nough to victual a small regiment, not to mention pillage
from Wilson's orchard, she might have been more at her ease--or have
found fresh occasion for uneasiness. Dick had none of his mother's
apple-like roundness--the widow, who was not yet thirty-five, always
suggested apples and roses--he had inherited his father's flame-coloured
hair, and a pale complexion that was very effective in turning away
maternal wrath when allied with an appearance of pensive melancholy and a
fictitious pain in the chest.

The conversation, which had been interrupted by Dick's entrance, was
presently resumed. The women were recounting the story of Frank Hardy's
arrest and trial for Harry's information. The subject was one of profound
interest to Dick, and from his retreat at the far end of the table, where
he sat disregarded, his crimes tacitly ignored for the time being, he
listened eagerly. When Gable kicked him to attract his attention, and
gleefully exhibited a handful of loaf sugar that he had slyly abstracted
from the basin, the small boy frowned the old man down with a diabolical
scowl.

Gable was Mrs. Hardy's brother, and although over sixty years of age, his
mind had remained the mind of a child; mentally, he never grew beyond his
eighth year. He was a child in all his ways and wishes, was happiest in
the society of children, and was regarded by them, without question and
without surprise, as one of themselves. He was sent to school because it
pleased him to go, and it kept him out of mischief, and every day he
learned over again the lessons he had learned the day before and
forgotten within an hour. His admiration for Dick Haddon was profound,
the respect and appreciation the boy of eight has for the big brother who
is twelve and smokes.

Abashed by Dick's frown, the old man devoted himself humbly to his
'piece,' and the boy gave his whole attention to the conversation. He was
eager to get an inkling of Harry's line of action. For his own part he
had thought of a desperate band, with Harry at its head and himself in a
conspicuous position, raiding the gaol at Yarraman under a hail of
bullets, and bearing off the prisoner in triumph; but experience had
taught him that the expedients of grown-up people were apt to be
disgustingly common place and ludicrously ineffective.

'If he'd an enemy,' said Harry, 'there'd be something to go on. Was there
nobody, no one at all, that he'd had any row with--nobody who hated him?'

Mrs. Had