e did, Felgate didn't care.

The securing them was easy enough, for on that particular evening Arthur
and Dig were roosting on the big arch of Wellham Abbey, in no condition
to interfere if all their worldly goods had been ransacked. The
remainder the reader knows.

That eventful evening was to witness one more solemnity before the order
for "lights out" cut short its brief career.

Arthur and Dig having returned to their study, held a grave consultation
over the sack and match-box and wedge of paper.

"We'd better hide them," said Dig, "where he can't find them again."

"Not safe," said Arthur; "we'd better burn them."

"Burn them!" said Dig, astounded by the audacious proposition. "Then we
give up all our evidence."

"Good job too; all the better for Marky. They've done us no good so
far."

This was true, and Dig, having turned the matter over, said he was
"game."

The conspirators therefore locked their door, and piled up their fire.
It was long since their study had glowed with such a cheerful blaze.
The resin-wheel flared, and crackled, and spat as if it was in the jest
and was enjoying it, and the flames blazed up the chimney as though they
were racing who should be the first to carry the joke outside.

The match-box and paper wedge vanished almost instantaneously, and the
old bone-dry sack itself rose grandly to the occasion, and flared away
merrily inch by inch, until, a quarter of an hour after the illumination
had begun, the last glowing vestige of it had skipped up after the
sparks.

The boys were sitting complacently contemplating this glorious _finale_
when a loud knock came at the door, and a shout in Ainger's voice of
"Let me in!"

"What's the row?" cried Arthur, shovelling the ashes under the grate,
while Dig, with wonderful presence of mind, whipped out the toasting-
fork, and stuck half a loaf on the end of it.

"Open the door," cried Ainger, accompanying his demand with a kick which
made the timbers creak. "Your chimney's on fire!"

Arthur rushed and opened the door, while Dig, once more with wonderful
presence of mind, seized up the bath bucket and emptied it on the fire.

"You young idiots," shouted Ainger as he rushed in, half-blinded with
the smoke raised by Dig's _coup de theatre_, "you'll have the house on
fire! Bring a jug with you, both of you, up to the roof."

They each snatched up a jug, and with pale countenances followed the
captain up to the skylight. As they em