d be as friendly as we used to be, but it is
months since we have been on really good terms together."

"Two or three years ago we used to be the best of friends," said
Martin.

"Yes, but all that has been gradually altering. He seems to have taken
a dislike to me. I can't help thinking that Digby has some secret that
worries him."

"I shouldn't be surprised if he has," answered Martin; "and it will get
him into trouble, whatever it is. He has several times been 'out of
bounds' for a long time at a stretch, and if it hadn't been for Alick
Fraser and one or two others who have screened him, he would have come
to grief. Can you guess at all what is wrong with him?"

"No," replied Howard, hesitatingly; "the only thing I can think of is
that his father has told him that when he leaves school in September he
is to be articled to a lawyer, and I know he has made up his mind to go
to sea. He is crazy about pirates, and whale-hunts, and desolate
islands, and all that sort of stuff. And yet, sometimes, if you talk to
him about them he shuts you up so very sharply that you feel as if you
were prying into his secrets. Perhaps--"

And here Howard stopped.

"Well, perhaps what?" asked Martin.

"I don't know that it is right to talk about a mere notion that may not
have any truth in it at all, so let what I say be kept close between
us; but I have noticed him bring things home after he has been out of
bounds, and carefully put them in his big box, which he always keeps
locked, and I have sometimes thought--but mind, it is only a passing
thought, so don't let it go any further--that perhaps he has made up
his mind to run away to sea!"

"Howard, I have had this same thought in my mind many a time," said
Martin, "and I believe the reason why Digby dislikes me so much is
because something occurred about a month ago, which I would rather not
mention, but it led me to say to him that I hoped he would not be so
foolish as to think of throwing up all his prospects in life for the
sake of a mania about the sea, and he flashed up so angrily that I was
convinced I had touched him on a sore point."

Just then the school-bell rang. There was no time for further talk, and
it was not for many days that the subject was renewed.

CHAPTER II.

AN EVENING AT DR. BRIER'S.

Every expected day comes at last,--not always, however, to realize the
expectations formed of it: but the evening of the reception in which we
are interested bad