er,
nearly akin to that felt by some of the old indunas of his race for
their king. To accompany Haviland on one of these rambles had become
for him something to live for. He would have "broken his gates" and
cheerfully welcomed the inevitable swishing thereby incurred, rather
than forego one such, and of late the occasions on which Haviland had
been graciously pleased to command his attendance had been growing more
and more rare--partly due to the unwritten code which was against a
prefect fraternising much with a junior unless the latter were about his
own age and size. So he gazed wistfully after his hero, and in the
expressive idiom of his race "his heart was sore."

"Hallo, Cetchy! Not gated, are you? Come out bird-nesting." The voice
was that of Smithson minor.

Since their little scrimmage in the dormitory the two had become very
friendly, and had been out together several times.

"All right."

"Thought you were gated when I saw Haviland go out alone," went on
Smithson as they started. "Hallo! There's Clay! Quick. We'll dodge
him. I've got an impos to do for him. I'm not gated, but if he saw me
he might want to know why I'm not doing it."

Having successfully dodged the master they struck across some fields.
But alack and alas! in escaping one possible danger they were destined
to run straight into the jaws of another and a more certain. At the
crossing of a stile there was a rush of big fellows who had been lying
in wait on the other side, and in a trice they were pounced upon and
collared by Jarnley and his gang.

"Got you at last, have I, Cetchy?" snarled that worthy, fairly grinning
with delight. "Oh, I've a long score to pay off on your black hide,
haven't I? and I'm going to begin now," tweaking the other savagely by
the ear with one hand though holding him firmly by the collar with the
other. "You would get me tanned by Clay, would you?"

"I was tanned too," protested the victim.

"And now you'll be tanned again. What Clay gave you--gave us--is
nothing to what we are going to give you now. And the seven hundred
lines, and the lines Sefton gave us all but let you off."

"Shut up, Perkins, you beastly bully!" yelped Smithson minor, who was
undergoing his share of trial in the little matter of a twisted arm and
a fistic punch or two thereon. "I'll report you to Haviland if you
don't leave us alone."

"Oh, you'd sneak, would you? Take that--and that"--emphasising the
expostulati