olonel, firmly, as he looked up from the work he was
reading. "He's quite well, my dear."

"No, no, my love; he's too pale to be well."

"Fancy, my dear; but perhaps he may be. Describe your symptoms, Gwyn,
my boy."

"Haven't got any to describe, father," said Gwyn, merrily.

"Well, then, to satisfy your mother, how do you feel?"

"Ashamed of myself, father, for having had the doctor."

"Exactly. He's quite well, my dear. It was bad for him, of course; but
a strong, healthy boy does not take long to recover from a long walk and
some enforced abstinence--There, you can go, Gwyn, and--"

"Yes, father?" said the boy, for the Colonel paused.

"There's young Jollivet coming over the hill, so Major Jollivet and I
would feel greatly obliged if you two lads did not get into another
scrape for some time to come."

"Oh, I say," cried Gwyn, "I do call that too bad. Isn't it, mother?
Father lets the Major take him down and get lost in the mine--"

"Nothing of the kind, sir. We found our way back--you did not."

"And then when we go down," continued Gwyn, without heeding his father's
words, "to try and find them, father calls it getting into a scrape."

"Ah, well, never mind what I called it," said the Colonel, smiling; "but
be careful, please. We don't want any more exploring."

Gwyn went off, met Joe, and they made for a favourite place on the cliff
where they could look down on the sea and the sailing gulls to have a
chat about their late adventure, this being their first meeting since
they were carried home from the mine.

"You're all right, aren't you, Ydoll?" said Joe.

"Never felt better in my life, only I don't feel as if I could sit still
here. Let's go to the mine."

"To go down? No, thank you--not to-day."

"Who wants to go down. I mean to have a talk to Sam and the men. I
want to hear more about it. Oh, I say, though, it's too bad to have
left old Grip chained up. Let's go and fetch him and, after we've been
to the mine, give him a good run over the down and along the cliff."

"Yes," said Joe, quietly; and Gwyn led the way back toward the house by
the cove.

"That dog ought to have a golden collar," said Gwyn. "No; I tell you
what--he shall have one made of the first tin that is smelted."

"Too soft; it would bend," said Joe.

"Very well, then, we'll have some copper put with it to make it hard,
and turn it to bronze."

"What's the good? Dogs don't want ornaments. He'd be a deal