the station. We're to meet the others to go by the half-past six train," said Walter desperately.

"You must look sharp, then—it's just off. There, be off down those steps as hard as you can split."

Walter obeyed. In his anxiety he forgot all about Chris; and not even when he reached the bottom of the steps, and caught sight of Mr. Richardson's troubled countenance looking for the truants from one of the carriage windows, did he recollect his friend.

The platform was crowded with people, and though Walter could see the rector, the latter could not distinguish him. If he had but worn the red badge upon his shoulder, matters might even yet have gone well; but, as it was, all Walter's efforts to shoulder his way through the masses of people only brought him to the front of the platform as the train steamed off!

At the last moment of all, Mr. Richardson's eye fell upon him, and he called out something, but Walter could not hear what it was.

A feeling of despair came over him as he turned back towards the steps. He had just remembered Chris.

"What shall we do?" he thought. "I haven't a penny, and Chris can't have much left either. Oh, there he is!" as he caught sight of the other lad's ill-tempered, flushed face at the foot of the steps.

"You sneak!" cried Chris angrily; "what d'ye mean by leaving me in the lurch like this?"

"But you wouldn't hurry, Chris; and as it is, we've lost the train—that was ours that's just gone. What are we to do now? Have you got any money?"

"No; you know I ain't, else I shouldn't ha' left the 'public' so quick. It's all your fault," answered Chris savagely, the beer mounting to his head more and more every minute, and he as usual growing more unpleasant and ill-tempered as his power of self-restraint grew weaker.

Walter was wise enough not to try arguing with or blaming him. He knew it would be worse than useless.

It was now getting dark, and the station was being lighted up. By some happy chance, Walter found his way out of it, and into the town, still holding on to Chris.

"Leave go," said the latter roughly. "I ain't a baby, nor a perambulator neither, to be pushed about by you."

He walked, or rather stumbled, along some way without help, Walter feeling utterly disgusted both with himself and his friend.

"But he shan't be my friend no more after to-day—I've made up my mind as to that," he said to himself. "Father's often told me he wasn't a good companion, and I know I didn't believe him. I thought Chris was a fine fellow, as really knew more than other folks—he always talked as if he did—but I see now 'twas all talk, and he ain't near so sensible nor so pleasant as some of the other chaps. I ain't going to tell tales, but if Mr. Richardson could see him now, I don't think Chris 'ud stay much longer in the choir."

By this time they had reached the Palace Arms again, and Christopher once more turned in at the door.

"What's he doing that for?" thought Walter, "when he said he hadn't a farthing left. I shan't go in—I've had enough of it."

So he stayed in the street. He could hear voices—and very angry ones—within. They rose louder and louder, and then there seemed a sort of struggle.

Walter's anxiety to know what was going on had just conquered his reluctance to be mixed up in anything like a drunken row, when the door was hastily opened, and several men, among them the landlord of the tavern, appeared, all pushing and shoving at Chris in order to turn him out. They succeeded at last, and a very disgusting spectacle he presented as he half stood, half lounged against a lamp-post. His hat was gone—some one threw it out to him a minute later—his coat was torn, his collar and tie were all crooked, his eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was a mixture of fury and helplessness.

More than ever did Walter wish he was not obliged to claim companionship with this degraded, low-looking man.

As he stood watching the impotent rage with which Chris kicked the lamp-post, as though he thought it was one of the enemies he wished to punish, a policeman came suddenly round the corner. Chris made a sort of rush at him with an angry yell.

"Hullo! Drunk and disorderly, are you? Come along o' me," said the constable coolly, quietly slipping a pair of handcuffs over Chris's wrists. The latter, with renewed passion, struggled vehemently, but the policeman took no notice; he merely led Chris along, without uttering a word. It was not far to the police-station. When they had got there, Chris's captor suddenly observed Walter, who had followed at a little distance.

"What do you want?" he asked. "A night in the lock-up?"

He spoke in jest, and was very much astonished when Walter answered,—

"Yes, please."

"What? In here?" said the policeman in amazement, looking at the respectable, quiet lad. "Why, man, it's a sort of a jail."

"I don't want to go there, of course," replied Walter; "but me and him"—pointing to Chris—"has got lost, and if he's going there, why, I s'pose I must too."

"Is this your pal, then? You don't know how to choose your mates, I should say," observed the policeman. "'Tis too late for you to see a magistrate, or you could speak to Colonel Law. Where d'ye come from?"

Walter related his story, Chris meanwhile sitting on the steps almost asleep.

"It seems to me it's all your fault for not doing as the gentleman told you, but going by such as he," said the constable, looking disdainfully at Chris. "Now, look here," he added; "if you'll wait at the door while I take in this chap and speak to the superintendent, when I've done I'll take you to the colonel, and p'raps he'll see you."

Walter thanked him, and waited patiently till he reappeared.

They soon reached the colonel's house, and were admitted to see him, when the policeman recounted Walter's adventures. The magistrate was a tall, thin old man, with a bristling white moustache, and a very sharp, quick manner.

"Well," he said to Walter, "if your story is true, you've been a very foolish fellow, and quite spoilt what might have been a very pleasant day. You can go and sit in the kitchen and have some supper, while I telegraph to your rector. If he says it is all as you say, I will lend you the money to go back by the 9.30 train."

"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you," cried Walter, feeling as if his troubles were coming to an end at last. "But what about Chris?"

"Your friend in the lock-up? He must stay there till he is let out. When he is set free, I suppose his relations will send the money for his journey—you can see about that when you get home—and he will probably have to pay a fine also, before he can go."

Never had Walter enjoyed a supper more. An hour passed quickly away, and he was quite surprised at being summoned again so soon to the colonel's library. He looked less fierce this time.

"It's all right, Franklin," he said. "Mr. Richardson has requested me to help you, so here is the money. I hope you will get home safely, and learn from the events of to-day to choose your friends from among the steady lads of the village, and not to listen to the big talkers, who want you to despise your elders, and judge for yourself."

"No, sir; I don't mean to be friends with Chris again," said Walter. "Thank you for helping me, sir. Good-night."

He shut the door, and as he walked away he said to himself,—

"I see now