ignored her direction and often revolved about them at moments of
liberty. He was a past master in the art of scouting and evading danger,
yet loved danger, and the Mill offered him daily possibilities of both
courting and escaping peril. Together with other little boys nourished
on a penny journal, Abel had joined the 'Band of the Red Hand.' They did
no harm, but hoped some day, when they grew older, to make a more'
painful impression on Bridetown. At present their modest ambition was to
leave the mark of their secret society in every unexpected spot
possible. On private walls, in church and chapel, or the house-places of
the farms, it was their joy to write with chalk, 'The Red Hand has been
here.' Then followed a circle and a cross--the dark symbol of the
brotherhood. Once a former chief of the gang had left his mark in the
hackling shop and more than one member had similarly adorned the
interior of the Mill; but the old chief had gone to sea at the age of
thirteen, and, though younger than some of the present members, Abel was
now appointed leader and always felt the demand to attempt things that
should be worthy of so high a state.

They were not the everyday boys who thus combined, but a sort of child
less common, yet not uncommon. Such lads scent one another out by parity
of taste and care less for gregarious games than isolated or lonely
adventures. They would rather go trespassing than play cricket; they
would organise a secret raid before a public pastime. Intuitively they
desire romance, and feeling that law and order is opposed to romance,
find the need to flout law and order in measure of their strength, and,
of course, applaud the successful companion who does so with most
complete results.

Now 'the old Adam'--a comprehensive term for independence of view and
unpreparedness to accept the tried values of pastors and masters--was
strong in Abel Dinnett. He loved life, but hated discipline, and for him
the Mill possessed far more significance than it could offer to any
lesser member of the band, since his father owned it. For that much Abel
apprehended, though the meaning of paternity was as yet hidden from him.

That Raymond Ironsyde was his father he understood, and that he must
hate him heartily he also understood: his dead grandmother had poured
this precept into his young mind at its most receptive period. For the
present he was still too youthful to rise beyond this general principle,
and he was far