too much funk."

"So he was. I dare say, too, he thought it wasn't any good firing at a
ghost. No, I mustn't start laughing again. Come along."

And indeed they needed to make the most of their time, for the bell was
already ringing during the last five minutes of their run. However,
they got through by a narrow shave.

After chapel, as he was walking across the quadrangle, a scurry of feet
and a rustle of long garments behind him caused Haviland to turn. He
beheld Mr Sefton.

"Did you find lots of eggs this afternoon, Haviland?" said the master,
who was still in his canonicals and square cap.

"Yes, sir. A grand lot. Thanks so much for giving us leave."

"Are you teaching Cetchy bird-nesting?"

"Yes, sir. He wants to collect. He's a good hand at finding them too."

"Ah! Don't get him into mischief. Eh? And keep out of it yourself.
D'you hear? Keep out of it yourself."

There was a warning note underlying the quaint, dry quizzical tone which
was not lost upon the hearer. He was wondering how much Sefton
suspected, but at the same time was thinking how dearly he would have
liked to tell Sefton the joke about the ghost, but that of course he
dared not. Yet Sefton would have appreciated it so keenly--no one more
so. But he only answered:

"I'll try to, sir. Yes, we had a real ripping afternoon--thanks to
you."

"Ha!" With which enigmatical ejaculation the master nodded and went his
way.

That evening, in the dormitory, Haviland being in hall at supper with
the other prefects off duty, Anthony was relating, in his quaint racy
English, the exciting events of the afternoon, all except the ghost
episode, which he had been strictly enjoined to keep to himself. Those
who were collectors were thrilled with envy.

"You are a lucky beggar, Cetchy," sighed Smithson minor. "I wish to
goodness Haviland would take me with him once or twice--that's all."

"Ha! Take you!"

"Yes. Why not?" bristling up.

"You no good. You can't run."

"Look here, Cetchy. I'll smack your head if you talk like that to me."

"Smack my head! You can't do it."

"Oh, can't I?" retorted Smithson minor jumping out of bed. The other
said nothing. He simply followed suit, and stood waiting. This was not
in the least what Smithson expected, and now he remembered, when too
late, the Zulu boy's summary retaliation on Jarnley, and how sturdily
and unmovedly he had taken the caning it involved, what time Jarnley had