y worth all the trouble we took over him, eh?"

"Oh, don't talk like that, Lom!" I cried.

"But he was precious disagreeable," cried Mercer; "and after the way in
which you saved his life too!"

"I didn't," I said; "it was Lom here."

"Nay, lad, you got hold of him diving, first. If it hadn't been for
you, I shouldn't have had anything to rub. But I was thinking."

"What of, Lom?"

"Of how strange it is, lads, that we somehow have to help and do good to
them who've always been our enemies. That chap's always hated you, Mr
Burr."

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Lomax," I said, with a sigh.

"And so you go into the water, and save his life."

"Yes, 'tis rum," said Mercer. "A nasty, disagreeable beggar. I hate
him. But I am glad he wasn't drowned."

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

Dicksee only stayed till the following Christmas, and there was a
general feeling of satisfaction in the school when it was known that he
was not coming back after the holidays, Mr Hasnip forgetting himself so
far as to say,--

"And a good job too."

It was a great relief to be rid of him, for, as I told Mercer, he was
always ten times more sneaky and aggravating during the last half, and
you couldn't stoop to hitting a fellow like that, especially when you
knew how easily you could lick him.

"Oh, couldn't you?" said Mercer. "I could, and I would too, if he spoke
to me as he does to you."

"Not you," I said.

"I would. I believe he never forgave you for saving his life."

It was during the autumn of the following year that Mercer and I, who
had grown pretty big lads by that time, and had come to be looked up to
by the others as captains of the cricket eleven and of the football,
were standing at the window looking out over the woods talking, and
watching the flickering of the lightning in the far east. We had all
come up to our dormitories, but, instead of going at once to bed, we two
were talking in a low voice about what a dark, soft night it was, when
all at once there was a flash that was not lightning, apparently a short
distance away, followed by the report of a gun.

"Oh, Tom!" I cried; "poachers!"

"Hush! Listen!" he said; and hardly had the words left his lips before
there was another report, this time without the flash being seen.

"It is poachers," I said excitedly, "and they're in Long Spinney. Why,
where's Bob Hopley? They're clearing off the pheasants."

We listened, and there was another report, and anoth