whole school," he said. "It may not,
perhaps, be necessary. I will see what can be done in consultation with
my colleagues. I trust it may be possible for us to respond to
Percival's generous appeal. Attention! Half-turn! March!"

And the boys filed slowly from the class-room.

* * * * *

Vacation at last!

To Paul the term through which he had passed was the most memorable in
his school life, as it was, perhaps, the most memorable in the history
of the school. He spent a week with the good mother whom he loved, and
who so loved him. He sat again in the old church with her, and heard
again the vicar's fervent voice in the Litany:

"From lightning and tempest; from plague, pestilence, and famine; from
battle and murder, and from sudden death."

In the days gone by he used to wonder how it was that his mother's hand
used to tremble in his when those solemn words echoed in the church. Now
he understood, as he knelt once more by her dear side--none better. The
last term at Garside had taught him a lesson which would never be erased
from his mind so long as life lasted.

At the end of the week he went to Redmead, in response to the invitation
which Mr. Walter Moncrief had sent him in that letter to Garside which
had caused him such heart-burning. Stanley was there to meet him. The
old friendship between them was resumed. The clouds had passed away,
leaving them the better, the stronger--they were once more in the
sunshine.

Mr. Moncrief had learnt all that had happened at Garside. Harry
entertained them at tea-time with his and Plunger's adventures as
members of the Mystic Order of Beetles, and his sister nearly had a fit
of apoplexy as he described Plunger crawling on hands and knees round
the ring while the Mystic Brethren proceeded to initiate him as "a
brother."

Stanley was the only one who was not infected with Connie's mirth. He
remained so serious amid the general merriment that Harry suddenly
brought down his hand upon his shoulder and in a tragic voice declaimed
the incantation which had made so remarkable an impression upon Plunger:

"Beetles of the Mystic Band,
Wind we round thee hand in hand,"

and so on.

"No, we're not going to send Stan to the Realms of Creepy-Crawley,"
smiled Connie, putting her arm through her cousin's with an air of
possession as Harry ended:

"We don't mind Mr. Plunger going there. He'd be quite at home; but not
Stan."

Stanley s