Oh, I think not. An' maybe I
wasn't told to come up to The House Sundays an' help myself. Very likely
not.' All this in an airy whisper.

'Halves!' hissed Jacker.

'Quarters!' murmured Peterson from his hiding place behind the desk.

'P'raps I don't know somethin' too,' continued Jacker mysteriously.

Dick Haddon cocked his eye.

'Pompey, the woodjammer, tol' me he see that bandy whimboy what you
fought at the picnic ridin' your billy down to Cow Flat, an' Butts seemed
to like it.'

This was serious. The idea of Butts becoming attached to another master
gave Dick a real pang. Already he had suffered many twinges of conscience
in consequence of his neglect of the goat in captivity.

'Wait till r get hold o' that cove,' he said bitterly. 'I'll murder him.'

'Ain't we never goin' after them goats?' asked Jacker.

Dick nodded emphatically.

'My oath, I'll fix it.'

'An' you'll shell out wif the strawb'ries?'

Dick nodded again; Jacker went peacefully to his work and Peterson
crawled back to his seat. Confidence was restored.

CHAPTER X.

HARRY HARDY'S first few shifts below only served to convince him of the
difficulties of the task he had set himself. The Silver Stream was a big
alluvial mine working two levels, and there were close upon a hundred
hands below on each shift. All these he could not watch; but he was
working in the same drive and with the set of men Frank had worked with,
and was always alert for hint or sign that would give him a clue, whilst
at the same time being careful not to set the thieves on their guard. He
must watch closely without letting it be seen that he was watching at
all. Keen as he was in the pursuit of his object, he found, with some
self-resentment, that his mind frequently reverted to another subject
altogether; and that subject was Miss Christina Shine. When he caught
himself absorbed in a reverie in which Miss Chris was the centre of
interest, he metaphorically took himself by the neck and shook himself
up, and during the next few minutes reviewed with quite extravagant
ferocity the excellent reasons he had for hating Chris for her father's
sake. It was a melancholy pleasure to him to see the searcher pawing his
clothes about, digging into his pockets and his billy, and examining his
boots. His old instinct would have prompted him to attack Ephraim on the
floor of the shed, but now, with lamentable unreason and injustice, he
nursed the insult as good and sufficient cau