stones have fallen from
the great arch since we came here."

"Regular jerry-builders they must have had in those days," growled Dig,
scrambling up the last few yards; "did you ever see such rotten walls?"

Arthur confessed he hadn't; but having gained the top, he forgave the
builders. Rarely had Dig and he been so pleased with themselves and one
another. It was a genuine feat of climbing, of which very few could
boast; and peril and achievement bind friends together as no mortar ever
binds bricks.

"That window," said Mr Roe, looking up from below, "is considered
inaccessible. It is said to be haunted; but the truth is, I believe,
that it is infested by owls."

Here a faint "boo-hoo!" from above bore sudden and striking testimony to
the truth of the master's observations.

"Hullo!" said Arthur, peering over, "they're going. Look sharp down,
Dig, or we'll be left."

Dig obeyed. It was much more difficult getting down than getting up.
Still, by dint of clinging tight hold of the ivy and feeling every step,
he managed to descend the perilous arch and get on to the comparatively
safe footing of the buttress.

"You cut on," shouted Arthur from above, "I'll be down in a second.
Don't wait--I have found an owl's nest up here; and I'm going to collar
a young 'un for each of us. Don't tell them. If Railsford asks where I
am, tell him I'm walking home. You can go with him on the tandem. I'll
be home as soon as you."

At the same moment a shout from below of "Herapath!" "Oakshott!" still
further hastened Dig's descent to _terra firma_.

"Come on," said Railsford, who was already seated on the tricycle, "it's
coming on to rain. Where's Herapath?"

"Oh, he's walking home. He told me to tell you so. We've been
scrambling about. Can I come in the tandem?"

"If he's not coming you can. Has he gone on, then?"

"No--he was just getting a--a specimen," said Dig, hopping up on the
saddle, and resolving that Marky should do all the work. "He says he'd
sooner walk."

"Dear me! here comes the rain," said Railsford, turning up his collar,
"we'd better go on. He'll get wet, whichever way he comes home."

So they departed--as also did Mr Roe and the doctor and all the others.

"There's an owl again," said Mr Roe, looking back at the big window.

He was wrong. The shout he heard was from Arthur; not this time in
sport, but in grim earnest. For, having abandoned the idea of capturing
the owls, he had started