of the dry quality, and he was sharp withal. He had
seen more than they knew, and now, looking from one to the other, the
situation suddenly dawned upon him, and it amused him beyond words. But
he was a rigid disciplinarian.

"What have you been doing to him?" he said, fixing the African boy with
his straight glance.

"Doing? Nothing, sir. We play in the water. He try how long he keep
me under. I try how long I keep him under. That all. That all, sir."
And a dazzling stripe of white leaped in a broad grin across the
speaker's face--while all the other boys tittered. Mr Sefton gave a
suspicious choke.

"That all!" he echoed. "But that isn't all," and extracting an envelope
and a pencil from his pocket, he began to take down their names. "No,
that isn't all by any means. Each of you will do four hundred lines for
bathing before permission has been given, except Anthony, who will do
one hundred only because he's a new boy. Now get into your clothes
sharp and go straight back and begin, and if you're not in the big
schoolroom by the time I am, I'll double it."

There was a wholesome straightforwardness about Mr Sefton's methods
that admitted of no argument, and it was a very crestfallen group that
overtook and hurried past that disciplinarian as he made his way along
the field-path, swinging his stick, his head thrown back, and his soft
felt hat very much on the back of it. And on the outskirts of the group
at a respectful distance came Anthony, keen-eyed and quick to dodge more
than one vengeful smack on the head which had been aimed at him--for
these fairplay-loving young Britons must wreak their resentment on
something--and dire and deep were the sinister promises thrown at the
African boy, to be fulfilled when time and opportunity should serve.

CHAPTER FOUR.

CONCERNING AN ADVENTURE.

Mr Sefton did not immediately repair to the big schoolroom. When he
did, however, the half-dozen delinquents were at work on their
imposition. He strolled round apparently aimlessly, then peered into
the fifth form room, where sat Haviland, writing his.

Haviland was not at first aware of the master's presence. An ugly frown
was on his face, for he was in fact beginning the extra two hundred
lines of which we have made mention. It was a half-holiday, and a
lovely afternoon, and but for this he would have been out and away over
field and down. He felt that he had been treated unfairly, and it was
with no am