for Thursday, and we're all going to the Crystal Palace! What jolly fun we shall have!"

The speaker was Walter Franklin, a village lad of eighteen. But Christopher Swallow, the friend to whom he addressed himself, a youth who looked rather older, did not receive the news with the pleasure Walter expected.

"The old Crystal Palace again!" he grumbled. "Bother! What's the good of going to the same place twice over? I call it foolery and rubbish."

"Oh, but the rector said that no one but you and three of the older men had been before; and when he asked them whether they would like anything else better, they said no. Benjamin Sorrell said that once for seeing all over such a big place was nothing, and he'd like to spend a week there."

"Let him, then; one day's enough for me. Of course, we must go as it's settled; but you won't catch me staying dawdling about, looking at the same old things over and over again as I see two years ago. I shall be off and enjoy myself somewhere else."

"But, Christopher, Mr. Richardson said most partic'lar we must all keep together or we should get lost; and we're all to wear red rosettes on our left shoulders, that we may know each other at a distance, if we should get separated by any accident."

"Oh, did he indeed?" replied Christopher scornfully. "P'raps some'll do it. I think I know one as won't."

Walter said no more. Chris was well known to be what the others called "cranky" in his temper; and when he considered, as he generally did, that he was right, and every one else wrong, there was nothing for it but to leave him alone.

When Thursday came, it was a most lovely September day. There was hardly any one among the thirty members of the Hartfield Parish Choir, who drove in two big wagonettes to the station, that did not look prepared to enjoy the day's outing to the utmost.

"Christopher don't look best pleased, though," thought Walter, as they drove along, glancing at his friend's gloomy face. "And there's Miss Richardson getting out the rosettes. I hope he won't go and make a row; but there's no telling."

The Hartfield Choir consisted of men, lads, and boys, with about half a dozen little girls. The boys and girls, of course, sang alto and treble; the lads alto, if they could manage nothing better; and the men bass and tenor. There were eight men between thirty and fifty years of age, six lads like Walter, and sixteen children.

Half were in one long brake with the rector, and half in another with the schoolmaster and Miss Richardson. About half-way between Hartfield and the station, Miss Richardson produced a white cardboard box, which she opened.

"Here," she said, taking out a very bright rosette made of red ribbon, and a packet of pins, "I want each of you to put one of these on your left shoulder, and then we shall know one another when we are too far off to see each other's faces. There, I've put mine on."

As she spoke she fastened one on to her jacket. Every one else did the same, amidst a good deal of laughing and joking—every one, that is, except one.

"Christopher, where's your badge?" asked Mr. White, the schoolmaster.

"In my pocket, sir," was the answer.

"We can't see through that, man; it isn't transparent, like a glass window. Get out the rosette and put it on."

Christopher plunged his hands into his two jacket-pockets and fumbled. Mr. White thought he was going to do as he was told, and took no further notice.

"Chris, you haven't put it on, now," whispered Walter, as the horses drew up at the station. "Ain't you going to?"

"Be quiet, will you? You ain't master," said Christopher roughly; and Walter was silent.

He noticed, though, that his friend kept well out of sight behind the others, and also that in the train he took a seat on the same side as Mr. White, and as far off as possible. Miss Richardson was with the little girls in another carriage.

When the party reached the Crystal Palace station, they proceeded up the steps to the gardens.

"Now," said Mr. Richardson, when they got to the final flight leading into the great glass building—"now, I think we may as well separate for a bit. I will stay inside and take any who wish to see the poultry and rabbit show. The girls will like, I daresay, to go with Miss Richardson, and those who don't care for the animals can follow Mr. White to the garden; only be sure you all come to the terrace by one o'clock for dinner."

So saying, he turned towards the corridor where an immense cackling and cooing announced the presence of the poultry and pigeons, followed by four of the lads and some of the men and boys.

"What shall you do, Chris?" whispered Walter.

"I shall see what schoolmaster's up to; and if I don't like what he does, I shall make off and get some jolly good fun by myself," was the answer. "You stick to me, Walter. I s'pose you don't want to be the only big chap among all them little 'uns?"

"No; I'll stick to you, Chris," he replied, but he did not feel very comfortable.

Walter was a well-meaning lad, but he was very weak, and easily led by the stronger-willed Christopher.

Mr. White knew the Crystal Palace well, and all its many attractions. He took his party to see a show where cardboard figures were made to walk and jump and open their eyes, just like real people.

Then he proposed that they should try throwing sticks, provided for the purpose, at a row of penknives, and if any one knocked a knife over it would be his. This was amusing for a little while; but when no one could get anywhere near a knife, the boys grew tired of trying, especially as they each had to pay a penny for three tries.

At last they arrived at the place where a man has tricycles to let out. Every boy pulled out the rest of his money and begged for a ride. In a few minutes half a dozen little green tricycles where whirling round the curve.

Walter and Christopher despised the idea at first of doing what the little boys did; but when they saw some other youths like themselves get on, they put their pride in their pockets, and each mounted a tricycle. How they did waggle from side to side; and how impossible it was not to laugh and shout at the absurd feeling of the thing!

"This is rare good sport," said Chris at last.

He had but just spoken when he met Mr. White.

"It's ten minutes to one," said the latter. "We must go, or we shan't be on the terrace as soon as the rector. Come along, boys; it's dinner-time."

There was a general turning round of tricycles, and in a few minutes the little party were making their way towards the palace.

"What's the matter, Chris?" asked Walter. "I thought you liked that."

"So I did; 'twas the only bit of fun I've had. It's a regular nuisance to be at some one else's beck and call like this, just when one is getting a little pleasure. Why should we come before we want to?"

"Why? Because it's dinner-time. Aren't you hungry? I am, I know."

Christopher grunted sulkily, but in spite of his ill-humour he managed to get through the meat-patties and plum-pudding with a most excellent appetite.

Dinner over, the rector proposed that every one should come with him to see a panorama of the siege of Paris, which was to begin at three o'clock.

"I should like it awfully. Wouldn't you, Chris?" said Walter.

"I don't know. No—it sounds dull and schoolish," replied Chris, who was