hould embrace one member only: himself. There were far too many
brothers of the Red Hand, and before he reached home he even
contemplated resignation. He liked better the thought of playing his own
hand, and keeping both its colour and its purpose secret from everybody
else in the world. His head was, for the moment, full of unsocial
thoughts; but whether the impressions created by Mr. Baggs were likely
to persist in a mind so young, looked doubtful.

He told his mother nothing, as usual. Indeed, had she guessed half that
went on in Abel's brains, she might have sooner undertaken what
presently was indicated, and removed herself and her son to a district
far beyond their native village.

But the necessity did not exist in her thoughts, and when she recognised
it, since the inspiration came from without, she was moved to resent
rather than accept it.

CHAPTER V

AN ACCIDENT

There was a cricket luncheon at 'The Tiger' when Bridport played its
last match for the season against Axminster. The western township had
won the first encounter, and Bridport much desired to cry quits over the
second.

Raymond played on this occasion, and though he failed, the credit of
Bridetown was worthily upheld by Nicholas Roberts, the lathe-worker. He
did not bowl as fast as of yore, but he bowled better, and since
Axminster was out for one hundred and thirty in their first innings,
while Bridport had made seventy for two wickets before luncheon, the
issue promised well.

Job Legg still helped Richard Gurd at great moments as he was wont to
do, for prosperity had not modified Job's activity, or diminished his
native goodwill. Gurd carved, while Job looked after the bottles. Arthur
Waldron, who umpired for Bridport, sat beside Raymond at lunch and
condoled with him, because the younger, who had gone in second wicket
down, had played himself in very carefully before the interval.

"Now you'll have to begin all over again," said Waldron. "I always say
luncheon may be worth anything to the bowlers. It rests them, but it
puts the batsman's eye out."

"Seeing how short of practice you are this year, you were jolly steady,
Ray," declared Neddy Motyer, who sat on the other side of Ironsyde. "You
stopped some very hot ones."

Neddy preserved his old interest in sport, but was now a responsible
member of society. He had married and joined his father, a
harness-maker, in a prosperous business.

"I can't time 'em, like I could. Tha