olled over like rabbits. And, turning up his smarting eyes, he
saw the stars shining between the housetops of the High, and himself
lying out on the Karoo (whatever that was) rolled in a blanket, with his
rifle ready and his gaze fixed on a glittering heaven.

He had a fearful 'head' next morning, which he doctored, as became one of
'the best,' by soaking it in cold water, brewing strong coffee which he
could not drink, and only sipping a little Hock at lunch. The legend
that 'some fool' had run into him round a corner accounted for a bruise
on his cheek. He would on no account have mentioned the fight, for, on
second thoughts, it fell far short of his standards.

The next day he went 'down,' and travelled through to Robin Hill. Nobody
was there but June and Holly, for his father had gone to Paris. He spent
a restless and unsettled Vacation, quite out of touch with either of his
sisters. June, indeed, was occupied with lame ducks, whom, as a rule,
Jolly could not stand, especially that Eric Cobbley and his family,
'hopeless outsiders,' who were always littering up the house in the
Vacation. And between Holly and himself there was a strange division, as
if she were beginning to have opinions of her own, which was
so--unnecessary. He punched viciously at a ball, rode furiously but
alone in Richmond Park, making a point of jumping the stiff, high hurdles
put up to close certain worn avenues of grass--keeping his nerve in, he
called it. Jolly was more afraid of being afraid than most boys are. He
bought a rifle, too, and put a range up in the home field, shooting
across the pond into the kitchen-garden wall, to the peril of gardeners,
with the thought that some day, perhaps, he would enlist and save South
Africa for his country. In fact, now that they were appealing for
Yeomanry recruits the boy was thoroughly upset. Ought he to go? None of
'the best,' so far as he knew--and he was in correspondence with
several--were thinking of joining. If they had been making a move he
would have gone at once--very competitive, and with a strong sense of
form, he could not bear to be left behind in anything--but to do it off
his own bat might look like 'swagger'; because of course it wasn't really
necessary. Besides, he did not want to go, for the other side of this
young Forsyte recoiled from leaping before he looked. It was altogether
mixed pickles within him, hot and sickly pickles, and he became quite
unlike his serene an