somewhere, and the tackle was a-twist, and the ballast rolled to
one side. And, for him, the home harbour was no place for repairs.

Heathcote had neither father nor mother, and though his old relative did
her best for him, the boy was more or less at a loose end at home, with
no better guide than his own whims. The wonder was, considering his
surroundings, that Heathcote was not utterly spoiled, that he was still
honest and amiable, and amenable to good influence when he came across
it.

He did not, however, come across much these holidays. For four weeks he
kicked his heels about in any way that suited him, and began to long for
Templeton again, and the face of a friend.

Then one day a letter came to him from Pledge.

"Dear Youngster,--You said something about wanting to see London these
holidays. What do you say to coming here on a visit? My father and
mother would be glad to see you, and we can go back to Templeton
together. If you come to-morrow, you'll be in time for the last day of
the Australian match at the Oval--Yours truly,--

"P. Pledge."

Heathcote jumped at the invitation. An invitation from anybody would
have been welcome just then, but to be asked by his own senior, in this
unexpected way, was both tempting and flattering.

So he took the letter to his grandmother, and indulged in a glowing
account of Pledge's virtues and merits. The good lady, of course, gave
her consent, and the very next day Georgie was in London.

The week slipped by in a round of pleasures for Heathcote. Pledge, the
spoiled child of wealthy parents, was pretty much his own master, and
spared no pains to make his young protege at home, and gratify his every
inclination. To Georgie, the life in which he found himself was
bewildering in its novelty.

Pledge showed him London. They saw public buildings, and they saw the
great streets; they went to theatrical entertainments, and concerts, and
parties. They met friends, good and bad, and heard talk, good and bad.
No one thought of making any distinction; no one seemed to admit that
there was much distinction. It was all life. If some went in for the
good, well, let them; if others went in for the bad, what right had any
one to interfere? and if any went in for a little of both, well, wasn't
the balance about straight, and who was any the worse for it?

Heathcote felt that he was in Liberty Hall--that he might do exactly as
he liked without the awkwardness of fe