owls’ eggs, but his look was only momentary, and he took it for granted that we had kept our word.

“Where are the old birds, Jem?” said my companion.

“Oh, right away somewhere in the woods, asleep. Want to see them?”

“Of course.”

“Then you must come at night, and you’ll see these young ones sitting at one of the holes giving a hiss now and then for the old birds to come and feed them, and every now and then one of them flies up.”

“Yes, I know,” said Mercer, “so still and softly that you can’t hear the wings. But I should like that egg.”

“Then you had better ask the master, and see what he says.”

“Well, my lads,” cried Hopley, in his bluff, deep voice, “seen the owls?”

“Yes; and now, I say, Bob Hopley, you’ll let us go through the big beech-wood, and round by the hammer pond?”

“What for?” said the keeper.

“It’s holiday to-day, and I want to show this chap, our new boy, round.”

“What! to teach him mischief like you know?”

“Get out. I don’t do any mischief. You might let us go.”

“Not my wood, it’s master’s.”

“Well, he wouldn’t mind.”

“And I’ve got young fezzans in coops all about the place.”

“Well, we don’t want the pheasants.”

“I should think not, indeed; and just you look here: I see you’ve got that chap Magglin up at work in your garden again; you just tell him from me that if ever I see him in our woods, I’ll give him a peppering with small shot.”

“You carry your impudent messages yourself, or tell the Doctor,” said Mercer sharply.

“What?” cried the keeper, scowling at us.

“I say, you take your impudent messages yourself. You know you daren’t shoot at him.”

“Oh, daren’t I? I’ll let him see.”

“It’s against the law, and your master’s a magistrate. You know you daren’t. What would he say?”

The keeper raised his gun with both hands, breathed on the mottled walnut-wood stock, and began to polish it with the sleeve of his velveteen jacket. Then he looked furtively at Jem Roff, then at me, and lastly at Mercer, before letting the gun fall in the hollow of his arm, and taking off his cap to give his head a scratch, while a grim smile began to play about his lips.

“You’ve got me there, youngster,” he said slowly, and Jem began to chuckle.

“Of course I have,” said Mercer confidently. “Besides, what’s that got to do with me?”

“Why, he’s a friend of yours.”

“That I’m sure he’s not. He’s a nasty, mean beggar, who makes me pay ever so much for everything he does for me. You ask him,” continued Mercer, giving his head a side wag at me, “if only this morning he didn’t make me give him twopence for a pen’orth of worms.”

“Yes, that he did,” I said, coming to my companion’s help.

“Humph!” grunted the keeper. “Well, youngsters, never you mind that, you pay him, and keep him at a distance. He’s no good to nobody, and I wonder at Doctor Browne, as teaches young gents to be gents, should keep such a bad un about his place. He’s a rank poacher, that’s what he is, and there ain’t nothing worse than a poacher, is there, Jem Roff?”

“Thief,” said that gentleman.

“Thief? I don’t know so much about that. Thieves don’t go thieving with loaded guns to shoot keepers, do they?”

“Well, no,” said Jem.

“Of course they don’t, so that’s what I say—there aren’t nothing worse than a poacher, and don’t you young gents have anything to do with him, or, as sure as you stand there, he’ll get you into some scrape.”

“Who’s going to have anything to do with him?” cried Mercer pettishly.

“Why, you are, sir.”

“I only buy a bird of him, sometimes, to stuff.”

“Yes, birds he’s shot on our grounds, I’ll be bound, or else trapped ones.”

“Well, they’re no good, and you never shoot anything for me. P’r’aps he is a bad one, but if I pay him, he is civil. He wouldn’t refuse to let two fellows go through the big woods.”

“Thought you was going fishing.”

“Not till this evening, after tea.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down by the mill.”

“Wouldn’t like to try after a big carp, I s’pose, or one of our old perch?”

“Wouldn’t like!” cried Mercer excitedly.

“No, I thought you wouldn’t,” said the keeper. “There, I must be off.”

“Oh, I say, Bob Hopley, do give us leave.”

“What leave?”

“To have an hour or two in the hammer pond. There’s a good chap, do!”

“The master mightn’t like it. Not as he ever said I wasn’t to let any one fish.”

“Then let’s go.”

“No, my lads, I’m not going to give you leave,” said the keeper, with a twinkle in his eyes; “but there’s a couple o’ rods and lines all right, under the thatch of the boat-house.”

“Yes, Bob, but what about bait?”

“Oh, I don’t know ’bout bait. P’r’aps there’s some big worms in the moss in that old tin pot in the corner.”

“Oh, Bob!” cried Mercer excitedly, while I felt my heart beat heavily.

“Yes, now I come to think of it, there is some worms in that tin pot, as I got to try for an eel or two.”

“Then we may go?”

“Nay, nay, don’t you be in a hurry. It won’t do. Why, if I was to let you two go, you might catch some fish, a big carp, or a perch, or one of they big eels.”

“Yes, of course we might.”

“And if you did, you’d go right back to the school and tell young Magglin, and he’d be setting night lines by the score all over the pond.”

“No; honour! We’ll never say a word to him!” we cried.

“Then you’ll tell all your schoolmates, and that big long hop-pole chap, what’s his name?”

“Burr major,” said Mercer eagerly.

“And that big fat-faced boy?”

“Dicksee?”

“Yes, that’s him, and I’ll give him Dicksee if he chucks stones at my Polly’s hens. We shall be having ’em lay eggs with the shells broke.”

“Oh, nonsense, Bob! We won’t tell.”

“And them two, and all the others coming and wanting leave to go fishing too.”

“No, no, I tell you,” cried Mercer, but the keeper, with a malicious twinkle in his eyes, kept on without heeding him.

“And half of ’em’ll be falling in, and t’other half tumble after ’em to pull ’em out, and the whole school getting drowned, and then, what would the Doctor say?”

“I say, Jem Roff, just hark at him!” cried Mercer impatiently.

“Oh, if you don’t want to hear me talk, I can keep my mouth shut. Good morning.”

He nodded shortly, and, shouldering his gun, marched off.

“Oh, I say, isn’t he provoking? and he never gave us leave.—Bob!”

No answer.

“Bob Hopley!”

But the keeper strode on without turning his head, and Mercer stood wrinkling up his forehead, the picture of despair.

“And there are such lots of fish in that pond,” he cried, “and I did want to show my friend here, Jem Roff.”

“Well, why don’t you go, then? He’s only teasing you.”

“Think so,” cried my companion, brightening up.

“Why, didn’t he tell you where the rods and lines were, and the worms? You go on and fish. I should.”

“You would, Jem?”

“Of course.”

“But there won’t be time before dinner now,” said Mercer thoughtfully. “I say, are you hungry?”

“Not very,” I said, “and I’ve got some biscuits left.”

“Then come on,” cried Mercer. “Don’t tell him weave gone, Jem, and I will stuff that mag for you splendidly, see if I don’t.”

“I shan’t see him, my lad. There, off you go.”

“Yes: come on!” cried Mercer excitedly; “and—I say, Jem, lend us a basket.”