se
who talk that way are far more likely to be hung themselves. But I wish
your father hadn't bought the Gap."

"I don't," I said. "He had a right to buy it if he liked, and I don't
see what business it is of your father. Why don't he attend to his
fishing?"

Bigley looked up at me sharply, to see if I had any hidden meaning.

"He does attend to his fishing," he said angrily; "and if he hadn't been
attending to his fishing he wouldn't have been out in his boat that day,
and saved you from being drowned."

I never liked Bigley half so well before as when he spoke up like that
in defence of his father; but I was in a sour disappointed mood that
day, because the holidays were over and I was going back to school, so I
said something that was thoroughly ungenerous, and which I felt sorry
for as I spoke.

"Yes, he saved us all from being drowned, I suppose," I said; "but he
hadn't been fishing, for there were no fish in the boat."

"Just as if anybody could be sure of catching fish every time he went
out," cried Bigley angrily. "There, you want to quarrel because you are
miserable at having to go back to school, but I sha'n't. I hate it. Go
and fall out with old Bob Chowne."

This made me feel angry and I drew away from him, for it was trying to
make out that I was as quarrelsome as Bob Chowne delighted to be. But I
felt so horribly in fault directly after that I went back to my place
and sat by him in silence.

After a time the old carrier turned to us with a request that we would
get out and give the horse a rest up the hill.

We all obeyed, two of us jumping out over the tail-board, the other by
the front, and leaping off the shaft.

It was plain enough that the holidays were over, and that the joyous
hearty spirit of the homeward-bound was there no more, for Bob Chowne
took one side of the road in front of the horse, and the old carrier the
other, while Bigley and I hung back behind and walked slowly after them
on opposite sides after the fashion of those in front.

Then came the stopping of the cart, and mounting again and descending a
couple more times, before we reached Barnstaple, dull, low-spirited, and
ready to find about a score of boys just back, and looking as doleful as
we did ourselves.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

OUR SILVER MINE.

School life has been so often narrated, that I am going to skip over
mine, and make one stride from our return after Midsummer to Christmas,
when we all went bac