnasium, Jack Vance was serving out a ration of plum-cake to a select party, consisting of his two chums and Carton, when the ex-Philistine strolled up and joined himself to the group.

"Hullo!" he said, "are you chaps having a feed? D'you remember that pork-pie we bagged from one of your kids at Chatford? Ha, ha! it was a lark."

"I don't see it's much of a lark to bag what doesn't belong to you," muttered Diggory.

"What's that you say?"

"Nothing for you to hear," returned the other. "I don't know if you're waiting about here to get some cake, but I'm sure I never invited you to come."

"Look here, don't be cheeky," answered Noaks. "If you think I want to make friends with a lot of impudent young monkeys like you, all I can say is you're jolly well mistaken," and so saying he turned on his heel and walked away.

"I say, Trevanock," said Carton, two days later, "that fellow Noaks has found a friend at last: he's picked up with Mouler. They'll make a nice pair, I should say. Mouler was nearly expelled last term for telling lies to Ellesby about some cribs."

Noaks certainly seemed to have discovered a chum in the black sheep of the Upper Fourth, and the Triple Alliance began to congratulate themselves that he would trouble them no further. In a big school like Ronleigh College there was plenty of room for everybody to go his own way without fear of running his head into people whom he wished to avoid. Our three friends, however, seemed fated to find in the person of Noaks junior a perpetual stumbling-block and cause of disquietude and annoyance. They had no sooner succeeded in setting him at a distance when an incident occurred which brought them once more into violent collision with the enemy.

The pavilion, which has already been mentioned as standing on the match ground, was a handsome wooden structure, surrounded by some low palings, in front of which was a small oblong patch of gravel. On the second Saturday morning of the term Noaks and Mouler were lounging across this open space, when Oaks, the prefect, emerged from the pavilion, carrying in his hand a pot of paint he had been mixing for the goal-posts, which were just being put up. On reaching the paling he suddenly ejaculated, "Bother! I've forgotten the brush;" and resting the can on the top of the little gate-post, hurried back up the short flight of steps, and disappeared through the open door.

"I say, there's a good cock-shy," said Noaks, nodding his head in the direction of the paint.

"Umph! shouldn't like to try," answered Mouler.

"Why not?"

"Because Oaks would jolly well punch both our heads."

"Well, here's a new kid coming; let's set him on to do it. You speak to him; he knows me. His name's Mugford."

The two cronies both picked up a handful of stones, and began throwing at the can, taking good care that their shots should fly wide of the mark.

Mugford, who, as we have already seen, was not blessed with the sharpest of wits, paused for a moment to watch the contest. The paint had been mixed in an old fruit-tin, and at first sight it certainly seemed to have been put on the post for the sole purpose of being knocked off again.

"Hullo, you new kid!" exclaimed Mouler. "Look here, we want a chap for the third eleven next season—a fellow who can throw straight. Come along, and let's see if you can hit that old can."

It certainly looked easy enough, and Mugford, pleased at being taken some notice of by a boy in the Upper Fourth, picked up some pebbles, and joined in the bombardment. The second shot brought the tin down with a great clatter, and a flood of white paint spread all over the trim little pathway. At the same instant Oaks dashed down the steps boiling with rage.

"Confound you!" he cried; "who did that ?"

"I did," answered Mugford, half crying; "I thought it was empty."

"Thought it was empty! why didn't you look, you young blockhead?" cried the prefect, catching the small boy by the arm, while Noaks and Mouler burst into a roar of laughter.

Things would probably have gone hard with the unfortunate Mugford if at that moment a fifth party had not arrived on the scene. The new-comer, who, from the show of whisker at the side of his face and the tone of authority in which he spoke, seemed to be one of the masters, was tall and muscular, with the bronze of a season's cricketing still upon his cheeks and neck.

"Stop a minute, Oaks," he said. "I happened to see this little game; let's hear what the kid's got to say for himself."

In faltering tones Mugford told his story. Without a word the stranger stepped up to Mouler and dealt him a sounding box on the ear.

"There!" he said, "take that for your trouble; and now cut off down town and buy a fresh pot of paint out of your own pocket, and do it jolly quick, too.—As for you," he added, turning to Noaks, "get a spade out of that place under the pavilion and clean up this path. If you weren't a new fellow I'd serve you the same. Look out in future."

"And you look out too," muttered Noaks, glancing at Mugford with a fierce expression on his face as the two seniors moved off, "you beastly young sneak. The first chance I get I'll give you the best licking you ever had in your life."

"Old Mug is rather a fool," remarked Jack Vance to Diggory a few hours later; "he ought to have seen through that. But we must stand by him because of the Triple Alliance. Noaks is sure to try to set on him the first chance he gets."

"Yes," answered Diggory; "look out for squalls."

CHAPTER VIII.

THIRD FORM ORATORY.

At the end of the first fortnight our three friends had begun to find their feet at Ronleigh, and the sense of being "outsiders" in everything was gradually wearing off as they grew more intimate with their schoolfellows.

Jack Vance and Diggory soon became popular members of "The Happy Family," and their loyalty to Mugford caused the latter's path to be much smoother than it probably would have been had he been compelled to tread it alone.

Carton turned out a capital fellow; Rathson, the small, sandy-haired boy mentioned in the previous chapter, and who generally went by the name of "Rats," took a great fancy to Jack; while Maxton repeated his assertion that young Trevanock was "the right sort," and as a further mark of his favour presented the new-comer with a moleskin of his own curing, which looked very nice, but, as "Rats" put it, "smelt rather fruity."

But it was not in the Third Form only that Diggory began to find friends; for by a lucky chance he was fortunate enough to make a good impression on the minds of the great men, who, as a rule, took no further notice of the small fry than to exact from them a certain amount of obedience, or in default a certain number of lines or other "impots."

One morning, soon after breakfast, a little group was gathered round Carton's desk in the big school-room, discussing the value of some foreign stamps, when a small boy came up to them, saying,—

"Is Trevanock here? Well, Acton wants you now at once in his study."

"Hullo," said Carton, looking up from the sheet of specimens in front of him—"hullo, Diggy! What have you been up to?"

"I haven't been doing anything," answered the other. "What do you think he wants me for?"

"I don't know, but it sounds rather like getting a licking. At all events, you'd better hurry up; prefects don't thank you for keeping them waiting. His is the third door on the right as you go down the passage."

Diggory hastened to obey the summons, wondering what it could mean. He found the door, and in answer to the loud "Come in!" which greeted his knock turned the handle, and found himself for the first time inside one of the Sixth Form studies.

It was a small, square room, and looked very cosy and comfortable with its red window-curtains, well-filled bookshelf, and many little knick-knacks that adorned the walls and mantelpiece. An array of silver cups, several photographs of cricket and football teams, and a miscellaneous pile of bats, fencing-sticks, Indian clubs, etc., standing in one corner, all spoke of the athlete; while carelessly thrown down on the top of a cupboard was an article for the possession of which many a, boy would have bartered the whole of his worldly wealth—a bit of worn blue velvet and the tarnished remnant of what had once been a gold tassel—the "footer cap" of Ronleigh College.

But it was not so much the furniture as the occupants of the study that attracted Diggory's attention. John Acton, a tall, wiry fellow, who looked as though his whole body was as hard and tough as whip-cord, was standing leaning on the end of the mantelpiece talking to another of the seniors, who sat sprawling in a folding-chair on the other side of the fire; while seated at the table, turning over the leaves of what appeared to be a big manuscript book, was no less a personage than Allingford, the school captain.

"I don't understand a bit what's coming to 'Thirsty,'" the football leader was saying. "I was rather chummy with him when we were in the Fifth, and he was all right then, but now he seems to be running to seed as fast as he can; and I believe it's a great deal that fellow Fletcher.—Hullo, youngster! what d'you want?"

"I was told you wanted to see me," said Diggory nervously.

"Oh yes. You were at The Birches, that school near Chatford, weren't you? Well, I want to hear about that love affair my young brother had with the old chap's daughter.—It was an awful joke," added the speaker, addressing his companions. "He was about fourteen, and she's a grown-up woman; and he was awfully gone, I can tell you.—How did he pop the question?"

"He wrote," answered Diggory. "We tossed up whether he should do that or speak."

There was a burst of laughter.

"Did you see the letter?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not? don't you remember?"

"Yes; but he only showed me the letter on condition I wouldn't ever tell any one what was in it."

"Oh, that's all rot! you can tell me; I'm his brother. Come, out with it."

It was an awful thing to beard the lion in his den—for a new boy to face so great a personage as the football captain, and refuse point-blank to do as he was told. Diggory shifted uneasily from one foot to another, and then glancing up he became aware of the fact that Allingford was gazing at him across the table with a curious expression, which somehow gave him fresh encouragement to persist in his refusal to disclose the contents of his former friend's love-letter.

"I can't tell you," he repeated; "it was a promise, you know."

The Ronleigh captain laughed. "Well done," he said. "I wish some other fellows were a bit more careful to keep their promises.—Acton, you beggar, you swore you'd keep up this register for me, and there's nothing entered for last term."

"Oh, bother you, Ally!" exclaimed the other; "what a nigger-driver you are!—Hullo, there's the bell!—Here, kid, stick those two oranges in your pocket; go 'long!"

Diggory left the room, having gained something else besides the two oranges; for as he closed the door Allingford laughed again, and rising from his chair said, "He's a stanch little beggar; I think I'll keep an eye on him."

The subject of this remark hurried away, and had just joined the crowd of boys who were thronging into the big school for assembly, when some one took hold of his arm, and glancing round he was startled to see Jack Vance, looking very excited and dishevelled, and mopping his mouth with a blood-stained handkerchief.

"I say," exclaimed the latter, "have you seen Mugford?"

"No. What's the matter? what have you done to your mouth?"

"Why, I've had a beastly row with Noaks. I'll 'tell you after school."

"No, tell me now," cried Diggory, pulling his companion aside into a corner by the door. "Quick—what was it?"

"Why, he pounced down on Mugford, out there by the fives-court, and began twisting his arm and saying he'd pay him out for that paint-pot business. I went to the rescue, and the beast hit me with the back of his hand here on the mouth. I told him he was a cad, and said something about his father being only a man-servant, and having stolen our things. I'm sorry now, for it was rather a low thing to do, but I was in such a wax I didn't think what I was saying. Mouler was standing by, and he heard it, and laughed; and Noaks looked as if he'd have killed me. I believe he would have knocked me down, only Rowlands, the prefect, came up and stopped the row."

There was no time for any further details, and the two boys had to rush away to their seats in order to escape being marked as late.

One thing was certain—that the Triple Alliance were once more embroiled in a quarrel with their ancient foe the former leader of the Philistines, and they knew enough of their adversary's character to feel sure that he would not pass over an event of this kind without some attempt at revenge.

It is probable that, if this had happened at Horace House, Jack Vance would have received a good licking as soon as the classes were dismissed; but a few very plain and forcible words spoken by Rowlands on the subject of knocking small boys about caused Noaks to postpone his retaliation.

"Look here," he said, meeting Jack Vance in the quadrangle during the interval: "just you keep your mouth shut about me and my father. I've got two or three accounts to settle with you chaps already; just mind what you're up to." He clinched his fist as though about to strike, then, with an ugly scowl, turned on his heel and walked away.

It must have been about three days after this encounter with Noaks that our three friends were called upon to attend a mass meeting of the Third Form, to consider the advisability of starting a periodical in opposition to the school magazine. Important events connected with a later period of their life at Ronleigh render it necessary that we should not linger too long over the account of their first term; but some mention, however brief, should certainly be made of the memorable gathering to which we have referred. A notice pinned on to the black-board, and pulled down as soon as Mr. Watford entered the classroom, announced the project in the following words:—

"NOTICE."
"A meeting will be held in the 'old lab' directly
after dinner to-day, to make plans for starting a
magazine in opposition to The Ronleian.
All members of the Third Form are specially requested
to attend."

"FLETCHER II." "J. A. BIBBS."

"You must come," said "Rats" to Diggory; "it'll be an awful lark."

"But what's it all about?"

"Oh, you'll hear when you get there. It's Fletcher's idea; he wants to start a new magazine. Eastfield, who edits The Ronleian, is Maxton's cousin; so Maxton's going to interrupt and get some other fellows to do the same. I'm going to be part of the opposition," added the youthful "Rats," beaming with delight, "and I have got a whole heap of paper bags I'm going to burst while Fletcher's speaking."

The "old lab," as it was called, was a small brick building which stood on one side of the asphalt playground. A new laboratory having recently been fitted up elsewhere, the former one was, for the time being, unused. It was not more than about fifteen feet long by seven or eight feet wide; and as "The Happy Family" mustered in force, the place was crowded to overflowing. The door having been closed, Fletcher Two mounted a low stone sink which ran along the end wall, and from this ready-made platform commenced to address the assembly :—

"Gentlemen,—We've met here, as you know, to talk over starting a fresh magazine. The Ronleian is a beastly swindle, and it's high time we had something different." (A voice, "No, 'tisn't," and the bursting of a paper bag.) "You shut up there! I say it is a swindle: they didn't give any account of that fourth eleven match against Robertson's second, and they made fun of us in the 'Quad Gossip,' and said that in 'The Happy Family' there was a preponderance of monkey." ("So there is, and you're it!" Laughter and another explosion.)

"What I propose is that we start a manuscript magazine for the Third Form, and that every fellow promise to take that, and never to buy a copy of the other. We might pass it round, and charge a penny each to look at it. Will you all subscribe?"

No one spoke, the silence only being broken by the sound of "Rats" blowing up another bag, which caused a fresh burst of laughter.

"Will you all subscribe?" once more demanded the speaker.

There were mingled cries of "Yes!" and "No!" and a stentorian yell of "No, you cuckoo! of course we won't," from Maxton, and another explosion.

"Look here, young 'Rats,' if you burst any more of those bags I'll come down and burst your head.—I forgot to say, gentlemen, that Mr. Bibbs has promised to assist in editing the paper; and I will now call upon him to give you an account of what it will contain."

Bibbs, the Third Form genius, was regarded by every one as a huge joke, and the very mention of his name caused a fresh burst of merriment. He was a sad-faced, untidy-looking boy, quick and clever enough in some things, and equally dull and stupid in others. The announcement that he would address the meeting had no sooner been made than half a dozen willing pairs of hands seized and hoisted him on to the platform; though no sooner had he attained this exalted position than two or three voices ordered him in a peremptory manner to "Come down!"

The greater part of the audience not caring the toss of a button whether Fletcher started his magazine or not, but thinking that it was rather good fun to interrupt the proceedings, now joined the opposition, and the unfortunate Bibbs was subjected to a brisk fire of chaff. One facetious class-mate, standing close to the sink, offered to sell him by auction; and hammering on the stones with the fragment of a bat handle, knocked him down for threepence to another joker, who said he'd do for a pen-wiper.

"Sing a song, Bibbs!" cried one voice; "Where's your neck-tie?" asked another; "What are you grinning at?" demanded a third; while the object of these pleasantries stood, with a vacant smile upon his face, nervously fumbling with his watch-chain.

"Go on!" cried Fletcher, who had descended from the platform to make room for his colleague; "say something, you fool!"

"The magazine is to be written on exercise-book paper," began Bibbs, and had only got thus far when he was interrupted by a perfect salvo of paper bags which little "Rats" discharged in quick succession.

With an exclamation of wrath Fletcher made a dive in the direction of the offender, and in a moment the whole gathering was in a state of confusion. The majority of those present siding with "Rats," began to hustle Fletcher, while two gentlemen having dragged Bibbs from his perch, jumped up in his stead, and began to execute a clog-dance.

In the midst of this commotion Maxton elbowed his way through the crush, and having pushed the two boys off the sink, mounted it himself, crying,—

"Look here, I'm going to speak; just you listen a minute. The reason why Bibbs wants to start a new magazine is because he wrote a novel once, and sent it to The Ronleian to come out so much each month, and they wouldn't have it."

"Shut up, Maxton!" cried Fletcher, rushing to the spot; "you've only come here on purpose to interrupt. Let's turn him out!"

"Yes, turn him out!" echoed the audience, who by this time were just in the spirit for "ragging," and would have ejected friend or foe alike for the sport of the thing—"turn him out!"

The two clog-dancers being quite ready to avenge the interruption of their performance, formed themselves into a storming-party, and carried the platform by assault. Maxton, struggling all the way, was dragged to the door, and cast out into the playground. Most of the restless spirits in the audience requiring a short breathing-space to recover their wind after the tussle, there followed a few moments' quiet, which Fletcher immediately took advantage of to mount the sink and resume the business of the meeting.

"The magazine," he began, "is going to be written on exercise-book paper. Any one who likes can contribute, and it's going to be more especially a paper for the Third Form."

The speaker went on to show that the periodical was destined to supply a long-felt want. The Ronleian ignored the doings of boys in the lower half of the school, and returned their contributions with insulting suggestions, pencilled on the margins, that the authors should devote some of their spare time and energy to the study of their English grammars and spelling-books. The Third Form Chronicle, as it was to be called, would recognize the fact that junior boys had as much right to be heard as seniors, and would afford them the opportunity of airing their views on any subject they chose to bring forward.

Fletcher had barely time to proceed thus far with his speech when an alarming interruption occurred, which put an immediate stop to his further utterance. Nearly at the top of the end wall there had formerly been a ventilator; this, for one reason or another, had been removed, and in the brickwork an open space about a foot square had been left. A hissing noise was suddenly heard outside, and the next moment a stream of water shot through the aperture, and descended in a perfect deluge on the heads of the company.

The fact was that Maxton, ever a reckless young villain, had discovered a hose fixed to one of the mains close to the building, and had immediately seized upon it as an instrument wherewith to wreak vengeance on his companions for having turned him out of the meeting.

Words cannot describe the uproar and confusion which followed. As one man the whole assembly made for the door, but only to find it fastened on the outside. The water flew all over the small building, drenching every one in turn. Some howled, some laughed, and only Bibbs had sufficient presence of mind to creep under the sink, which afforded a certain amount of shelter from the falling flood.

The deluge ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and an instant later the door was flung open, and the figure of a Sixth Form boy was seen barring the exit.

"Now, then," he demanded, "what are you youngsters making this awful row for? I've a jolly good mind to take all your names."

There was a moment's silence. Then Fletcher's voice was heard exclaiming,—

"Oh! it's only old 'Thirsty;' he's all right."

"Here, not so fast," answered the prefect, blocking up the doorway as some boys tried to escape; "what are you chaps doing in here? I thought you'd been told to keep out."

The originator of the meeting pushed his way through the crowd, and taking hold of the big fellow's arm in a familiar manner, said,—

"Oh, it's all right, 'Thirsty,' old chap. We just came inside, and some one squirted water all over us, and that's why we shouted. But we won't do it again."

"Oh, but it isn't all right," returned the other. "If I find any of you in here again, I'll help you out with the toe of my boot. Go on! I'll let you off this once."

The crowd rushed forth and quickly dispersed.

"That Thurston seems an awful decent chap," said Diggory; "I didn't think he'd let us off so easily."

"He's all right as long as you don't cross him," answered Carton. "He used to be pretty strict, but he doesn't seem to care now what fellows do. He's very thick with Fletcher's brother—that's one reason why he didn't do anything just now; but I can tell you he's a nasty chap to deal with when he's in a wax."

The prefect locked the empty building, and turning on his heel caught sight of our three friends, who were standing close by waiting for "Rats."

"Hullo, you new kids! what are you called?"

The usual answer was given, and Thurston passed on, little thinking what good cause he would have before the end of the year for remembering the names of the trio, and altogether unaware of the prominent part which the Triple Alliance was destined to play in his own private affairs as well as in the fortunes of Ronleigh College.

CHAPTER IX.

A HOLIDAY ADVENTURE.

The weeks slipped away, and the Triple Alliance soon got over their new-boy trials, and began to enjoy all the rights and privileges of Ronleigh College boys. They wrote letters to Miss Eleanor and to their former schoolfellows, and received in reply the latest news from The Birches.

"The Philistines are quite friendly now," wrote Acton. "We had a match against them last week on their ground, and they gave us tea after. It's awfully slow; I almost wish that chap Noaks was back."

"So do I," added Diggory, as he finished the sentence; "we could very well spare him."

"Oh, he's all right," answered Jack Vance; "that row's blown over now.
As long as we leave him alone he won't interfere with us."

"Won't he!" returned the other; "you take my word for it, he hasn't forgotten what you said about his father, and he's only waiting for a chance to pay us out. Whenever I go near him he looks as black as ink."

It was customary at Ronleigh to have what was called a half-term holiday. This was usually given on a Monday, to enable those boys who lived within a short distance of the school to spend the week end at home; while, in the winter or spring terms, the boarders who remained at the school usually devoted the greater portion of the day to a paper-chase.

"I shall go home," said Jack Vance to his two chums; "Todderton's only about half an hour's ride from here on the railway. And, I say, I've got a grand idea: I'm going to write and get my mater to invite you fellows to come too! It would be jolly to have a meeting there of the Triple Alliance, and I'm sure old Denson would let you go if we came back on Monday night."

Both Mugford and Diggory were charmed with the idea. "But d'you really think your mater would have us?" they asked.

"Of course she will, if I ask her," answered Jack, and straightway sat down to write the letter.

By Wednesday evening everything, including the formal invitation and the doctors permission to accept the same, had been obtained, and for the two following days the Triple Alliance could talk or think of little else besides their projected excursion. At length Saturday came, and as soon as morning school was over they rushed upstairs to change into their best clothes; and having crammed their night-shirts, brushes and combs, etc., into a hand-bag, hurried off to the railway station, in order that they might, as Jack put it, "be home in time for dinner."

Just as they were getting into the train, who should come out of the booking-office but young Noaks.

"Hullo!" said Jack. "He must be going home too; I hope he won't come in here."

The new-comer, however, had no intention of making another attempt to force his society on the Triple Alliance; he passed them with a surly nod, and entered a compartment at the other end of the train.

Jack Vance lived in the suburbs of Todderton, about twenty minutes' walk from the railway; but for all that he managed to carry out his intention of being home in time for dinner; and the three boys, after receiving a hearty welcome, were soon seated down to a repast which came very acceptable after seven weeks of school fare.

"Jack," said Mr. Vance, "you know that house that was to let just on the other side of The Hermitage? Who d'you think's taken it?"

"I don't know, father."

"Why, that man Simpson, the uncle of your friend what's-his-name."

"He isn't my friend," answered Jack. "You mean Noaks. Fancy his coming to live so near to us as that! We saw him in the train just now. He's here for the holiday."

"I ought to tell you," continued Mr. Vance, turning to Diggory, "that our next-door neighbour is called 'The Hermit.' He's a queer old fellow, who lives by himself, and never makes friends or speaks to any one. He's supposed to be very clever, and I've heard it said that he's got a very valuable collection of coins, and is quite an authority on the subject; it's one of his hobbies."

"I suppose," said Mugford thoughtfully, "that as he's a hermit that's why his place is called The Hermitage."

"Well done, Mug!" said Jack, speaking with his mouth pretty full; "you're getting quite sharp."

"Yes, that's it," continued Mr. Vance, laughing. "The old man's away from home just now; he was suffering from rheumatism very badly, and the doctor ordered him to a course of treatment at some baths."

The conversation turned on other topics, and when at length they rose from the table, Jack proposed a stroll round the garden.

There were many things to see—some pet rabbits, a swing, and an old summer-house, which Jack, being, we should say, of a decidedly nautical turn of mind, had turned into a sort of miniature shipbuilding yard for the construction of model vessels; though at present the chief use to which the place seemed to have been put was the production of a great amount of chips and shavings.

"I say," exclaimed the owner, after he and his friends had amused themselves for some time boring holes in the door with a brace, "I know what we'll do: let's go over and explore The Hermitage!"

Anything with a spice of excitement in it was meat and drink to Diggory. He immediately seconded the proposition, and Mugford, after a moment's hesitation, agreed to join his companions in the enterprise.

They strolled off down the path, and soon reached a long stretch of brick wall, the top of which was thickly covered with fragments of broken bottles.

"There's a place down at the other end where we can get over," said Jack. "I smashed the glass with a hammer, because I lost a ball and had to climb over and get it, one day last holidays."

The Hermitage was surrounded on all sides by a thick mass of shrubs and trees, through which a moment later the Triple Alliance were cautiously threading their way. Emerging from the bushes, they found themselves standing on a gravel path, green with moss and weeds, which ran round the house—a queer, dilapidated-looking building, which seemed sadly in want of repair: the plaster was cracked and discoloured, while the doors and windows had long stood in need of a fresh coating of paint.

"I say," whispered Mugford, "hadn't we better go back? what if the old chap's at home!"

"Oh, it's all right; there's nobody about," answered Jack. "Let's go on and see what the place is really like."

They tip-toed round the building. It was evidently unoccupied, though the delightful sense of uncertainty that at any moment some one might pounce out upon them or walk down the drive made the questionable adventure very charming.

"Have you ever been inside?" asked Diggory.

"No, rather not; I don't think any one has except the doctor, and an old woman who comes in to do the house-work."

"Well, then, I'm going in," answered Diggory, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Go on! Why, you might be had up for house-breaking!"

"Rubbish! I'm not going to steal anything.—Here, Mug, lend me your knife a minute."

"I don't believe this one's fastened," he continued, walking up to one of the windows. "No, it isn't. Bother! I'm awfully sorry, Mugford."

Using the big blade of the clasp-knife as a lever, Diggory had just succeeded in raising the sash the fraction of an inch, when the steel suddenly snapped off short at the handle.

"Oh, never mind," said the owner; "let's go back now. What if we're seen!"

"Oh, there's no fear of that," answered Jack, who was always infected with the adventurous spirit of his chum.—"Go on, Diggy; I'll come too."

By inserting their fingers in the aperture, the boys soon raised the sash, and a few seconds later Diggory mounted the ledge and scrambled through the window "Come on," he said; "the coast's all clear."

Jack Vance joined him immediately, and Mugford, not wishing to be left alone outside, was not long in making up his mind to follow his companions.

The room in which the three boys found themselves was evidently a library or study. Book-shelves, and cupboards with glass doors, containing geological and other specimens, occupied much of the wall space; while in the centre of the floor stood a large writing-table, covered with a miscellaneous collection of pens, ink-pots, bundles of papers, and a polished mahogany box which could easily be recognized as a microscope-case.

The intruders stood for a few moments gazing round in silence. The place did not look very interesting, and smelt rather damp and mouldy.

"I say," exclaimed Jack Vance, "look there: he don't seem very careful how he leaves his things when he goes away."

As he spoke he pointed across to the opposite side of the room, where, between two bookcases, an iron safe had been let into the wall. The heavy door was standing half open, while the floor beneath was strewn with a quantity of shallow wooden trays lined with green baize.

"Old bachelors are always untidy," remarked Diggory. "Let's see where this door leads to." He turned the handle as he spoke, and walked out into a gloomy little hall paved with cold, bare flagstones, which caused their footsteps to waken mournful echoes in the empty house.

"I say, you fellows, don't let's go any further," murmured Mugford;" we've seen enough now. Suppose the old chap came back and—"

He never reached the end of the sentence, for Diggory suddenly raised his hand, exclaiming in a whisper, "Hark! what was that?"

The loud ticking of Mugford's old turnip of a watch was distinctly audible in the silence which followed.

"What is it, Diggy? what—"

"Hark! there it is again; listen."

The suspense became awful. At length Diggory dropped his hand. "Didn't you hear footsteps?" he asked. "I'm certain there's some one walking about on the gravel path."

"We shall be caught," whimpered Mugford; "I knew we should. What can we do?"

"Bolt!" answered Diggory, and began tip-toeing back towards the library door. "Stay here half a 'jiffy,'" he added; "I'll go and reconnoitre."

Ages seemed to pass while Jack Vance and Mugford stood in the dark passage awaiting their companion's return. At length the door was pushed softly open.

"It's all right; there's no one there. I must have been mistaken.
Come along."

In a very short time the Triple Alliance were once more outside The Hermitage. Diggory lingered for a moment to close the window, and then followed his companions through the shrubs and over the wall.

"You are a great ass, Diggy, to go giving us a start like that," said Jack, as they paused for a moment to take breath before returning to the house.

"Well, I could have sworn I heard the gravel crunch as if some one was walking on it," returned the other. "I should think the place must be haunted."

A good tea, with all kinds of nice things on the table, soon revived the boys from the trifling shock which their nerves had sustained, and by the end of the evening their adventure was wellnigh forgotten. They were destined, however, to remember it for many a long day to come, and before many hours had passed they were heartily wishing that they had never set foot inside The Hermitage, but kept on their own side of the wall.

The party were seated at supper on Sunday evening, when a servant entered the room, and addressing her master said, "If you please, sir, there's a policeman called to see you."

Jack's father rose from his chair, remarking, in a jocular manner,
"I expect it's one of you young gentlemen he's come after."

The meal was nearly over when Mr. Vance returned and reseated himself at the table.

"Did either of you hear the dog bark last night?" he asked.

"No; why?"

"Why, because old Fossberry's house has been broken into, and they think the thieves must have come through our garden; there were some footmarks in the shrubbery just on the other side of the wall."

The hearts of the Triple Alliance seemed to jump into their throats, and their mouths grew dry and parched. Jack stared at Mugford, and Mugford stared at Diggory, but none of them spoke.

"It seems," continued Mr. Vance, not noticing the effect which his first announcement had produced on at least three of his hearers, "that the old woman who looks after the house went there this morning, and found that the iron safe in which the old chap keeps his coins had been opened and the whole collection removed. The only trace of the thieves that the police have been able to discover is the broken blade of a clasp-knife, which was on a flower-bed near the window."

"What will they get if they are caught?" asked Jack faintly.

"Oh, penal servitude, I suppose; it's a serious business housebreaking."

"How quiet you boys are!" said Mrs. Vance a short time later.
"I think you must be tired. Wouldn't you like to go to bed?"

The three friends were only too glad to avail themselves of this excuse for getting away into some place where they could indulge in a little private conversation. Diggory and Mugford slept together in the same room; Jack followed them in and closed the door.

"Well," he exclaimed, "we're in a nice mess."

"But we didn't steal the coins," said Mugford.

"Of course we didn't—the safe had been robbed before we went there—but it looks as if we'd done it; and if they find out we got into the house, I don't see how we're going to prove that we're innocent."

There was a short silence; then Diggory spoke.

"Look here, Jack: I was the one who proposed going inside the place; shall I tell your guv'nor?"

"Well, I was thinking of doing that myself, only I don't see what good it can do. If we tell him, he'll be bound to tell the police, to explain about those footmarks; and when it comes out that we got into the house, I should think we are pretty certain to be charged with having stolen the coins. I think the best thing will be to keep it dark: we didn't crib the things, and the thieves are sure to be caught in time."

Even after Jack had retired to his own room, Diggory and Mugford lay awake for hours discussing the situation; and when at length they did fall asleep, it was only to dream of being chased by "The Hermit" and a swarm of long-legged policemen, who forced their way into the Third Form classroom at Ronleigh, and handcuffed the unfortunate trio in the very bosom of "The Happy Family."

The following morning was spent in visiting such parts of the town of
Todderton as were worth seeing.

"Upon my word," said Jack, "I feel funky to show my nose outside our gate, just as if I really had prigged those wretched coins. I shan't be at all sorry this evening to get back to Ronleigh. It's all in the paper this morning; it mentions the footmarks and the knife-blade, and says that as yet the police have not been able to discover any further traces of the robbers."

The conditions on which the half-term holiday was granted required every boy to return to school on the Monday evening, and accordingly, about seven o'clock, the Triple Alliance found themselves once more on their way to the railway station. They took their seats, and had hardly done so when young Noaks entered the compartment.

"Hullo, you fellows!" he exclaimed; "didn't you hear me whistle?
I was standing over there by the book-stall."

Regarding this as an overture of friendship after their recent encounter, Jack Vance replied in an equally amicable manner, and after a few common-place remarks the party relapsed into silence. At Chatton, the station before Ronleigh, a man who had so far travelled with them got out, and the four boys were left alone. Hardly had the train started again when Noaks put down his paper, and turning to his companions said,—

"That's a rum business about that old chap's house being robbed, isn't it?"

Something in the speaker's look and in the tone of his voice caused the three listeners to experience an unpleasant quickening of their pulses.

"Yes," answered Diggory, with a well-assumed air of indifference.
"I suppose they'll catch the thieves in time."

"I suppose so," returned the other, "especially if they find the chap who owns that knife with the broken blade."

The malignant look with which these words was accompanied showed at once that the speaker meant mischief. The three friends looked at one another in horrified amazement. Could it be possible that their visit to The Hermitage had already been discovered?

Noaks watched their faces for a moment, evidently well pleased with the effect which his remark had produced; then he burst out laughing.

"Look here," he continued, producing from his pocket a buck-handled clasp-knife: "I wonder if that's anything like it; I see the big blade's broken."

The Triple Alliance recognized it in a moment as one of the articles that had been rescued from Mugford's sale at The Birches; in fact, the owner's name appeared plainly engraved on the small brass plate.

Diggory was the first to find his tongue.

"What d'you mean? We didn't steal the coins!"

"My dear fellow, I never said you did. I only know that on Saturday I was looking over our wall, through an opening there happens to be in the shrubs, and saw you fellows climbing out of the old chap's window; and after you'd gone I noticed something lying in the path, and I hopped over, and picked up this knife."

"Give it here; it's mine," said Mugford, holding out his hand.

"No fear," answered the other, calmly returning the piece of lost property to his own pocket. "In this case finding's keeping; besides, I'm not sure if I couldn't get a reward for this if I sent it to the right place."

The train began to slacken speed as it approached Ronleigh station.

"Look here, Noaks," cried Jack Vance, in a fit of desperation, "what are you going to do? You know very well we are not thieves."

"I don't know anything of the sort," returned the tormentor, standing up to take his bag off the rack; "all I know is just what I've told you. See here, Mr. Vance," he continued, rounding on Jack with a sudden snarl, "you were good enough some little time ago to make some very caddish remarks about my father; in the future you'd better keep your mouth shut. I owe all three of you a dressing down for things that happened at Chatford, and now you'd better mind your P's and Q's if you don't want to be hauled up for housebreaking."

With this parting threat the ex-Philistine left the carriage. Mugford, Jack, and Diggory gazed at one another for a moment with anything but a happy look on their faces. One after another they slowly gathered up their things and stepped out on to the platform. Hardly had they done so when they heard their names called, and turning round beheld the small figure of "Rats" rushing forward to meet them.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Old Ally sent me down to get a paper, and I thought you'd come by this train. I say, there's a fine row on up at the school—such a lark; I'll tell you about it as we go along."

CHAPTER X.

A SCREW LOOSE IN THE SIXTH.

For the time being the three friends forgot their own troubles in their eagerness to hear "Rat's" description of certain events which had happened during their absence from Ronleigh.

"Look sharp; out with it!" they exclaimed. "What's happened?"

"Well," began Rathson, "it all came out through young Bayley acting the fool and spraining his ankle. You know we had the paper-chase this morning, and the hares ran out to Arrow Hill, and back again round by the canal and Birksam Church. Just after we'd rounded the hill, young Bayley jumped off the top of a high hedge, and twisted his foot so badly that he couldn't stand up. As it happened, there was a check just then, and Carton ran forward and told Allingford what had happened. He and Oaks came back, and said the only thing would be to get him to Chatton station, and so home by train. It was awfully decent of those chaps. They carried Bayley all the way, and then Oaks went home with him, and Allingford walked back, and so, of course, they missed half the run. Awfully brickish of them I call it, considering that it was only a kid like Bayley."

The Triple Alliance gave a murmur of assent.

"Was that what the row's about?" asked Diggory.

"Oh, bless you, no; I haven't come to that yet. After he'd seen Oaks and Bayley into the train, old Ally started to walk home. There's a little 'pub' about half a mile out of Chatton called the Black Swan, and he thought he'd call and ask if they'd seen the fellows pass. You know Thurston the prefect, that chap who came to the door when we were having that meeting in the 'old lab.' Well, now, if he and Mouler, and two or three more of that sort, weren't sitting in the taproom, smoking, and drinking beer, and having a regular high old time. They'd lagged behind on purpose. Of course Allingford kicked them all out, and he and 'Thirsty' had a frightful row. They say the big chaps want to hush the matter up as far as they can, and not report it to old Denson, for fear he'd make it an excuse to put a stop to paper-chasing. Ally slanged Thurston right and left, and told him that if he chose to drink beer in a low 'pub' with the biggest blackguards in the school, he needn't expect that the fellows in the Sixth would have anything to do with him, and that he ought to send in his resignation as a prefect."

On entering the school buildings, our three friends were convinced of the truth of their comrade's story, and on their way to the schoolroom the question was repeated at least half a dozen times—"Have you heard about old 'Thirsty' being cobbed in the Black Swan?" Diggory thought of the conversation he had overheard in Acton's study, and mentioned it to Carton.

"Yes," answered the latter. "Big Fletcher's a beast. I know Thurston's very chummy with him, but I don't see that's got much to do with it. My brother, who left last term, said that 'Thirsty' used to be rather a jolly chap, only he's got a fearful temper when he's crossed. Most of the chaps like him as a prefect, because as long as you don't interfere with him he doesn't seem to care much what any one does. The real thing is he's going to the dogs, and, as Allingford says, he ought to resign."

Away in one of the Sixth Form studies the subject of their conversation was sitting with his hands in his pockets, frowning at the fire. He was roused from his reverie by some one putting his head round the corner of the door and exclaiming,—

"Hullo, 'Thirsty!'"

"Hullo, Fletcher! where on earth have you been all the evening?"

The new-comer was tall and lanky; he had a sharp, foxy-looking face, with thin, straight lips, and two deep lines which looked almost like scars between the eyebrows. He shut the door, and dragging forward a chair, sat down with his feet on the fender, and commenced warming his hands at the fire.

"Oh, I've been nowhere in particular," he answered, laughing. "But I say, young man, you seem to have raised a pretty good hornets' nest about your ears along this corridor."

"Yes, I know; they've had the cheek to send me that!"

He leaned back as he spoke, and taking a piece of paper from the table, tossed it across to his friend. It was a letter signed by most of the prefects, suggesting that he should send in his resignation.

"Humph!" said Fletcher; "that's a nice sort of a round robin, don't you call it? Well, what are you going to do?"

"Oh, I shall resign and have done with it. I'm sick of having to masquerade about as a good boy. I mean to do what I like."

"Pooh!" returned the other. "Now that you are a prefect, I wouldn't give up all the privileges and the right to go out and come in when you like just because a strait-laced chap like Allingford chooses to take offence at something you do. They can't force you to resign unless they go to the doctor, and they won't do that. I know what I'd do: I'd tell them pretty straight to go and be hanged, and keep their sermonizing to themselves."

Thurston turned on the speaker with a sudden burst of anger.

"Oh yes!" he exclaimed; "you're always saying you'd do this and do that, but when the time comes you turn tail and sneak away. Look here: you were the one who proposed going into the Black Swan this morning, and when young Mouler said Allingford was coming, you slipped out of the back door and left us to face the shindy."

"Well," returned the other, laughing, "I thought you chaps were going to bolt too. I hopped over the wall at the back into the field, and waited there for about a quarter of an hour, and then, as no one came, I made tracks home."

"That's all very fine. You took precious good care to save your own bacon; you always do."

"Oh, go on!" answered Fletcher, rising from his chair; "you're in a wax to-night. Well, ta, ta! Don't you resign."

This little passage of arms was not the first of the kind that had taken place between Fletcher and Thurston, and it did not prevent a renewal of their friendship on the morrow.

The latter, following either his own inclination or the advice of his chum, decided not to resign his position as a prefect, and in a few days' time the majority of the school had wellnigh forgotten the fracas at the Black Swan.

Among those in high places, however, the affair was not so easily overlooked. The big fellows kept their own counsel, but it soon became evident that Thurston was being "cut" and cold-shouldered by the other members of the Sixth; while he, for his part, as though by way of retaliation, began to hob-nob more freely than ever with boys lower down in the school and of decidedly questionable character.

"It's awfully bad form of a chap who's a prefect chumming up with a fellow like Mouler in the Upper Fourth," said Carton one afternoon. "I wonder old 'Thirsty' isn't ashamed to do it. And now he's hand and glove with those chaps Hawley and Gull in the Fifth; they've both got heaps of money, but they're frightful cads."

From the morning following their return to Ronleigh the Triple Alliance had been kept in a continual state of uneasiness and suspense, wondering what action Noaks would take regarding his discovery of their visit to The Hermitage.

The days passed by, and still he made no further reference to the matter, and took no notice of any of the three friends when he happened to pass them in the passages. The fact was that for the time being his attention was turned in another direction. Like most fellows of his kind, Noaks was a regular toady, ready to do anything in return for the privilege of being able to rub shoulders occasionally with some one in a higher position than himself, and he eagerly seized the opportunity which his friendship with Mouler afforded him of becoming intimate with Thurston. It was rather a fine thing for a boy in the Upper Fourth to be accosted in a familiar manner by a prefect, and asked sometimes to visit the latter in his study; and when such things were possible, it was hardly worth while to spend time and attention in carrying on a feud with youngsters in the Third Form. But Noaks had never forgotten the double humiliation he had suffered at Chatford—first in being sent off the football field, and again in the disastrous ending to the attempted raid on the Birchites' fireworks; nor had he forgiven the Triple Alliance for the part which they had played, especially on the latter occasion, in bringing shame and confusion on the heads of the Philistines.

One morning, nearly a month after the half-term holiday, the three friends were strolling arm in arm through the archway leading from the quadrangle to the paved playground, when they came face to face with their old enemy. He was about to push past them without speaking; then, seeming suddenly to change his mind, he pulled up, took something from his pocket, and handing it to Jack Vance, said shortly,—

"There! I thought you'd like to see that; it seems a good chance to earn some pocket-money."

The packet turned out to be a copy of the Todderton weekly paper.

"I've marked the place," added Noaks, turning on his heel with a sneering laugh; "you needn't give it me back."

A cross of blue chalk had been placed against a short paragraph appearing under the heading "Local Notes." Jack read it out loud for the edification of his two companions.

"We notice that Mr. Fossberry has offered a reward of 50 pounds for any information which shall lead to the arrest of the thieves who entered his house some few weeks ago, and stole a valuable collection of coins. As yet the police have been unable to discover any further traces of the missing property, but it is to be hoped that before long the offenders will be discovered and brought to justice."

There was a moment's silence.

"I wish I'd told my guv'nor," muttered Jack Vance.

"Well, tell him now," said Diggory.

"Oh no, I can't now; he'd wonder why I hadn't done it sooner. Besides, I believe Noaks is only doing this to frighten us; he can't prove that we stole the coins, because we didn't. All the same, it would be very awkward if he sent the police that jack-knife, and told them he'd seen us climbing out of the old chap's window."

"Yes," answered Diggory; "I suppose it would look rather fishy.
Bother him! why can't he leave us alone?"

CHAPTER XI.

SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS.

The Easter holidays came and went as rapidly as Easter holidays always do, and before the Alliance had recovered from the excitement connected with their first experience of breaking up at Ronleigh, they were back again, greeting their friends, asking new boys their names, and, in short, commencing their second term as regular old stagers. Up to the present they had been content to "lie low," and had remained satisfied with making the acquaintance of their class-mates in "The Happy Family;" but now they began to take more interest in school matters in general, and to notice what was going on in other circles besides their own.

In answer to the eager inquiries of his two companions, Jack Vance said that he had seen nothing of Noaks during the holidays, except having passed him on one or two occasions in the street. The notice of the fifty pounds reward still appeared in the windows of the police station; but the robbery itself was beginning to be looked upon as a thing of the past, and was already wellnigh forgotten.

"I wonder if Noaks has still got my knife?" said Mugford.

"Oh, I don't know," answered Jack. "He's too much taken up with Mouler and Gull and all that lot to think about us. I shouldn't bother my head about it any further; he only showed us that paper out of spite, to put us in a funk."

It was pretty evident, to the most casual observer, that the quarrel which the Black Swan incident had occasioned between Thurston and his brother prefects had not yet been dismissed from the minds of either party. The former became more lax than ever in the discharge of his duties, and avoiding the society of his school equals, sought the companionship of such boys as Hawley, Gull, and Mouler, who at length came to be known throughout the College as "Thirsty's Lot." With the exception of Fletcher, the prefects left him severely alone. Allingford occasionally came down on him for allowing all kinds of misconduct to pass unchecked, but it was hardly to be expected that a fellow who was hand and glove with some of the principal offenders should have much influence or power in maintaining law and order; and these interviews with the captain usually ended in an exchange of black looks and angry words.

The consequences which resulted from this lack of harmony among those in authority may be easily imagined. "Old Thirsty never makes a row when he sees a chap doing so-and-so," was the cry. "Why should Oaks and Rowlands and those other fellows kick up bothers, and give lines for the same thing?" To all these murmurers the prefects turned a deaf ear. "I don't care what Thurston does," would be their answer; "you know the rule, and that's sufficient." Any further remonstrance on the part of the offender was met with a summary "Shut up, or you'll get your head punched," and so for a time the matter ended.

It was hardly to be expected that the light-hearted juveniles of the Third Form should trouble their heads to take much notice of this disagreement among the seniors. For one thing, they knew nothing of what was said and done in the Sixth Form studies, and even the prefects themselves never thought for a moment that this little bit of friction in the machinery of Ronleigh College would, figuratively speaking, lead to "hot bearings" and a narrow shave of a general breakdown.

So the members of "The Happy Family" pursued the even tenor of their way, getting into scrapes and scrambling out of them, feasting on pastry and ginger-beer, turning up in force on Saturday afternoon to witness the cricket matches, and coming to the conclusion that though Oaks and Rowlands might be a trifle strict, and rather freehanded with lines and "impots," yet all this could be overlooked and forgiven for the sake of the punishment which they inflicted on the enemy's bowling.

As it has been all along the intention of this story to follow the fortunes of the Triple Alliance, the record of their second term at Ronleigh would not be complete without some mention of their memorable adventure with the "coffee-mill."

Wednesday, the fourteenth of June, was Jack Vance's birthday, and just before morning school he expressed his intention of keeping it up in a novel manner.

"Look here!" he remarked to his two companions. "You know that little bootmaker's shop just down the road, before you come to the church. There's a notice in the window, 'Double Tricycle on Hire.' Well, the mater's sent me some money this year instead of a hamper, so I thought I'd hire the machine; and we'll go out for a ride, and take it in turns for one to walk or trot behind."

"Oh, I'd advise you not to!" cried "Rats," who was standing by and overheard the project.

"Why not?"

"Why, it's a rotten old sociable, one of the first, I should think, that was ever made. It's like working a tread-mill, and it rattles and bangs about until you think every minute it must all be coming to pieces. It's got a sort of box-seat instead of a saddle. Maxton hired it out one day the term before last, and he and I and Collis rode to Chatton. It isn't meant to carry three; but the seat's very wide, and they squeezed me in between them. There's something wrong with the steering-gear, and it makes a beastly grinding noise as it goes along, so Maxton christened it the 'coffee-mill.' Fellows are always chaffing old Jobling about it, when they go into his shop to buy bits of leather, and asking him how much he'll take for his coffee-mill, and the old chap gets into an awful wax."

"Oh, I don't care!" answered Jack. "It'll be a lark, and we needn't go far.—What d'you say, Diggy?"

Diggory and Mugford both expressed their willingness to join in the expedition, and arrangements were accordingly made for it to take place that afternoon.

"You'd better not let old Jobling see three of you get on at once," said "Rats." "I should send Mugford on in front and pick him up when you get round the corner."

Rathson's description of the "coffee-mill" was certainly not exaggerated. It was a rusty, rattle-bag concern—a relic of the dark ages of cycling—and .looked as if it had not been used for a twelvemonth. Jobling squirted some oil into the bearings, knocked the dust off the cushioned seat, and remarked that a shilling an hour was the proper charge; but that, as he always favoured the Ronleigh gentlemen, he would say two shillings, and they might keep it the whole afternoon.

Jack, as we have said before, was of rather a nautical turn of mind, and occasionally, when the fit was on him, loved to interlard his conversation with seafaring expressions.

"She isn't much of a craft to look at," he remarked, as they drew up and dismounted at the spot where Mugford stood waiting for them; "but we'll imagine this is my steam-yacht, and that we're going for a cruise. Now then, Diggy, you're the mate, and you shall sit on the starboard side and steer. Mugford's the passenger, so he'll go in the middle. I'm captain, and I'll work the port treadles. Now, then, all aboard!"

The boys scrambled on to the seat, and with some little amount of crushing and squeezing got settled in their places, and at the captain's word, "Half-speed ahead!" the voyage commenced. They went lumbering and clattering through the outskirts of the town, and at length, after having roused the dormant wit of one shop-boy, who shouted "Knives to grind!" after them, they gained the highroad. For half a mile the voyage was prosperous enough; then the adventures began.

They were going at a good pace down a gentle slope, and on turning a corner saw immediately in front of them a narrow piece of road with a duck-pond on one side and a high bank on the other. Some one had carelessly left a wheelbarrow standing very nearly in the centre of the highway, and there was only just room to pass it on the water side.

"Starboard a little!"

The steering gear worked rather stiffly. Diggory gave the handle a hard twist, and it went round further than he intended.

"Port!" cried the captain, "hard a-port!" But it was too late, and the next moment the "coffee-mill" ran down the sloping bank and plunged into the duck-pond. It gave a violent lurch, but fortunately its breadth of beam kept it from overturning, and the water, being not more than a few inches deep, only wet the boots of the mariners.

"You great ass, Diggy! why didn't you port?" demanded the captain.

The mate, who as a matter of fact could not have told the difference between the nautical "port" and home-made ginger-beer, answered promptly, "So I did;" and the two officers commenced to punch each other with their disengaged hands. This combat, which was conducted with the utmost good feeling on both sides, had been continued for nearly a minute, when the passenger, on whose unoffending back a large proportion of the blows were falling, remarked,—

"Well, if we aren't going to stop here all day, when you've quite done we'd better think about getting out."

They were at least four yards from the shore, and it was impossible to reach it dry-shod.

"Some one must take off his boots and socks and haul her out," said
Diggory.

"Well, I can't," answered Jack; "the captain never ought to leave the ship."

"Oh, I'll go," answered Mugford, laughing; and accordingly, after performing some complicated gymnastic feats in getting off his boots, he slid from the seat into the water, and so hauled the "coffee-mill" back to terra firma.

It would be impossible to describe in detail all the alarming incidents which happened during the outward passage.

They had not gone a quarter of a mile further when something went wrong with the brake. They flew down a long hill, holding on for dear life, nothing but the grand way in which the mate managed this time to steer a straight course down the middle of the road saving them from destruction. Nevertheless, mounting the last slope was such hard labour that Mugford had to turn to and "work his passage," by every now and again taking a spell at the treadles.

"Look here!" said Diggory at length: "don't you think we've gone far enough? we shan't be back in time for tea."

"Oh, I forgot," answered the captain. "We'll see. Stand by your anchor! Let go-o-o!"

The "coffee-mill" stopped, and Jack Vance pulled out his watch.

"By me it's half-past twelve, and I'm four hours slow: twelve to one, one to two, two to three, three to four—half-past four. Yes, it's time we turned round. Now, then, 'bout ship!"

The tricycle clanked and rattled away merrily enough on the return journey until it came to the long hill, which this time had to be climbed instead of descended.

"Don't let's get off," said Jack; "we ought to rush her up this if we set our minds to it."

With a great deal of panting and struggling they succeeded in getting about half-way; then suddenly there was a crack, and the machine, instead of going forward, began to run back. Faster and faster it went, the pedals remaining motionless under their feet.

"The chain's gone," gasped the captain. "There's a cart behind! Quick, run her aground!"

Of course the mate turned the handle the wrong way. On one side of the road was an ordinary hedge, while on the other lay a deep ditch, and into this a moment later the "coffee-mill" disappeared with every soul on board!

There was an awful moment, when earth, sky, arms, legs, wheels, and bushes seemed all mixed together, and then Jack Vance found himself resting on his hands and knees in a puddle of dirty water. Diggory and Mugford had been driven with considerable violence into the thickest part of a thorn hedge, and proceeded to extricate themselves therefrom with many groans and lamentations.

"Well," said the mate, as they proceeded to drag the machine out of the ditch, "I should think, Jack, you've celebrated your birthday about enough; now you'd better give over, or we shall all be sent home in a sack."

"Me!" cried the captain, with great indignation. "It was your fault, you dummy! you put the helm over wrong again, you—"

"Hullo, you kids!" interrupted a voice behind them, and turning round the three friends saw the burly form of John Acton pushing a bicycle up the hill. "Hullo!" he continued; "it's young Trevanock. What's up? Have you had a spill?"

"Yes; the chain broke, and we ran into the ditch."

"Umph! bad business. Now you'll have to foot it, I suppose."

"Yes," answered Jack ruefully; "and we're bound to be back late pushing this old thing all the way. I wish old Jobling would try a ride on it himself."

"Oh! is that the 'coffee-mill'?" exclaimed the prefect, laughing. "Well, look here! If you're late, I'll see whoever's on duty, and tell him about the breakdown, and see if I can get you off."

"Oh, thanks awfully!" chorused the small boys.

"I've half a mind to say I wouldn't," continued Acton, looking round as he put his foot on the step of his machine, and nodding his head at Diggory. "I owe you a grudge for not telling me what I wanted to know about my young brother's love-letter."

The football captain was as good as his word: he got the Triple Alliance excused the "impot" which would otherwise have been awarded them for arriving at the school half an hour late, and the only misfortune which resulted from their eventful excursion was that Jack Vance had to expend a further portion of his postal order in paying Jobling for repairing the broken chain. The day, however, did not close without another incident happening to one of the voyagers, which, though trifling in itself, proved, as it were, the shadow of coming events which were destined to seriously affect the well-being and happiness of all the Ronleigh boys.

Crossing the quadrangle soon after tea, Diggory saw something bright lying on the gravel; it proved to be a silver match-box with the letters C. T. engraved on the front. He took it with him into the school-room, and holding it up as the boys were assembling at their desks for preparation, asked if any one knew who was the owner.

"Yes, I do," answered young Fletcher: "it's Thirsty's; I've seen it often."

Preparation of the next day's work having ended, Diggory's attention was occupied for a time in discussing with Carton the merits of some foreign stamps. Just before supper, however, he remembered the match-box, and hurried away to restore it to its rightful owner.

Thurston was evidently at home, for a prolonged shout of laughter and the clamour of several voices reached Diggory's ears as he approached the study. As he knocked at the door the noise suddenly ceased, there was a moment's silence, and then a murmur in a low tone, followed by a scuffling of feet and the overturning of a chair.

"Who's there? you can't come in!" shouted the owner of the den.

"I don't want to," answered Diggory, through the keyhole. "I've brought your match-box that I picked up in the 'quad.'"

"Oh, it's only a kid," said the voice of Fletcher senior; and the next instant the door was unlocked by Thurston, who opened it about six inches, and immediately thrust his body into the aperture, as though to prevent the possibility of the visitor getting any sight of the interior of the room.

"Oh, thanks; you're a brick," he said, taking the box, and immediately closed the door and turned the key.

Diggory was retracing his steps along the passage, wondering what could be the object of all this secrecy, when he nearly ran into the school captain.

"Hullo, young man!" said the latter, "where have you been?"

"To Thurston's study."

"What have you been there for?" demanded Allingford sharply, with a sudden change in his tone and manner.

"Only to give him his match-box that I picked up in the 'quad.'"

The captain eyed the speaker narrowly, as though half inclined to doubt the truth of this explanation; then, apparently satisfied with the honest expression of the small boy's face, told him to get down to supper.

The latter wandered off, wondering more than ever what could have been the object of the private gathering in Thurston's study which he had just interrupted.

"It's what I told you before," remarked Carton, when Diggory chanced to mention what had happened. "Thirsty's going to the dogs, and I believe big Fletcher's got a lot to do with it. Allingford can't interfere with them as long as they keep to themselves. I don't know what they do, but I shouldn't be surprised if there is a rare old kick-up one of these fine days."

Mischief certainly was brewing, and the "kick-up" came sooner than even
Carton himself expected.

CHAPTER XII.

THE WRAXBY MATCH.

Wednesday, the twenty-fourth of July, saw the whole of Ronleigh College in a state of bustle and excitement. The near approach of the holidays was sufficient in itself to put every one in high spirits, while, in addition to this, the afternoon was to witness the chief cricket contest of the season—the annual match against Wraxby Grammar School. During the hour before dinner the ground itself was a scene of brisk activity: the school colours flew at the summit of the flagstaff; the boundary flags fluttered in the breeze; a number of willing hands, under the direction of Allingford, put a finishing touch to the pitch with the big roller, while others assisted in rigging up the two screens of white canvas in line with the wickets.

"I do hope we lick them," said little "Rats" to Jack Vance as they stood by the pavilion, watching Oaks mixing some whiting for the creases; "we must somehow or other."

"Why?"

"Why? because they've beaten us now three times running; and the last time when our chaps went over to Wraxby and got licked at footer their captain asked Ally if in future we should like to play a master! Such rot!" continued the youthful "Rats," boiling with wrath; "as if we couldn't smash them without! Look here, I'd give—I'd give sixpence if we could win!" and with this burst of patriotic enthusiasm the speaker hurried away to join Maxton, who, with an old sprung racquet in one hand and the inside of an exploded cricket-ball in the other, was calling to him from the adjoining playing field to "Come and play tip and run, and bring something that'll do for a wicket."

The feelings expressed by "Rats" as regards the result of the match were shared by the whole school, and by none more so than the members of the Third Form.

"The Happy Family" turned up to a man, and encamped en masse upon the turf within twenty yards of the pavilion. Bibbs was the last to arrive on the scene of action, and did so with a bag of sweets in one hand, a book in the other, and a piece of paper, pinned by some joker to the tail of his coat, bearing the legend, "Please to kick me"—a request which was immediately responded to in a most hearty and generous fashion by all present.

Kicking the unfortunate Bibbs afforded every one such exquisite enjoyment that an effort was made to prolong the pastime by forcible attempts to fasten the placard on to other members of the company, and a general melee, would have followed if the attention of the combatants had not been attracted in another direction. Ronleigh having won the toss and elected to go in first, the Wraxby men strolled out of the pavilion to take the field.

They were a likely-looking lot of fellows—the faded flannel caps and careless way in which they sauntered towards the pitch proclaiming the fact that each one was a veteran player.

"That chap with the wicket-keeping gloves in his hand is Partridge, their captain," said Carton; "and that fellow who's putting out the single stump to bowl at is Austin. He does put them in to some tune; you can hardly see the ball, it's so swift."

There was a faint clang from the pitch.

"See that!" cried Fletcher junior: "that chap Austin's knocked that single stump out of the ground first ball. My eye, he'll make our fellows sit up, I'll bet."

"No, he won't," cried "Rats" excitedly. "Old Ally'll knock him into a cocked hat. He'll soon break his back," added the speaker complaisantly. "Hullo! men in—Parkes and Rowland."

There is something in the short space of time preceding the first clack of the bat at a cricket match which rivals in interest even that exciting moment at football when the centre forward stands hovering over the ball waiting for the whistle to give the signal for the contest to commence.

The noisy clatter of "The Happy Family" ceases as the crowd of boys, ranged all down the sides of the field, turn to watch the opening of the game.

It is an ideal day for cricket, with a fresh breeze blowing, just sufficient to temper the hot afternoon sunshine and cause a flutter of cricket-shirts and boundary flags. Rowland takes centre, twists the handle of his bat round and round in his hands, and is heard amid the general hush to say, "No, no trial." Austin glances round at the motionless figures of his comrades, signals to long-on to stand a little deeper, and then delivers the ball. With an easy and graceful forward stroke, the batsman returns it sharply in the direction of the opposite wicket, and an almost imperceptible movement, like the releasing of a spring, takes place among the fielders. So begins the battle.

"Twenty up!" had just been called from the pavilion when a sharp catch in the slips disposed of Parkes.

"Never mind!" cried "Rats." "Here comes old Ally; he'll make them trot round a bit!"

The captain commenced his innings with a heart-warming leg hit, which sent the ball to the boundary, a wave of legs and arms marking its track as the spectators, with a joyous yell, rolled over one another to escape being hit.

For some time cheer followed cheer, and "The Happy Family" clapped until their hands smarted; then suddenly there arose a prolonged "Oh, oh!" from all the field.

"Hullo! what's the matter?" asked Bibbs, looking up from the book he was reading.

"What's the matter?" shouted Maxton wrathfully, snatching away the volume and banging Bibbs on the head with it. "Why don't you watch the game? Old Ally's bowled off his pads!"

It was only too true: the captain's wicket was down, and "The Happy Family," after a simultaneous ejaculation of "Blow it!" tore up stalks of grass, and began to chew them with a stern expression on their faces.

This disaster seemed but the forerunner of others. Redfern, the next man, had hardly taken his place at the wicket when a sharp click, the glitter of bails twirling in the air, and a Wraxby shout of "Well bowled!" announced his fate; while ten minutes later Rowland, one of the mainstays of the home team, was caught in a most provoking manner at cover-point.

"Oh, bother it all!" sighed "Rats; this is nothing but a procession."

"Now, Oaks, old chap, do your best for us!" cried Allingford.

"All right," returned the other, laughing, as he paused for a moment outside the pavilion to fasten the strap of his batting-glove; "I'm going to make runs this journey, or die in the attempt."

Oaks was undoubtedly a regular Briton, just the sort of fellow to turn the fortunes of a losing game. He walked up to the wicket as coolly as though it were enclosed within a practice net, patted down the ground with the flat of his bat in a manner which seemed to imply that he had "come to stay," and then proceeded to hit three twos in his first "over."

This dashing commencement was but the prelude to a brilliant bit of rapid scoring: twos and threes followed each other in quick succession. Allingford shouted, the crowd roared, while "The Happy Family" gambolled about on one another's chests and stomachs, and squealed with delight. Like the poet's brook, Oaks might have exclaimed, "Men may come, and men may go, but I go on for ever." When Wraxby changed the bowling, he welcomed the new-comer by sending the first ball into the next field, and continued to cut and drive in such a gallant manner that even Bibbs, standing up to get the full use of his lungs, shouted, "Go 'long!" and "Well hit!" until his face was the colour of a poppy.

"I say!" exclaimed Carton, as the eighth wicket fell, "I wish one of these next two chaps would hang on a bit, and give Oaks a chance of getting a few more; it must be nearly eighty up."

"Thurston, you're in!" came from the scorer.

The boy named was sitting by himself, on the end of a form close to the telegraph, moodily scraping up the ground with the spikes of his cricket-shoes. He knew that most of his comrades in the eleven would give him the cold shoulder, and so did not mingle with them inside the pavilion. He rose, and prepared to obey the summons.

"Let's give him a cheer," said Rats; "he may do something.—Go it,
Thurston! Sit tight, and keep the pot boiling!"

The big fellow turned his head in the direction of "The Happy Family," and with something of the old good-humoured smile, which had seldom of late been seen upon his face, answered: "All right, my boy, you see if I don't."

"Jolly fellow old Thirsty," remarked "Rats," swelling with pride at this friendly recognition. "He can play when he likes, but he hasn't troubled to practise much of late. He used always—Phew! my eye, what an awful crack!"

A terrifically swift ball from Austin had risen suddenly from the hard ground. Thurston had no time to avoid it, but turning away his face, received the blow on the back of his head. He dropped his bat, staggered away from the wicket, and fell forward on his knees.

To suffer for the cause of the school in a cricket or football match was a thing which, like charity, "covered a multitude of sins." Allingford hurried out of the pavilion and ran towards the pitch, while Partridge and a few more of the "Wraxby men gathered round their wounded opponent and helped him to his feet.

"You'd better come out, Thurston," said the Ronleigh captain; "I'll send the next man in."

"No, I'll go on," replied the other, in rather a shaky voice; "I shall be all right in a minute."

It requires something more than ordinary pluck for a batsman to stand up to fast bowling and show good form after having been badly hit. For a time a great deal of determination, and the exercise of a considerable amount of will power, are necessary to conquer the natural inclination to shrink from a possible repetition of the injury; and those who watched the dogged manner in which Thurston continued to defend his wicket, being themselves practical cricketers, rewarded him with loud shouts of encouragement and praise.

Oaks piled on the score with unflagging energy, while the careful play of his companion defied all attempts of the Wraxby bowlers to dissolve the partnership.

"Bravo, 'Thirsty!'" shouted the spectators. "Go 'long'—and another!"

At length, just as the telegraph operator had received the welcome order, "A hundred up!" the ball shot, and crashed into Thurston's wicket. He came slowly back from the pitch, still holding his hand to the back of his head; and though his individual score had barely run into double figures, he was greeted on all sides with hearty cheers.

Payne, the last man, just succeeded in cracking his duck's-egg, and the innings closed for 104.

As the fielders came trooping in, a small boy ran past the Third Form encampment exclaiming, "I say, you chaps, old Punch is in the lower road, over by that tree!" Which announcement had no sooner been made than the greater part of "The Happy Family" sprang to their feet, and went scampering across the field in the direction of the opposite hedge.

The cause of this stampede, it must be explained, was the arrival of an itinerant vendor of ice-cream, whose real name, Samuel Jones, had been changed to Punch on account of the prominence of his nasal organ. His presence within the grounds of Ronleigh College was not approved of by the authorities, and his trade with the small boys, who were his particular patrons, was carried on through a gap in the hedge. Punch's establishment ran on four wheels, and was ornamented with a number of daubs representing Union Jacks and Royal Standards, which formed the framework of an alarming portrait of the Prince of Wales, from which adornment one might be led to suppose that on some previous occasion His Royal Highness had patronized the stall. The ice-cream was shovelled out of a tin receptacle, and pasted in lumps on to the top of very shallow glasses, the standard price for which was one penny; and there being a scarcity of spoons, the customers usually devoured the delicacy in the same manner as a dog does a saucer of milk. Cynical members of the upper classes at Ronleigh, who had ceased to patronize the stall, charged Punch with not being over-particular in washing the glasses, and of making the "stuff," as they called it, with cornflour instead of cream. But the small boys were not fastidious; and as each one had two helpings, which they ate as slowly as possible to prolong the enjoyment, they were still refreshing themselves when the home team moved out to field.

"Look sharp!" cried "Rats," giving Bibbs's elbow a sudden jerk which caused that worthy to plaster the end of his nose with the remains of his third ice. "Come on! let's see the beginning."

The second half of the game proved, if anything, more exciting than the first. Two wickets fell before 10 appeared on the telegraph.

"Oh, we shall lick them easily!" cried "Rats" jubilantly; while Fletcher junior gave vent to his feelings by handing Bibbs's bag of sweets round to the company.

But there were still some hard nuts to be cracked in the Wraxby team, and one soon appeared in Partridge, the captain. Over after over went by, and the score rapidly increased: "Thirty up!"—"Forty up!"—"Fifty up!" Two more wickets were taken; but Partridge seemed to have fairly got his eye in, and gave the home team as much leather-hunting as Oaks had provided for the visitors. To make matters worse, Austin, arriving on the scene sixth man in, appeared to be also possessed with a determination to carry his bat; and though he was eventually run out by a sharp throw-in from square-leg, it was not until eighty runs had been registered for the Grammar School.

The closing scene of the game caused an amount of excitement unparalleled in the history of Ronleigh cricket.